“Over the top, right? My dad had it redone last year for my birthday. I’m glad he let me talk to the interior designer, or else I’d be living in a pink palace with unicorns and butterflies adorning the walls. The man treats me like I’m seven.”

“It’s beautiful. The design reminds me of bathrooms I’ve seen in W Hotels.”

Katie’s mouth dropped open. “That’s exactly what I showed the designer! How do you know about that style?”

“I’m in the hotel business, remember? We have to keep up with the competition. Anyway, quick question. Fee asked me where you want the gift table set up. I told her we didn’t need one, but she sent me in to double-check.”

Katie raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I need a gift table at my birthday party? Everyone knows a birthday party equals birthday presents.”

Jaz blinked, as if Katie might be kidding.

Molly saved her. “I know the perfect place to set up.” She smiled at Katie. “Stay here until we come and get you.”

“Could you at least bring me a drink?”

“No. You can chill until the party starts. Drinking alone on your birthday sucks,” Molly said.

“I hear ya there, sista,” Jaz said and low-fived her.

As Molly and Jaz headed to the kitchen, Jaz muttered, “I didn’t bring Katie a present.”

“Oh.”

“What’d you get her?”

“A gift certificate for a massage.” Emmylou Simmons, a massage therapist and former friend of Amery and Chaz, still rented space in Amery’s building for her massage studio. But Emmylou didn’t spend much time there since she’d upped her rates and her regulars could no longer afford her. Molly considered that a dick move, but it was how the woman operated. Maybe it was a dick countermove, but since Emmylou had a serious crush on Katie, Molly knew she’d give her an extra-long massage. Emmylou touching what she couldn’t have . . . Yeah, a sweet bit of revenge for the shitty way Emmylou had treated Amery.

“I’m fucked; I didn’t bring a gift. I figured she’d celebrate like, oh, normal adults. Too much booze with her friends and a random hookup,” Jaz said.

“Katie never does anything the way you expect her to,” Molly said as they entered the kitchen.

“And that is one of the very best things about her,” Fee added, licking frosting off a cupcake. At Molly’s frown, she said, “What? I cannot drink on an empty stomach.”

“Nice justification, Fee.”

She grinned. “I rule at justification, Jaz-a-reno.”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Nicknames are part of the gig, hanging with us.”

Jaz looked from Fee to Molly. “Bullshit. I’ve never heard you guys use nicknames with each other.”

Fee burst out laughing. “Gotcha, DJ Jazzy-Jaz.”

“Seriously gonna kick your ass one of these days, Curacao.”

“Bring it.” Fee licked her thumb. “Or you could become my training partner. Then you could try to kick my ass every day while I prove the superiority of Brazilian jujitsu.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Katie said, strolling into the kitchen. “Are you trying to poach Jaz from Black Arts for ABC?”

“Hell no. You think I wanna tangle with Ronin Black?” Fee shuddered. “I was just making conversation.” Her eyes narrowed. “Which you should not be hearing, since you’re supposed to be in your bedroom.”

“I’m done with that. It’s better for me to greet people at the door. That way I’ll be sure to talk to everyone.”

“That’s actually a great idea,” Molly said.

“Of course it is. That way I’ll get to pick a birthday fuck.”

Fee and Molly exchanged a look . . . which, of course, Katie caught.

“Stop judging me. Yes, Ivan will be here. But we’re not a couple. He knows it’s just sex, no strings with me.”

“There’s no such thing,” Jaz said softly.

“I agree,” Fee said.

“You wanna make this the trifecta of Katie’s wrong?” Katie demanded of Molly.

“Sorry, K. Sex always has strings, and there’s bound to be blowback—and no, I didn’t say blow job—when the free-for-all fucking ends.”

“What about one-night stands?” Katie countered.

Jaz shook her head. “Hooking up for one night only is a whole different animal.”

“There can be guilt in one-nighters,” Fee said. “But there’s a boatload more guilt in a fuck-buddy relationship. Guilt from the person who wants it to be a real relationship. Guilt from the person who can’t give them what they want.”