Chloe bit into her club sandwich.“Right.”
“And Knox was okay with this?”
Chloe shrugged.“Apparently.”
“And tonight you’re fucking both of them.”
“Probably.”Mayo had oozed out onto her hand, so Chloe looked for a napkin.“It wasn’t spelled out in detail.Are there any napkins?”
Gwen peered in the bag the takeout had come in.“There aren’t any in here.”
Bailey got up, snagged a paper towel, and sat back down.“Here.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.How was the sex?”
“On scale of one to ten?”
Bailey waved a hand.“Sure, whatever.”
Chloe thought for a second.“Forty-seven.”
Gwen blinked, the chicken strip in her hand dripping honey mustard sauce on the table.“Wow.”
Bailey got up for another paper towel and handed this one to Gwen.“This is my grandma’s table, you heathen.”
“Sorry, sorry.”Gwen shoved the chicken in her mouth and mopped up the spill.
“Also, I hate you,” Bailey said.
Chloe shook her head sadly.“Jeez, Bails.She said she was sorry.”
“Ha ha.You know I meant you.”
“I don’t know why.You get laid a lot more than I do.”
“Not right now,” Bailey groused.“I’m in a dry spell that makes the Sahara look like Lake Michigan.And I’ve never had a forty-seven.”
Gwen swallowed the chicken.“Not even Nash?”
“He was maybe a forty-five,” Bailey allowed.“A forty-six that one time on my birthday.”
“Is that the time he brought in the sparklers?”Chloe wanted to know.
“Any sexual encounter that ends in a trip to urgent care automatically ranks in the low single digits,” Bailey said firmly.
“They were only second-degree burns,” Gwen said while Chloe snickered.
“What time are you going over there?”Bailey wanted to know.
“Five o’clock.I have to pick up the food from Carrie at four-thirty—by the way, we’re having a sleepover tonight with fajitas.”
“We are?”
“No, but that’s what Carrie thinks,” Chloe elaborated.“She’s making the fajitas, but I couldn’t tell her I was taking them over to Knox and Jesse’s.”
Gwen frowned.“I’m meeting them later to go over menu changes for the restaurant.”
