The Upgrade (The Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

EVE

“C ome on!” Jamming my horn with one hand, I deploy the other in the universal gesture for stop-texting-and-drive . “I’m late and you’re being an asshole.”

The asshole looks up from his phone, surprised to discover he’s behind the wheel of a moving car.

“Shocker, right?” I mutter a curse as the driver speeds up, still texting. Of course he is. It’s the asshole thing to do.

I’ve dated my share of assholes, so trust me. I could spot one even if someone poked out my eyes with popsicle sticks.

But I’ve also dated great guys and sowed some wild oats—such sinfully tasty oats—before finding The One and settling down with my nice, normal guy for a well-deserved happily ever after. Right?

Wrong.

So fucking wrong I can’t even see right as I screech through a yellow light praying there aren’t any cops. A ticket would be the icing on this shitcake of a month.

“Text The Strumpets,” I shout at my phone, half expecting it to dial my mother. See aforementioned shitty month.

But in a rare show of kindness, my phone—or the universe?—cues up the group text with my besties.

“What would you like to say to The Strumpets?” chirps the helpful robotic voice from my passenger seat.

“Running late,” I dictate, spotting a parking space three blocks from Olive or Twist. Another nice sign from the universe? “Almost there. Please order me a double?”

There’s a woosh as my phone sends the message. I lurch into the parking spot before a guy in a douchey black Mercedes beats me to it.

Brock drives a white car just like that. What a stupid color.

Everything about Brock is stupid.

“Sorry, sorry.” I’m wheezing from my sprint as Camille and Sara get up to greet me, shuffling around our usual table. There’s an icy gin martini in front of my regular seat with two perfect olives on a spear.

“I love you.” My eyes cloud with tears for the thousandth time this month. These friends mean so much more than any drink. “You’re angels.”

Camille snorts. “Hardly.” She wraps me in a hug that eases the strain from my shoulders. “We’ve got you, babe. Just breathe, okay?”

She’s a therapist, so of course she knows how to handle my meltdowns. I’ve had plenty these past few weeks. What did I do to deserve friends this fantastic?

“It’ll all be fine.” I suck in a few rapid breaths as she squeezes me, but it doesn’t fix things.

My fiancé’s still an asshole.

Ex-fiancé.

“Goddammit.” Why am I crying again?

“Here.” Sara tucks a folded tissue in the fist that’s clutching Camille’s shirt. “We’ve got you, sweetie.”

“Thanks.” God, I love my friends. I swipe at my face with the Kleenex, but I don’t let go of Camille. “I’m mad-crying, not sad-crying.”

“We know. We’ll get you through this.” Sara wraps her arms around both of us, containing us all in a group hug. “Did you rescue your cat, or do I need to go punch Brock in the dick?”

I choke on a laugh, sputtering tears onto Camille’s cute Stella McCartney top.

See? This is why I love my girls. Sweet, mild-mannered Sara is willing to maim my ex’s beef sword just for me.

“I got him,” I say, and Camille hugs me tighter. “Bratwurst, I mean. He’s safe with your mom, eating canned tuna.”

“Thank God.” Camille loosens her hug and I’m hit with a wave of gratitude for her whole freakin’ family. They’ve rallied around me since Brock’s betrayal. For four solid weeks, I’ve been hopping between her sisters’ guest rooms while searching for my own place.

“It’s a sign.” Sara releases us and we drop into our chairs. “Getting your cat back means things will start going your way.”

“Here’s hoping.” I take a sip of my drink and sigh. “God, I needed that.”

Sara shakes her head. “I still can’t believe he tried to take your cat. He never even liked Bratwurst.”

This is true. “Brock used to joke that I named him that because I had too much dick before we met.” There’s a good chance he wasn’t joking. Brock always felt threatened by the number of lovers I’d had before him.

Not the first man to sex shame me, come to think of it. Something to unpack another time, as my therapist pal might say.

“He’s such an asshole,” Camille says instead.

“Is that your clinical diagnosis?” I take another sip of martini, setting off a chain reaction of tiny muscles relaxing along my spine. Another four or five sips and the rest of me might follow.

“Yes,” Camille says. “And I say that accepting the risk that you’ll get back together, and I’ll be on record despising your man.”

“He’s not my man.” There’s no pinch in my heart when I say it, so maybe I’m actually over him. “If Brock were the last man on Earth and he was on fire, I’d neither pee on the flames nor fuck him.”

Camille nods once. “Good call.”

“Cheers to that.” Sara lifts her glass and we clink.

“Cheers to telling your mother, too.” Camille sat with me last night when I phoned my mom about the cancelled engagement. “I know that’s been weighing on you.”

“Mmph.” I grunt my response into my glass and hand them my phone. “Check my texts.”

Camille unlocks it and starts scrolling, her forehead scrunching in irritation. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Oh no.” Sara stares wide-eyed at the screen. “She seriously wants you to take Brock back?”

“Yep.” I can’t say I’m surprised.

Sara scowls at the phone. “Even though he cheated ?”

“I might have glossed over those details. Jacinda is her favorite sister’s daughter. I didn’t have the bandwidth to open that can of worms.”

“Fair,” Camille says.

“You know how my mom is.” I shouldn’t pin it all on my mother. “She thinks her idiot husband hung the moon and everyone’s lives would be instantly perfect if they put their marriages first.”

“Fuck her.” Camille hands back my phone. “You are a smart, competent, professional woman, and you don’t need a man to complete your life.”

“Amen.” Sara raises her glass and we all clink again. “Marriage isn’t for everyone.”

Hearing her say it convinces me I’m on the right path. “I’m done with committed relationships. Marriage is patriarchal and overrated.” Even if I still sorta love the white silk A-line gown tucked in my closet. “I tried and I failed before the wedding even happened, so I’m eliminating marriage as a life goal.”

Camille sets her glass on a coaster. “That is a perfectly valid choice.”

Tell that to my mom and stepfather. But to Hell with them. It’s my life. I’m calling the shots now, dammit.

“Check this out.” I open my phone and scroll to the website I’ve bookmarked. “I went to cash out the insurance policy on our honeymoon and?—”

“So smart.” Sara nods her approval. “I always buy travel insurance.”

Of course she does. Sara was born responsible.

“Look at this.” I scroll to the bottom of the website, finding the fancy script text that caught my eye.

Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club

“What is that?” Camille takes my phone and holds it so Sara can see it. “Sounds intriguing.”

“Right?” I wave off the waiter who’s heading our way. This moment requires some privacy. “I called the number since the info on the website is a little vague.”

My girls read the copy I’ve memorized.

So your fantasy wedding didn’t happen. Let us help you indulge other fantasies. Call about our discreet, luxury getaways designed to fulfill your every desire.

Sara looks up with big eyes. “What is it, exactly?”

I take another sip of martini. “It’s an exclusive club owned by some eccentric billionaire. A private island near the Caribbean called Crystal Bliss Retreat.” It took me some research to learn this. “The same guy owns a bunch of normal resorts, which is where we’d booked our honeymoon. But Crystal Bliss is this entire resort created for women who’ve been screwed in some way.”

Sara blinks. “Screwed like?—”

“Not sex.” Actually — “Well, it is about sex. That’s what this place is meant for.”

Camille cocks her head. “How do you mean?”

“Fantasies. Women’s fantasies, specifically.” I still can’t believe it’s a thing. From the looks on their faces, my friends can’t, either. “Guests pick from a menu of options.”

“Options.” Sara breathes the word like it’s something sinful. “Like what?”

This is the best part. “You name it, it’s probably on the menu.” The naughty list in my brain unfurls with a host of examples. “Erotic massage. Bondage. There’s a whole section for group sex in every combination you can think of. Two men and one woman. Two women and one guy, or even three or four guys at once, all focused on giving the ultimate pleasure.”

“Damn.” Camille grins. “Talk about a healing journey.”

“Wait.” Sara sits blinking beside me. “You’re really considering this.”

I can’t tell from her voice if that’s dismay or delight. Sara’s not judgy, but she is a bit…sheltered.

“I am, actually.” Might as well lay it all out there. “Look, before I met Brock, I was pretty adventurous.”

“As you should be.” Camille knows my history, since we’ve been friends a lot longer. “It’s important for women to explore their sexuality before entrusting a lifelong partner with it.” She darts an apologetic look at Sara. “If that’s what she wants, of course.”

“Whatever.” Sara flutters a hand to show she’s not taking it personally. “I’m perfectly happy saving myself for Trent. Back to Eve.” She touches my arm and this time I’m sure that’s intrigue in her eyes. “So you’d be paying for sex?”

“Not exactly.” This part tripped me up, too. “You’re paying for sexual healing . For no-strings pleasure and a chance to explore fantasies you might’ve put off while planning a wedding and a future with someone who didn’t pan out.”

“I think it sounds fabulous.” Camille sips her drink. “And the whole private-island-in-a-whole-other-country thing probably keeps it out of legal hot water.”

“Exactly.” I draw an excited breath, cracking a smile for the first time in ages. “I think I’m doing it.”

“Good for you.” Sara’s sincere as she squeezes my arm. “It’s a lot, but I’m happy for you. Thrilled —I mean it.”

“Thank you.” I take another sip of my drink. “I might need a cat sitter.” I glance at Camille with guilt bubbling up in my chest. “You and your sisters have already done so much for me?—”

“It’s no problem, sweetie. My remodel’s done, so it’s my turn with Bratwurst.” She studies my face with her patented shrink expression. “I love this for you. I haven’t seen you smile like this since?—”

“Since before I caught my betrothed with his dick in my cousin?” Because yeah. That’s what happened.

Funny thing is, I might’ve been fine with opening up our relationship. For fuck’s sake, I own a PR firm whose biggest client is an ethical non-monogamy group. My VP of marketing has an open marriage.

I’m hardly close-minded about this stuff.

But there was nothing ethical about our non-monogamy. We never even discussed the idea. To be honest, he always struck me as a bit…vanilla.

So why was he banging Jacinda in a sex swing installed in his office?

“Is it wrong that I want revenge?” I just said that out loud.

“Absolutely not.” Sara smiles sweetly. “You’re entitled.”

“I’m not just talking about the sex resort. And I don’t mean violence.” Not that I don’t love the thought of Brock tied to an anthill with his dick covered in honey. “Something better than keying his car, though.”

Sara sits up straighter. “Like some superhero revenge plot on behalf of all wronged women.”

“Sure,” I agree. “Or maybe just an anger bang.”

“I love that for you.” Camille gives a brisk nod. “Clinical studies have shown that post-breakup sex with a stranger can be a healthy, therapeutic way to achieve closure.” She should know, since she’s a freakin’ sex therapist. She tilts her head to study me. “I didn’t realize you’d reached this stage.”

“What stage?”

“The revenge sex stage.”

“You think it’s too soon?” It’s been barely a month, admittedly.

“Not at all.” She shrugs and stabs at the olive in her drink. “I had an idea, that’s all.”

“Go on.” This should be good.

“You know my brother, Kit.”

“Nope.” He’d long since moved out by the time I lived with Camille’s family my last year in high school. “We’ve crossed paths maybe twice in the last decade.”

At best, it was hi and goodbye at the holidays. I’ve never even had a conversation with the man.

“Right, but you’re aware my brother is the esteemed Dr. Christopher J. Plier.” She says it with snark, but I know the truth. Camille and her sisters worship their big brother. He’s a world-renowned research psychologist who’s been living abroad for years. “Kit’s coming home to visit.”

“Your mom will be thrilled.”

“He won’t be here long, and it’s not by choice.” Camille rolls her eyes. “His publisher’s making him attend some big release event for Miranda’s new book.”

“Wait.” Sara frowns. “Miranda his girlfriend? I thought they broke up.”

“They did, but Kit co-authored her book.” Camille’s jaw clenches. “The publisher wants him there fielding questions. He’s the brains and the talent behind the research, obviously.”

“Obviously.” I’m aware that’s a dig at Miranda, and not the first one I’ve heard. I don’t know the details of Kit’s breakup. Just that Camille went from seeing Miranda as a sister to seeing red at the sound of her name.

I pick up my drink and wait for Camille to calm down.

Sara doesn’t bother. “What does this have to do with Eve?”

“Eve’s hot,” Camille says, and I manage a smile.

“Thanks.”

“Seriously, you’re bangin’.” She declares it like it’s a clinical fact, and I love her even more. “Kit Plier walking into this event with Eve on his arm would be the kick in the crotch Miranda deserves.”

Ouch.

But also, I’m intrigued. “You want me to go as his date?”

“Why not?” Camille shrugs. “Having you there with Kit, looking gorgeous and perfect, would show Miranda what she missed. And there’s bound to be press there, so?—”

“So Brock might see photos.” I get it now. “Your brother’s insanely good looking.” He’s only gotten hotter with age, if recent photos can be trusted.

“Exactly.” Camille spins her drink on the table. “It could be a big, fat mic drop before Kit leaves for his new job and you leave for your sex resort.”

Sara beams. “Brilliant.”

I’m still not convinced. “I see the appeal of annoying two exes at once, but couldn’t he get a supermodel or something?”

Camille scoffs. “He’s well-known in psychology circles and shrinks loooove citing his research, but he’s not famous famous, you know?”

“Maybe.” I guess I’d be up for it.

“Where’s his new job?” Sara shoots me a secretive, hopeful look.

“Is Kit moving closer to home?” I’m thinking the same thing Sara is.

Ever since Camille’s father died, she and her sisters have floundered. Having the prodigal son home for good might help our friend heal.

But Camille only shrugs. “He’s doing a short-term study somewhere sunny. Houston or Austin, maybe. I don’t know the details.” She waves a dismissive hand. “Anyway, you’ll go to the release event with Kit. And if it leads to a little anger bang, that might be healthy for both of you.”

“Oh.” That’s not where I thought she was going with this. “Wouldn’t that be weird?”

I may not know Miranda, but there’s a key thing I have in common with Kit’s ex: She also lived with the Pliers in high school. She was an exchange student from London, while I was Camille’s classmate. Miranda and I never crossed paths, since she was six years older, but the fact remains that we’ve both been surrogate sisters in the Plier family.

And only one of us still is.

“I love my relationship with your family, Camille.” I may as well spell out my concerns. “I don’t want to do anything that could screw that up.”

“Please,” she scoffs. “You’d be fucking him once, not dating him. You’re both consenting adults.”

I guess I can see the difference. “A one-night stand before he jets off to his next job doesn’t count.”

“Exactly.” Camille plucks her phone from her purse. “I’ll text him right now. See if he’s up for the plan.”

“Wait, no.” I grab for her phone as she pivots toward Sara. “You’re not seriously asking your brother to anger bang me, are you?”

“Of course not,” she says, typing away. “Just letting him know I’ve found him a beautiful date for the event, and whatever transpires afterward is good practice before you head off to your sex resort.”

“Camille!” I swipe at the phone again and she laughs. “You are not seriously writing that.”

“I’m not,” she swears, and I believe her. She gives me a look steeped in kindness. “I won’t say anything about the sex resort. Or your cheating fuck of a fiancé. But I could subtly plant the seed that you’d consider a one-night stand.”

“No way.”

Except…this doesn’t sound like the worst idea.

I’m way out of practice with commitment-free sex. The sort of fun-loving fling I wish I’d enjoyed a lot more before committing to Brock. The healthy pursuit of sexual pleasure that was nearly shamed out of me.

If I’m really considering the Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club, shouldn’t I scrape the rust off my coochie?

“Eve?” Camille tilts her head. “You can read my text before I send it. And I promise not to make this weird.”

“Me banging your brother isn’t weird?”

“Not as a one-time thing.” She gives me a kindhearted smile. “I think it could be good for you, lording your hotness over my brother’s ex. Getting your groove back, you know?”

I can’t believe I’m considering this. Not just a one-night stand with Camille’s brother, but traveling to a freakin’ sex resort. This isn’t me.

Except…it might be.

Once upon a time, Eve Goodrich had the raw material to become a sex-positive, uninhibited woman. Before Brock tied me down—not in a fun way—I had my share of hot flings. I miss that.

But I can’t really do this, can I?

It’s nuts. It’s wild.

It’s exactly what I’d have done before settling into a safe, calm, normal life.

“Fuck it,” I mutter. “I’ll do it.”

Camille grins. “You’ll be Kit’s date to the event, or…” She wiggles her eyebrows as Sara snickers beside her.

I think about sex resorts and hot, uninhibited flings. About revenge sex and making mean exes pay. About sex shaming and how far I’ve come.

How fucking far I still want to go.

“Text Kit,” I tell her. “Say I’m open to anything.”