Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
EVE
I trudge back to the table with a pit in my stomach, not sure how I’ll make it through dinner.
Logan looks up, takes one look at my face, and gets to his feet. “Eve? Everything okay?”
“I’m fine.” That’s exactly what Kit just said. “Actually, I’m not fine. Could we take a raincheck on dinner?”
“Of course.” His kind eyes search mine for a moment. “If you want to talk about it, I’m a good listener.”
“Thanks, but—” Maybe I do need to talk. “I feel bad about leaving you waiting while I ran off to see another man.”
One eyebrow quirks. “You know it’s my literal job to see other women, right? And—spoiler alert—they’re also seeing other people.”
An uninvited laugh bubbles out of me. “Fair point.”
Logan nods to the table. “Salads arrived while you were gone. Want me to get you a box?”
I look down at the Caesar, which likely won’t keep very well. I pick up my fork and spear into a hunk of romaine.
“How do you do it?” The question pops out as I poke a cherry tomato. “Just detach yourself emotionally from the sexual experience?”
“Who says I do?” Logan picks up his own fork. “The emotional part is my favorite. I get off on connecting with people going through something intensely vulnerable.”
“Sex?”
“I meant the whole Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club thing, but yeah. Sex is vulnerable, too.” He swallows a bite of his own salad. “I like being there to remind women they’re beautiful, sexual, desirable humans who deserve to feel awesome. Not a bad thing to get paid for, really.”
Hell. That makes me like Logan even more. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Fire away.” He stabs a thick leaf of lettuce, then a crouton, then a baby tomato, adorning his fork like a salad kebab. “Not much I won’t share.”
From what I’ve heard in the Jilted Brides gossip network, that’s true in many ways. Not what I’m focused on now, though. “Do you want to get married?”
“Someday.” Logan frowns. “Wait. You weren’t proposing, were you?”
I laugh. “No.”
“Because it wouldn’t be the first one I’ve gotten.”
“I believe it.” I draw in a shaky breath. “All my life, I felt like I wasn’t normal.”
“How so?”
Where do I start? “My stepsister, Presley, had tons of friends. Teachers loved her. She joined all the right clubs and made cheer team captain her junior year. Know what I was doing my junior year?”
“You want me to guess?”
I shake my head. “I was nerdy and weird. A drama club kid who dyed her hair funny colors and played Dungeons and Dragons for fun.”
“Sounds cool to me.” He takes a sip of his water, missing my point completely.
Fine, I’ll make this awkward.
“Starting when I was ten, I touched myself under the covers a lot. Like— a lot a lot. Then I progressed to humping my pillow, and eventually a massager that definitely wasn’t for my back.” There, that surprised him. “In high school, I banged as many boys as I could—some who weren’t even my boyfriends. I even had threesomes in college.”
Logan nods as he’s tracking the story. “Sounds normal to me. Even the pillow.” He grins. “I think it’s called grinding. Common masturbation technique for women.”
I stare at him blankly, which makes him laugh. “Okay, I didn’t actually know the grinding thing until they added the Bump and Grind enchantment to the menu. It’s for women who like to be watched while they?—”
“I saw it on the menu.” We’re getting off track here. “Oh. Also, I kissed my best friend in fifth grade. A girl.”
“You know all those things are perfectly normal, right?”
I grit my teeth. “My therapist bestie says so, yes.”
But knowing it isn’t the same as believing it. Maybe that’s where I’m stuck. “For years I thought getting married was my ticket to normal,” I admit. “Like, sure, I sowed some wild oats, but if I settled down with a husband, all the pieces would fall into place.” I pick up my wineglass while Logan waits patiently for me to gather my thoughts. “Then my fiancé cheated, and I thought ‘hey, here’s my chance to do what I want.’ I could fuck random strangers and have sex with women and never sleep with the same person twice.”
“Damn right you could.” He doesn’t sound shocked by the notion. “Think that’ll make you happy?”
I consider the question. “I thought it might. I’m not sure now.”
“You know you don’t have to know all the answers, right?”
I stare at Logan like he’s just sprouted horns. “About what I want from my life? Of course I should know that.”
He’s shaking his head with a funny half smile. “You’re doing great if you know what you want for dessert . And you can change your mind anytime. What you wanted at twelve will be different from what your eighteen-year-old self wanted. And it’ll change again in your twenties and thirties and?—”
“You’re saying I’ll never be settled?” There’s a chilling thought.
“I’m saying you can settle into the idea that change is constant.” He shrugs with a smile that shows dimples. “Personally, I think that’s pretty awesome.”
I stare at Logan a moment. At this man who has sex for a living. “Anyone ever tell you you’re really wise?”
He chuckles and hums a few bars of David Lee Roth’s Just a Gigolo, then tips in his chair with a grin. “Still want to ditch me for dinner?”
* * *
I end up having a fabulous meal with Logan. That’s it, just the dinner, though he’s making it clear he’s open to more.
“Not tonight.” We’re at the door of my room with tiny brown geckos gobbling bugs by the porch light. “Thank you for everything, though.”
“Don’t mention it.” He leans in and kisses my cheek. “I’m here if you need me.”
“Thanks.” I watch as he walks down the path, his broad back rippling with muscle.
There’s still a big brother vibe to my feelings for him, but it’s waning. He’s funny and hot and puts me at ease. Best of all, I don’t see myself getting attached. There’s no risk of falling for Logan like I fell for Kit.
And I did fall for Kit. As much as it pains me to admit it, the fact that I’m hurting this much just hammers it home.
Maybe I’ll ask Logan to fulfill my final fantasy. The Sexy Seesaw, the Double Dip…whatever we’re calling it now. If I’m going to try DVP, it needs to be someone I trust.
But first things first. I let myself into my room, sagging with the weight of a long day’s events. I turned down a Titanic exhibitionist fantasy and then didn’t fuck the hot guy paid to indulge me in meaningless sex. My best friend’s brother—the one guy I want more than I should—rejected me like a vegan declining steak dinner.
Quite the day.
And yet, I’m still standing. I’ll get through this like I’ve gotten through everything else.
That’s something, right?
Grabbing one of the passionfruit seltzers from my fridge, I kick off my shoes by the closet. Padding barefoot onto the patio, I slip out my phone and go to the contacts.
It takes me a minute to find her. She’s not under Mom or even her first name. I locate her number under Birth Giver , which makes me smile and feel sad at the same time.
I don’t speak with my mom very much. When I called to tell her about my broken engagement, the conversation felt stilted and brief. Her texts urging me to give Brock another chance just made it clear we’re on different wavelengths.
And starting now, I’m done trying to be on hers.
Mom answers on the second ring. “Eve? Honey, how are you? Have you and Brock made up? Couples fight sometimes, and it’s okay to?—”
“Brock fucked Jacinda on a sex swing.”
I have never, in my entire life, said fuck to my mother. And I’m not even sure she knows what a sex swing is.
“Oh,” she says after a long pause. “Oh my.”
“Yeah.” Guess that got the message across. “Suffice it to say, we won’t be getting back together.”
“No, I—I don’t imagine you would.” There’s another long pause. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”
I’m not even sure where to start. “I know how close you are with Aunt Linda, so I didn’t want to make that awkward.” Now that I think about it, that’s another case of me putting someone else’s feelings before mine. “And honestly? I felt ashamed.”
There. I’ve said it out loud now, haven’t I?
“Ashamed,” she says softly. “Of…not keeping your man happy?”
“Jesus.” Hearing her say it churns my stomach. Mostly because she’s a little bit right.
Time to put it all out there.
“I grew up with a normal curiosity about sex,” I tell her. “About masturbation and perfectly normal, pleasurable sexual contact, and you know what, Mom? That’s all normal and healthy and…well, normal.”
Did I mention normal?
Mom doesn’t say anything right away. “Okay,” she says finally. “Okay, I’m with you there.”
“Are you? Because I don’t recall you being with me when Hank sex shamed your daughter for learning to orgasm with a vibrator.” I’m on a roll now and not stopping. “Or hooking up with the hockey captain in the backseat of a car because God forbid we fool around in a safe, comfortable home environment because guess what? Boys weren’t allowed in our rooms!” I’m speaking for Presley as well, though it wasn’t an issue for her.
Perfect Presley never fucked anyone in a car.
“I needed you to stand up for me.” I’m crying now, but so what? It’s way past time to get this out. “I needed a mother who looked at her idiot husband and said, ‘My daughter is normal and healthy and smart for exploring her sexual self. She’s beautiful and perfect just as she is.’”
Grabbing a tissue from a box on the table, I swipe at my leaky eyes. I’ve done it now. Pissed off my mother forever. There’s no coming back from this.
“Oh, Eve.” She takes a shuddery breath. “Oh dear.”
“Mom.” I don’t have a clue what she’s thinking.
“Men are such shits.”
I pull the phone from my ear and stare at the screen for a second. Did I call someone else’s mother?
“I’m sorry,” she says as I put the phone back to my ear. “You’re one hundred percent right. About everything, Eve. And I don’t mean to pin all the blame on Hank or even Brock.”
I open my mouth to say Brock’s most definitely a shit, but Mom beats me to it. “Never mind—I hope you know it is absolutely, positively not your fault Brock couldn’t keep his corndog to himself.”
Corndog? I stifle a laugh that comes out like a sob.
“Eve, honey, I’m sorry.”
“Wait.” I’m still hung up on what she said about men being shits. “Are you and Hank having problems?”
“That doesn’t matter. You’re right I wasn’t there for you like I should have been.” She draws a shuddery breath. “Your father left before you were born, and I felt so alone and ashamed. Like I couldn’t hold on to a man. Then Hank came along and I wanted to prove I could make marriage work. That I could give you stability and safety.”
Part of me understands that. “I needed support more than stability. I needed a mother who had my back.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. If I could go back in time, I’d do everything differently.”
That’s it. The apology I’ve wanted to hear.
But I need more than that to move on. I need to understand.
“You told me so often how important marriage was.” Until it boiled up just now, I didn’t know how tightly I’d clung to that lesson. “How there’s nothing more meaningful than the bond between husband and wife.”
Mom scoffs. “I said a lot of things that sound stupid in hindsight.” She takes another long breath. “So did Hank.”
“He did.” Does she have any idea how much that hurt me? “He made me feel abnormal. Like something was wrong with me if I wasn’t exactly like Perfect Presley. How I must be defective for masturbating or having sex for fun. I’ve spent so many years untangling complicated feelings around sexuality.”
“You and me both.” She mutters those words like I’m not meant to hear.
“Mom?”
“I’m sorry,” she says, more loudly this time. “If it makes any difference, I’ve been seeing a therapist. I want to do better. For you and for me.”
“Really?” I couldn’t be more shocked if she said she’d bought a vibrator.
“I’m sorry, I’m making this all about me. You called to talk about?—”
“About this, actually.” All of it. From my relationship with Mom to my relationship with sex. From her relationship with Hank to whatever created our whole fucked up dynamic with shame.
“What are you learning in therapy?” I ask.
“To stand up for myself,” she says softly. “That I have a lot of shame rooted deeply in family dynamics. Stuff that goes way back to your grandparents. Mostly, I’m learning it’s important to honor my own wants and needs.”
“That’s good. I’m happy for you.” Thinking of therapy reminds me of Kit. Of how much he’s hurting right now.
Is missing Miranda the heart of his pain, or is it more about feeling unworthy? Kit’s own brand of shame, not all that different from mine.
But that’s his to sort out. I can’t make it my problem this time.
“Mom?” I hesitate. “I’m really proud of you for doing that work.”
“Thank you, honey.” She pauses, too. “I’m proud of you for sticking up for yourself. For kicking that cheating jerk to the curb.”
All this vulnerability prompts me to share. “I’m at a sex resort right now.”
I wait for the gasp. For her judgment or lecture on marriage.
“Did you say sex resort?”
“Yes.”
Another long pause. “Are you having fun?”
Is this really my mother?
“Yes.” I glance down at the beach where a couple walks hand in hand under a pale wash of light from the moon. Tropical air warms me like a caress, and the passionfruit seltzer tastes sweet on my tongue. “I am having fun.”
“Good. That’s—all I ever wanted for you.”
“A sex resort?”
“For you to be happy. To honor your needs and desires.” She sighs. “And Eve?”
“Yes?”
“One more thing.” Her voice wobbles. “My daughter is normal and healthy and smart for exploring her sexual self.” Tears clog her throat as she recites the rest of my words. “She’s beautiful and perfect just as she is.”
“Oh, Mom.” I’m crying again, full-throated tears rolling down my face. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Eve.” There’s a soft little sob, then she says the four words I’ve waited my whole life to hear from her. “I’m proud of you.”
* * *
After the call with my mom, I pull up the Crystal Bliss app. My mother was right. It’s important to honor my needs and desires.
Double penetration probably wasn’t what she meant.
But it’s been on my bucket list a long time and I’m here to fulfill all my fantasies.
Even if Kit can’t be part of it.
The thought puts an ache in my chest, but I look through the menu anyway. It takes me a moment to find Sexy Seesaw in the dropdown menu for threesomes.
I was searching for Double Dip.
But I tick the box anyway and it brings up a list of my options.
Under Consort Preference , I look for Kit’s name. He said it wouldn’t be there, so I’m not surprised to see it grayed out. Lots of other names show unavailable, too, which doesn’t surprise me. The DVP thing isn’t every consort’s cup of tea.
But it feels personal, seeing Topher grayed out like it is.
I scroll up the menu to find Logan. Might as well pick someone I know. He’s a nice guy, and sexy. I trust he’ll make sure it’s a fun experience for me.
When the menu prompts me to choose my second consort, I scroll through the list one more time. No one jumps out at me, so I tick the box to let Logan choose.
There. That’s done. It’s set for my last night here.
As I plug in my phone and get ready for bed, I’m half listening for Kit’s knock at the door. For a text or a call saying he’s sorry for cutting me off. Even if we can’t keep sleeping together, I’d hoped he’d remain in my life. After years of not knowing him, it sucks to think I can’t know him now.
But I crawl into bed and my phone remains silent. It’s just me and the calm shush of the waves out my window. The beat of my heart, steady and strong, fills this quiet space in my day. Even if Kit’s not my future, I’ll make it through this. I’ll leave Crystal Bliss with the knowledge of how to prioritize pleasure. Not somebody else’s, but mine . I can stop striving for normal and strive to be happy instead.
Kit taught me that.
So did the whole Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club. If nothing else, I’ll leave here with that.
Rolling over in bed, I cuddle a cushy down pillow. Tears sting my eyes, and I let one of them fall. Then another.
I’m okay with crying. With whatever my body decides it wants in this moment.
Even if it thinks it wants Kit.
We don’t always get what we want, and that’s fine. That’s life.
But at least now I know how to get what I need.