Page 79 of The Upgrade

I know from reviewing this morning’s assignments that she went on the catamaran trip with Nico and Logan.

Good guys, both of them. Did she have sex with either one?

Picturing it doesn’t make me jealous. Not exactly.

I’m mostly intrigued. Curious. Titillated, I suppose.

That’s noteworthy.

More than anything else, I want to know Eve’s having fun. That she’s getting what she needs from this experience. Healing or passion or a brand-new direction. And I hope I’ve contributed at least a little.

Having Eve in my life has brought sunshine and smiles and positive vibes I’d forgotten. A chance to beme—not Dr. Plier. Not the grieving son or the too-distant brother. Not the nerdy shrink who takes life too seriously. Not even just a sex worker.

I’m all of those guys. Every single one of them is a part of me.

And for the first time ever, I feel like somebody accepts that. Eve seems to like spending time with me for more than my cock or my academic pedigree. She likes me forme.

Which is handy, since I’m pretty fond of her.

Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I set down my Crystal Bliss pager. When I pick up my personal phone, I see three more missed calls from Camille.

Dammit.

Well, I’ve got time now. Might as well see what she needs.

“Hey,” I say when she answers. “What’s up?”

“Kit, oh my God. Where have you been?”

“Working.” I pry off the top of my beer and flop on the couch in the spot where the AC blows hardest. “What’s wrong?”

“Can’t I just call to see how you are?”

No way she called all those times to catch up. “I’m good. What’s wrong?”

My sister grumbles. “You’re making it difficult to ease into this gently.”

The back of my neck starts to prickle. “You’re the one who left eight gazillion messages. If that’s your idea of gentle, I feel sorry for Hayden.”

“Ha. I’ll have you know Hayden thinks I give fantastic hand jobs. Not too rough, not too wimpy.”

“Jesus.” I didn’t need that mental picture. “What’s going on, Cam?”

“Fine, I’ll just say it.” My sister takes a breath. “Miranda’s getting married.”

“Huh?” I must’ve heard wrong. It sounded likeMiranda’s getting married.“I think we have a bad connection.”

“We don’t, Kit. You heard right.” Her voice thickens with sympathy. “Your ex-girlfriend who swore off marriage forever is getting hitched in May.”

All the breath leaves my lungs. It feels like somebody’s slugged me in the gut. “Married?”

“To some guy she’s been dating, I guess. A rugby player? I didn’t get details.”

She goes on to explain how she saw Miranda at some fancy hotel in Portland. As my sister drones on, I dissociate.

Miranda’s getting married?

Getting married to somebody else.

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