Page 117 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

I return the favor with gusto. I tease her in a way that’s only possible because I’ve just gotten off. She’s shaking as I edge her, her hand clamped over her mouth to keep from screaming. She comes hard, writhing under me with her fingers pulling at my hair to hold me close as she does.

When she stops shaking, I stand her up, grab a blanket, and sit down in her undeniably comfortable chair before tugging her into my lap and covering us both. “I was so jealous of this chair, Kait. A freaking Blue’s Clues chair. You were always so happy to be sitting in this chair, sipping your tea. I was jealous. Jealous of a chair, Kait. So here I am, and here you are, and we’re in this chair together. And naked.”

“I would have been happy on a bed of nails as long as you were on the phone. It’s always been you, Henry. From the first time we spoke.”

“Now you’re exaggerating.”

“No, I’m not. The first time we spoke, Hunter told me that we would need to come up with an alternative story about how we met so we didn’t scar our grandchildren.”

“You’re joking,” I say, but there’s nothing about her tone that makes me think she’s making it up.

“One hundred percent truth. I wouldn’t lie about something so nauseating and sweet.”

“When it comes to you, my entire life is a series of happy accidents. It’s like the universe kept throwing us together. Jessica told me once that this thing between us wasn’t over, because I wasn’t happy and we weren’t together, and that was a tragedy the universe couldn’t tolerate.”

“We got lucky when Jessica—err, Hunter?—paired us up. You asked for a palate cleanser, and I asked for an adult, so I’m not sure why she connected me with you…” Kait hits me with a pillow. “You are more overgrown child than adult.” She sticks her tongue out at me. “See, totally grown-up, you’re right. What was I thinking, babes?”

“I moved from another state and end up living above your favorite coffeehouse a block from you. I know Julian suggested this area, but still, it’s not like Chicago is a city of twelve people and one apartment building.”

“Did Julian not tell you this exact building was where he recommended you look?”

“He did.”

“And did he tell you the Bean has great tea?”

“I think so, yes.”

“So maybe the universe wanted you to enjoy your tea,” I say. Then I mumble under my breath, “And get railed on a regular basis.”

Kait shakes her head and laughs. Hours later, I’m dressed again and almost ready to go to work, while Kait leans on the doorframe, watching. “Henry, do you want to come over tonight?” Is this a real question? We’re together every night if I’m in Chicago.

“Sure, dinner? Movie?”

“Slumber party. Here. I’m itching to get some paint on a canvas. I’ll buy some groceries and make dinner.”

“Yes, please.”

I grab a bottle of wine on the walk home from work, and while I’m at it, I get some cheese and crackers, and of course, chocolate and a few slices of cake. It’s my job to spoil her. I knock instead of juggling groceries to get my key to her place out.

She answers the door, surprised to see me, even though I’m half an hour late. She has fuchsia paint on her cheek, bright yellow on her hands, and assorted rainbow colors on her fingernails and shirt. There’s a streak of cobalt on her earlobe.

“You, sir, are early,” she says and swipes at her cheek, adding a dash of petal pink to her skin.

“I had a late call from the West Coast, and I’m running behind. It’s past six.”

“Hells bells, Henrypoo, I got so wrapped up in painting that I lost track of time. I thought it was lunchtime. I didn’t start supper. I never ate.”

“I’ll order something, no problem.” This isn’t the first time she’s gotten lost in work and we’ve ordered in. I love it because she’s always bubbly when she’s lost in paint. “Am I allowed to see what you’re working on?”

She looks at me, thinks for a second, then sheepishly nods and waves me into her dining room art studio. Art tornado might be a better description. Five easels, a few lamps, a table stacked full of paints and brushes, stacks of clean canvases, two stools, and a Mac with two giant monitors on an IKEA desk are jammed into the room. A drop cloth is down to cover the hardwood under the easels.

I’m taking in the chaos that is her artistic life when I see it. It’s at least three feet by four feet, and the canvas is awash in color. Her colorful canvases, my favorites, are usually a neutral or white background with bold paint colors. This one has a bright background and vivid paint.

The painting is only partially complete, but it’s us, not that anyone else could tell because it doesn’t show our faces. We’re sitting in the park across the street, on a bench, Kait in my coat, me in my suit. The background is trees and bold leaves falling around us to gather in piles around the bench. It’s our moment from the night we met, sitting on the bench together, our bodies leaning into each other, and it’s filled with hope and promise and none of the fear I felt that night.

The colors are bright, almost whimsical. “This is beautiful. Your use of color in unexpected ways. It’s… it’s stunning.”

She positively beams. “It’s nowhere near being finished, but I’m happy with it so far.”