Page 38 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

“Shut it, Saoirse, or I’m going to Old Navy and spending the entire budget. Then I’m taking it all home and washing it on hot with a red towel.” There’s another dramatic gasp from Saoirse, this one real. He whispers into the phone, “Kait, I don’t even know what those words mean when used together.”

I turn on my fake documentary voice. “The muscles of the iliac furrows are an advanced form of sex magic. Men go to the gym to facilitate spreading their man seed. They’re the muscle grooves by your hips, usually accompanied by a six-pack.”

“Oh, those. Yeah, I’m just wiry. I do body-weight core work, stuff you can do in a hotel room.”

“Henry, sweetums,” I ask. “Do you have a V-cut?”

“A little. I didn’t know it was such a big thing.” I did. I knew. “I have to try more stuff on. Hold on for me?”

“Sure,” I say, giving him permission to ignore me, but I’m going to make the most of it. “Saoirse, are you still there?”

“I am,” she says. “I’m still on Old Navy. I’m traumatized.”

“What does Henry look—Scratch that. I don’t care. What I really want to know is if he’s as wonderful as he seems.”

“He is. Truly. He’s a wonderful human, but he’s no Deck.”

“Deck? You mean your oldest brother, Declan?” I clear my throat and feel like an absolute idiot when I finally put it together. “Holy shit, is your brother Declan the Deck Sterling? The model? Black hair, blue eyes, started out on romance novels with his shirt off?”

There’s a flutter of activity as both screech, chittering over each other, sounding oddly wound up, and interrupting each other. It’s like a battle of the chipmunks, talking a mile a minute and oddly stressed for a question about their brother.

“Stop right there, Kait. Do not say another word,” Saoirse practically yells. “Henry, your girl has lost her damn mind. You’re going to have to rethink this thing with her if this continues.”

“Dear god, Kait, you can never say anything like that again. Ever,” Henry says over Saoirse. “Not even in jest.”

He harrumphs when I chuckle. “He’ll take his shirt off at dinner, again,” Henry mumbles. “He’ll do his Times Square in his underwear pose.”

“She said the Deck Sterling, the. Like he’s the official one.” Saoirse sounds a little distressed, but amused too. Saoirse continues yammering with Henry talking over her, Saoirse interrupting and both of them getting louder. They finish each other’s sentences. Poor Declan. Having these two gang up on him can’t be fun.

“She doesn’t understand, Henry. She’s judging us. I can hear it. Kait, we swore a blood oath to always pretend it’s Declan who’s the least attractive, no matter what. So we refer to Henry as second ugliest if Deck’s around. You’ll have to get on board.”

“A blood oath, huh?” I laugh out loud; I can’t help it. Ridiculous.

Saoirse pipes up again. “No real blood was exchanged, but Mom put X’s on our palms with lipstick, and we shook on it.”

“That’s hilarious,” I say with a chuckle. “So he was obnoxious when you were kids?”

“Kait,” Saoirse deadpans. “That was last Christmas. I brought a guy I was dating, and Declan told him the privilege of meeting the Deck Sterling was his Christmas present.”

It takes me a second, but then I’m laughing so hard I’m wiping my eyes.

“During COVID,” Henry says with irritation in his voice. “He said he’d been wearing a mask, and wasn’t that a real loss for people everywhere?”

“Hold on, did you say the blood oath was your mom’s idea?” This has the feel of a tall tale.

“Yep,” Saoirse says. “My mom is a treasure, and her tolerance for her herd of idiot sons is extraordinary, but we only had one functioning bathroom at the time—renovations—and Declan was in there doing his ‘physician-prescribed skin regimen’ when we were getting ready for the annual Christmas photo. Nine of us, plus Julian and some idiot Schuyler brought home. One bathroom. Un-fucking-acceptable.”

Saoirse groans. “Henry! Seriously, do not choose things for yourself—put that back. I swear you’re going to get fired for wearing a jockstrap to work because I will burn your clothing before I let you wear that.” She lets out a great heaving sigh. “Kait, all joking aside, Henry is my sweetest, kindest brother, but I cannot tell a lie, he’s my least attractive brother… but my friends see him, and they make comments. Nauseating comments.”

I can’t help but laugh.

“I’m glad my pain amuses you,” she says. “We’re going to get along fine when you’re my sister-in-law.”

Elation runs through me at her words, wild and joyful, before reality kicks me in the teeth. He’s not mine. He’ll never be mine. He’s a caller.

“Henry’s a good man,” she says, her tone suddenly serious. “The best kind, but he chooses women who aren’t. I’ve never figured out why.”

“He sees the best in people.” I say it quietly, deadly serious. He ignores the fact that I’m a sex worker. “He’s an idealist.”