Page 76 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

It’s kind of sweet that Kait will know that he thinks of her fondly when she watches tonight.

And that thought is when reality takes over for whatever freaking fantasy world I’ve been living in, and the urge to vomit strikes hard and fast. I’m so delusional that I think it’s sweet that a guy who was almost bankrupted calling Kait—and required professional counseling to get away from her—still likes her and would love to speak to her again. I lunge for my water and gulp it down in two long draws to quiet a dry heave.

I am Tony. And let’s be honest, I’m Chad too. There are days when selling my soul at a steep discount would be fine by me if it bought me a few more minutes of her time.

Houston, we have a massive problem.

I’m so fucking stupid that I think I’m in love with her. Deeply, madly, beyond gone for her.

And it’s her job to keep me feeling that way.

“Tony, what do you have to say to other men with a Kait?”

“Congratulations, my brethren. I’m so very sorry.” That grabs my attention, and I watch in horror, my hand clamped over my mouth as though that will keep my stomach contents in place.

“What does that mean?” Absolute confusion on the news guy’s face. I lean toward my laptop, waiting for Tony to explain.

“You’re in for an extremely pleasurable ruination. Kait is the ultimate fantasy. You will worship her, she will become your religion. She will destroy you, and you’ll love it. You’ll want more. She’ll fill the voids in your life, all of which are made larger by the fact that you can’t stop calling.”

He’s literally talking to me.

He’s warning me about Kait.

“It’s easy to give up important things because she’s perfect.” He makes a sad little laugh. “She’s never going to hog the covers or steal your shirts. She’s never going to complain or ask you to wash a dish or take out the trash. She’s a girlfriend with no negative attributes other than the expense, and that will feel like a bargain.” He pauses, looking thoughtful, earnest. “She will be your everything and leave you with nothing. You’ll be alone, and the lonelier you are, the more you call. She’ll give you what you think you want, but never what you really need. In the end, it will be you and your credit card bill.”

I sprint to the bathroom and heave so hard I worry for broken blood vessels in my eye like I had my sophomore year of college after a rough night. I kneel, my stomach purging my dinner and drinks again, my stomach clenching again until there is nothing left. I tremble there, my head on the toilet seat, and try not to think about being in a hotel and how many asses must have touched the spot where my forehead rests until it’s safe to slump down to the elaborate tile floor. I draw my knees up and wrap my arms around them, burying my face in my shirtsleeve.

I try to take a deep breath, but the pain of existing is too much, so I stay there on the cold ceramic floor and try to pant through the questions that are churning and burning in my brain.

How stupid can one person be? An Ivy League law degree doesn’t mean much, does it?

Falling in love? Perhaps you need treatment for whatever psychiatric condition you have?

Wouldn’t it be easier to just toast your money on a stick and save yourself the heartache?

My stomach heaves again, and I almost crack my head on the underside of the sink as I crawl back toward the toilet.

I’m Chad and Tony. And no better than that poor bastard in Illinois being catfished. I know the score. I spit bile into the toilet and swipe at my eyes, but to my surprise, they are dry, like I’m the last to know this was all one big cosmic joke at my expense, and even my tear ducts are disgusted with me, unwilling to console me when I get what I deserve.

We’re never going to meet. None of this was ever real. Not in the way I’ve dreamed: full names and phone numbers exchanged, sharing a table in some coffee shop in Chicago between her classes. Hell, she’s probably not even in school, and I sent gift cards for books and school supplies. That’s probably why she hemmed and hawed over sharing details. There weren’t any to share.

Fool.

Why can’t I breathe?

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

KAITLIN

RULE #10: REPEAT CALLERS ARE PROFITABLE. MAKE THEM FEEL SPECIAL, AND “REMEMBER” THEM.

“Kaitlin, are you off the phone?” Jessica yells from her bedroom to mine.

“Yes,” I say at a normal volume. “No need to yell. Do you want to know what Jackson Kennelly said to me?”

“No.” Jessica Hunter is nothing if not honest.

“That pompous douche nozzle said, ‘Just as Columbus staked his claim in the new world, I shall shove a dildo in your ass to stake mine.’ I bet he jerked off for days to come up with that.”