Page 78 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

“Good. You chose the right person for the job. Enjoy it. Revel in it. Do it again. Then do it again. Call his ass up right now. Call him in the middle of the night and tell him you need his big cock. Drive to Chicago on Friday and get you some the minute after we close this deal. It’s not about the business or the promise we made Ana as of 5:01 Friday afternoon. She’s my second-bestest best friend. I don’t want to lose that, and I know that’s true for you too, but we will all be free to do whatever the hell we want in four days.”

I let out a big, pained sigh. “I want to meet him, but I’m scared it will ruin everything. We could keep talking after the business closes and keep what we have now. Why risk this awesome thing we have to meet, and it’s a whole bunch of nothing?”

“Because it just might be so much more?” she asks, but I don’t answer her rhetorical question.

“We promised Ana that all instances of outside contact would lead to termination. That’s an industry-wide standard. But more importantly, she could have died, Jess. I gave my word five years ago, and I intend to keep it. It’s less than a week. I can wait.” It’s simple—if you let the honeybee have outside contact with a caller, he can follow her back to the hive, whether she’s a partner or an operator. It’s basic safety 101 for an adult service like ours.

“Are you telling me Buttercup and Westley don’t have a meetup day and time in place? As if you won’t have your car packed and your gas tank full to drive to Chicago when we go to sign the documents.”

“I thought we would have a little party after the phones roll.”

“Yes, we should, although since we’re not supposed to say a word until we sign. I’m not sure how we’re going to plan it, but what about Chicago?”

“I need to go sooner than later and start looking for an apartment. I start mid-August. Julian recommended an area called Hyde Park that’s safe and near school.”

“You’re missing my point. I’m not asking about Chicago, per se; I’m asking about your little love dumpling sugar plum, Henry.”

“I, well.” I shrug and stop making eye contact. My shoelaces could use a tighter knot, so I kneel to untie and retie them both.

Jessica sees my reluctance and, completely out of character, moves on. “Julian, Henry’s assistant, is helping you find a place?”

“No, I asked about neighborhoods in a vague fashion, and he said Hyde Park.”

“I see. Hell, even Ana sees how bad you have it for Henry, and she lives in the back office.” Jess didn’t move on; she just circled back.

“Ana’s asked us for exactly one thing: a zero-tolerance policy for outside contact,” I say, flustered. “I would never ask her to treat me like I’m special and make that one rule impossible to enforce. Henry’s never had as much as a free minute from me, and he’s never been charged a cent for the time when I talk to Julian. I’ve done nothing wrong. He doesn’t even know my full name. She has nothing to complain about.” I kept my word. I promised no outside contact, and I meant it. But lord, do I want it.

“Kaitlin, it’s not like that. Don’t be defensive. We know you’ve been a very good girl.” She punctuates “good girl” with a wink. “I don’t think she’s bothered at all, more fascinated since it’s so unlike you to be attached to a caller. What’s going on with you?”

“Henry’s birthday is the day after the phones roll to California Girls. The phones roll Friday, his birthday is Saturday, and the weekend is blocked out for travel with his brothers. Julian and I decided that we would have a quiet surprise meet for coffee and cookies Monday. He probably won’t even notice the phones switch to California because he doesn’t call the office.”

“Does Henry know about your acceptance to Chicago?”

“No. He knows I’ve been accepted to multiple programs. He doesn’t know where or my course of study.” I started to tell him, but I chickened out. Thankfully, he didn’t pester me about it, but I know his feelings were hurt. My course of study is so small that I may as well tell him my full name and address if I tell him I’m going to UIC for medical illustration.

“So, next Monday?” She’s oddly pleased by this.

“Next Monday. Ten thirty.” I’m queasy thinking about it. I swallow hard, then do it again. “What if he thinks my painting is crap? Or he doesn’t like me? What if he doesn’t like the way I look?” My worries slip out in a rush, and I cringe.

“What if he has bad breath? What if he’s a jerk? What if he has a girlfriend and he’s a dirty cheater? What if he’s not good enough for my amazeballs best friend? Don’t forget that you are the fucking prize here, Kaitlin. You’re amazing and wonderful, and he would be lucky to have tea with you for five minutes, let alone more.”

My cheeks calm a bit as Jess takes a big swig of coffee from her black Dominant For Your Pleasure mug. She’s good for me, and good for my self-esteem too. “Seriously, what’s not to like? First, the painting is stunning, period. Henry’s at least half in love with you,” she says. “You’re objectively attractive, your hair is gorgeous, you’re funny and intelligent, but more importantly, he’s totally into you, the real you. He’s gotten a deep dive into who you are for over a year now. Not what you look like, or your clothes, or the business you own. He’s going to love how you look because it comes with you, the fabulous person that you are.”

Easy for her to say—she’s a bombshell. “Do you want me to go with you? On speakerphone, Julian sounds hot. Is he British? I’m a sucker for a British accent all day long. Is he single? Into women?”

“He’s straight. If the amount of time he spends drinking beer and playing video games with Henry is any indication, he’s single. I’ll fill you in on Monday evening.”

It would be too perfect if my bestie and Henry’s bestie were friends too, assuming Henry and I could potentially be… or not be. Or become. Fuck, whatever.

The crippling anxiety disorder that I didn’t know I had until this week is powerful. I’m scared shitless. What if I’m not good enough for grad school? What if Henry says “no, thank you, Kaitlin, I don’t want you in my life, it was a Kait thing”?

I could sell my business, lose my job and my male BFF in the same week if what we have—or don’t have—doesn’t translate. What if I’m not his type? I’m no hag, but I’m also not Marin or Jessica. I’m a solid five, maybe a six on a really good hair day.

There’s a possibility that we don’t work in real life. The odds may not ever be in my favor, but I have to find out. Knowing he doesn’t want me would hurt, but being in limbo and wondering would be awful.

As far as I can tell, there are two ways this can go. Option A: Henry is blindsided when I disappear. Option B: I reveal myself. All of our callers get Option A except Henry.

If he sounds like The One, and he feels like The One, is it possible that he might be The One?