Page 81 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

“I’m not manipulating you. I know you—huge difference. You need words of affirmation, and it’s important that you feel understood and appreciated, but you rarely feel seen, even though you’re one of the best humans I’ve ever had the good fortune to know.” I try squeezing my eyes shut tight, and I rub at them, but the tears keep flowing. “You are the least judgmental person I know. You never judge me for being a sex worker.”

He starts to interrupt, his tone still nasty but his words honest. “It would be hypocritical to call you and judge you…”

He doesn’t understand. He can’t see he doesn’t just have Kait; he has Kaitlin too. I’m not resisting anymore. I’ve fallen. Part of me wants to lash out, but the best part of me, the part that loves this man, wants to protect his delicate heart. He’ll remember every harsh word I say forever and forget the kind ones instantly.

“Your dog when you were a kid was named King Charles but answered to Sir Alister, thanks to Declan, and for some reason, that pisses you off even to this day, but you won’t tell me why.” He makes an irritated noise at the mention of the dog’s call name. “I know your siblings’ names in chronological order: Declan, Llewellyn aka Wells, Killian, Schuyler—Sky, Dr. Lachlan, and Saoirse. I even know the words to your favorite song, which is excellent to be fair, but it’s not really part of my fucking job description, Sterling.”

“You’re paid to be a good listener,” he scoffs.

“Henry, now that you aren’t lonely, you’re sleeping. I bet that scares the absolute shit out of you. Feeling like it could be real might make running from it seem smart.” He says nothing, and I ignore his noncommittal grunt. “Henry, please, trust me for a few days.”

“I can’t. Two days, two weeks, ten years, seven hundred thousand dollars with interest.” He’s so damn sad, but he’s cold, and words are spilling out of him. No more hesitancy, lacerating me with his thoughts. “You’ve made me want more. I had given up on the idea of a family. I was alone, but I wasn’t being strung along.”

I flinch. Strung along?

“I was okay. I just needed sleep. You made me want it all again—love and children and to have someone sleeping next to me. You make me not want to give up on having a best friend who can make my toes curl. I want that, and I can have you, or I can have that, but I can’t have both. I won’t cheat, and I’m so tired of being used for tickets and dinners and vacations, yet here I am. Again. Clearly, I am the problem here.”

His words are like jagged ice picks, jabbed straight into my delicate places. “This is the girlfriend experience, you making pretty decent money making me feel like I have someone in my life. I can’t keep going with you. I’m done.” He’s cold, all sharp edges and steel.

“Henry, it isn’t the girlfriend experience if the sex worker in question actually wants to be your girlfriend.” I can’t keep irritation out of my tone.

“I can’t do this anymore, Kait. I won’t.” His words are laced with pain.

The mean part of me that wants to lash out quiets at the sound of his anguish. The best of me, the part that delights in helping him sleep and wants to love him, is the strongest part of who I am in this shitty-ass moment.

“Henry, I want you to be happy. Period.” I let out a breath slowly. “Does this make you feel like you’re a lucky man? What song is playing right now?”

A sound comes out of him that I’ve never heard before, like a ragged whimper. Pure pain. “No. There isn’t any music playing in my head. There isn’t a song right now, but that doesn’t matter. I need a woman I can trust. That’s not you,” he says, his voice oddly calm while he destroys me. As though there is a robot in command, pressing the big red button that sends weapons to annihilate me. “This ends today, Kait. We’re done here.”

My entire body goes still, except for the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. If he doesn’t trust me, there is nothing left to save.

“Oh.” I curl into a ball in my chair, arms wrapped around my knees, stunned. It would hurt less if he slapped me. The pain expands until I can’t feel anything else.

His voice is strong, resolute. “Promise me you won’t call, Kait. You are my favorite deadly addiction, my heroin. Let me go.”

I sit up in my chair, straighten my spine. Now we’re both resolute. “You’re free, Henry. Your wish is granted. I promise.” I use my chipper voice and grab the hem of my shirt to wipe off my dripping face. He doesn’t deserve a single one of my tears. “I won’t even say your name again.”

The line goes dead. It’s a silence so thick and complete that I want to scream into the emptiness.

Not even a click. Just—nothing.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

KAITLIN

RULE #12: IT’S NOT REAL, IT’S ACTING. BE CREATIVE—HE CAN GET MEDIOCRE SEX IN THE REAL WORLD.

I’m wrecked when I walk into the office. I’m sunglasses-indoors level destroyed, but staying at home with only my thoughts is worse than working, and heading to work for my shift is the only thing that feels normal. I can’t hide in my bedroom any longer. Hunter is on the phone, thank baby Yoda, so she can’t grill me. My nose would give Rudolph a run for his money.

I put the phone down on her desk. I turned it off, knowing there wouldn’t be a message from him. Reaching for it over and over is a habit. Even now, I pat my pocket to make sure I have it, though it’s on Hunter’s desk.

When I’m hurting, my reflex is to turn to him for comfort, to call him. If I’m his heroin, he’s my vomiting, shaking withdrawal from not chasing the dragon. I’ve been clean and sober, Hen—I mean, free of him, for twenty-one hours. Hello, my name is Kaitlin, and I’m an addict.

I pretend I’m Chris Rock and someone is going to slap me if I don’t keep his name out of my mouth. I’ve not messaged, called, or emailed, as promised. I added a few songs to a brand-new Spotify playlist I created just for him, then powered down the phone and got in the shower.

No one can tell you’re crying if you do it silently in the shower.

I miss that asshole to my bones.