Page 89 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

“This”—she waves her hand in my general direction—“is not a result of me waking you up one day. Kaitlin, I swear to god, I’ll call Henry Sterling myself. Today. Right now. I’ll put an end to this.”

I face her. I get quiet and still, and with a hiss that could cut glass, I say, “You will not say that name in my home.”

She sighs, then sits down on my couch.

“Fine. Whatever. What do you need?”

For her to go the fuck away, but I say, “I could use some company for a few days. How long can you stay?”

“You have me for the long weekend.”

“A long weekend sounds good.”

“Good, because I wasn’t asking.”

She wraps her arms around me and, despite my need for a toothbrush, pulls me close and hugs me so hard a bone might snap. I try to pull away, and she keeps hugging, a relentless squeeze.

“We’ve reached the this-hug-is-getting-weird stage,” I say, but it’s kind of muffled with my face jammed into her shirt.

“Shut up and hug me back.”

I list against her while she pats my head. We stay like that for a while, sprawled on the couch, me leaning on her as she fucks around on her phone until there’s another knock at my door. I give her a glare. A rando with a boatload of groceries is standing there, asking, “Jessica Hunter?” and I’m pushed aside while Jessica schleps the groceries to my kitchen.

What kind of heathen buys Cool Ranch and Nacho Cheese Doritos? Oooooh, you know you have a true friend when interventions come with Double Stuf Oreos. Pizza rolls are my love language.

I wander to the bathroom and turn on the shower. I take a long, hard look at myself in the mirror. My eyebrows are starting to look a lot like caterpillars having a spat in the center of my forehead.

I get a twenty-minute respite for plucking.

“Can we talk now?” she asks with gentle sincerity.

“Must we?”

“Yes,” she says. “But it doesn’t have to be right now.”

“Now. Let’s rip the Band-Aid off. That sounds super fucking fun.”

“You’re as sweet as ever, Kaitlin.”

“I’ve been taking lessons at a local charm school,” I say. “I no longer talk about fucking for a living, so I’m taking nice-girl lessons.”

“And flunked.”

“Everyone prefers naughty Kait,” I protest and wince at the name. “Boring old Kaitlin sucks.”

“The phone sex version was more colorful, but Kaitlin is real and deeply loved. What’s up?”

“I’m okay. Busy.”

“Kaitlin. How busy can you be?” she asks with an air of disbelief. “School hasn’t even started. You can’t tell me this is you being busy. I won’t believe it.”

I jam four kettle chips in my mouth and chomp. She winces. I suspect misophonia, but I fucking misjudge people.

“Stop,” she protests. “You know I’m asking out of concern.”

“First, you need to know that I had a rough couple of weeks, but I’m human again. And I’m taking two photorealism classes online, kind of easing into things.”

She nods, and I keep going.