Page 113 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

Kait grabs her usual table for us. She looks serious, her hand resting on my forearm, and once we’re both settled, she starts to speak. “Henry, I⁠—”

Here we go. Please say it. Or something almost as good.

“I want to tell you⁠—”

My phone starts to ring. Dammit. I check the screen since technically these are my work hours. Saoirse. I send her to voicemail.

“Sorry, you were starting to say something?”

“Well,” Kait says, hesitant in a way that is not her usual. “I want to tell you⁠—”

The shrill ring of my phone interrupts. ShaSha pops up on the screen. I send her to voicemail. She calls again. Voicemail. I’m turning the power off when it rings again.

Kait puts her hand on my arm and squeezes before she insists I answer it. “It might be an emergency.”

I doubt it, but she’ll keep calling. She knows I don’t have much of a life, and she worries about me for some reason.

“Hey, Saoirse.” This has Kait’s full attention instantly. “Is everything okay?”

“Henry, we need to go shopping,” she says, as though this is worth four calls in a row. “Your closet is a disaster.”

“It’s not. It’s a freaking homage to your retail therapy, funded by my credit card,” I retort, irritated. “My closet has a spreadsheet to track its contents.” It’s a constant battle to keep things I actually like wearing out of the donation bin and in said closet.

“Henryyyyyyyyy.”

“Okay, fine, let me know when. I’m in town for at least the next three weeks and available for your shopping addiction needs.”

“Where are you?” she asks, nosy as always. “It’s noisy.”

“The Other Bean, why?”

“You sound happy. Are you okay?” She’s concerned about me sounding happy? Weird.

“I’m fine. I’ve got to go. I’m having coffee with, uh, with a friend.” Kait winks at me, a salacious one that implies yes, I should call off work today. I text Julian to say that I’m not coming in at all—cough cough—while I pretend to care about whatever Saoirse’s saying about the state of my wardrobe.

“Is it a female?”

“Yes, she is, in fact, a she. We can talk later. I’ve got to go.”

“I haven’t heard you sound happy for a long time, Henry.”

“I know,” I say, trying to be patient but wanting to get back to Kait. “Please don’t throw any of my clothes away. I need to go. Talk later, ShaSha.”

Kait perks up. If she were a puppy, she’d be wagging so hard. “That was Saoirse?” I nod. “I want to meet her, and Julian too.”

“I would love to introduce you,” I say, and I mean it. Just not today. I want to keep her to myself a little longer.

We chat. Or she chats, and I hang on every word, watching her expressions as her lips move, and count my blessings. And try to steer the conversation back to where she may have been getting ready to say she loves me, too, until the entryway door opens and closes, bringing in a cold draft and a faint cloud of No. 1 Imperial Majesty perfume, Saoirse’s go-to Christmas wish list item.

“Oh, fuck me,” I mutter and hide my face behind a small tea blend menu from the table. Kait laughs at my pathetic disguise in confusion until the cashmere fashionista arrives at our table.

“Saoirse, what an unexpected and unpleasant surprise. Remind me not to tell you where I am the next few hundred times we talk.”

“Henrrhoid, you’re so sweet,” she says, poking me hard in the arm with a long red fingernail. “I was planning on updating your closet inventory, but I can’t get past you having four of the same Tom Ford tie. Gorgeous, but I’m going to send at least two of them to the resale shop.”

Kait and I both protest, “No!”

“Those are my lucky ties,” I say, which sounds stupid. Aside from wearing one to Kait’s big art opening here at the Bean, they’ve been resting in the box Kait sent them in for months. I didn’t have the strength to look at them every day but couldn’t bear to part with them.