Page 2 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

What a ridiculous way to pay the bills.

Jessica Hunter—my BFF since I was twelve and, now, fourteen years later, my roommate and business partner—is working the desk, juggling phones and running the credit cards. She’s Jessica at home and Hunter at work.

We ask everyone to choose a fake name here at Unlimited Creative Consulting, LLC, but I was bad at it, and Jessica doesn’t give a fuck, which is why I get to be Kait here and Kaitlin everywhere else. Everyone assumes that we use fake names, and that’s good enough.

Hunter is kind of a hot name. It makes me think of a sexy role-playing thing where I’m being chased by hot guys at their forest estate, and whichever one catches me first gets to inflict great pleasure upon me for hours with the help of his muscular friends who, sadly, lost their clothing in the woods.

Alas, I’m not one of God’s favored children.

My parents are social workers, so no dice on the mansion. We were a used car with mediocre gas mileage, hand-me-downs, and leftovers family, so no private forest either. It’s a sadness, but hope springs eternal.

Hunter and I are second shifters, while Ana works daylight hours, handling the office work most days. She used to be a workaholic like us, but she’s cut back on the overtime now that she’s pregnant. She’s not showing, but she’s having twins, so that will change soon.

Anastascia was two years ahead of us in high school. She was working as an accountant and taking MBA classes when she and Jess ended up in the same finance class at Ohio State. Jess was doing phone sex for a local service, and we were flabbergasted by the insane profit margin—even with the obscene cost of advertising—and had been talking about trying our hand at the business for months. So when Jess and I daydreamed aloud about starting our own phone sex service when Ana was over eating pizza—I mean, studying—poof, the rest is history.

“Coffee?” Hunter asks.

“No, thank you. If I have any more coffee, I’m going to be doing calls from the bathroom.”

“How did it go with Zombie Paul?”

“His dick fell off inside me.”

Hunter smothers a dry heave with her free hand. “Why did I even ask?”

“For reasons I don’t understand, it got him off, so at least there’s that.”

“Better you than me.” Her laugh hangs in that middle ground between amused and disgusted. I can’t blame her.

“After that encounter, I deserve some cookies.”

“After hearing about it, I deserve some too.” She has to pause to take a call, and I tune out for a minute. When she hangs up, she says, “I deserve some for this entire night. The phones have been batshit since I got here.”

“That’s why I have arranged for the delivery of not one, not two, but twenty-four delectable cookies. They will arrive warm to tempt our bellies.”

Hunter narrows her eyes, but she smiles too. “That almost makes up for the nightmare fuel you dropped on me.”

“Hey, you asked. You should know better.” We all should, really. If this job has taught us anything, it’s that some things are best not shared.

“Fair. I’m kind of shocked that you spent money.”

Why are we friends again? Oh yes, she pays half the rent. “Just because I don’t plan to live the rest of my life in school-induced debt doesn’t mean I can’t splurge on myself—and my work fam—sometimes.” I don’t mention that I used the corporate credit card.

The phone starts ringing again. Hunter gets the caller’s info and connects him with a girl working from home. When guys ask for me and I’m already on a call, they wait, or they can talk to someone else. They usually wait.

Keeping everyone busy is how the money keeps getting printed. Our ringtone in the office should be the sound of a cash register. Cha-ching. Over the last four and a half years, the fortunes of this business have changed, and the place is a full-blown success. We have health insurance.

“Are you grumpy? Hangry?” Hunter asks. She’s gorgeous. Curvy, tall, long blonde hair, bright blue eyes. She could tell the truth about her appearance, and callers wouldn’t be disappointed. No one gets too excited about auburn hair and hazel eyes like mine. Blondes with big boobs for the win.

Another call comes in. She takes the info and puts him on hold before turning her attention back on me.

“I’m tired,” I say, trying to remember what the hell we were talking about. “Pre-hangry and in dire need of a palate cleanser.”

“What you’re getting is a caller who wants anal sex without lube because, and I quote, ‘that’s hot.’”

I clutch my chest and whimper. “Noooooo.”

“It’s your turn. Talk to him. I’ll try to find you a palate cleanser.”