Page 21 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

Is the humiliation of this conversation worth it to keep Kait in my life? Surely he has other clients with… hobbies?

“Okay then, I should keep track of those. If you meet the threshold for medical expenses, we can produce receipts that show this is indeed a medical expense?”

Mark sounds… skeptical.

“Errrr, I’ll have to see if I can get a receipt. I could do that, but for now, I would say let’s not itemize this expense as part of my taxes. Until I know for sure. Of course.”

“Are you sure? Because these will add up quick. You’re on track for a solid five figures this year, with the increasing frequency that you⁠—”

“No need to tally them, Mark. I’m positive I won’t meet the threshold.” Quite positive.

“Can you submit to your insurance company for reimbursement?”

“Uh, no, I’m on a high deductible plan, so maybe later this year, but not now, won’t meet the threshold, too bad, really, it’s quite a bit of money.”

I don’t even know what the threshold might be, but I keep saying “threshold” to make it sound more legitimate.

I’m making things up now, saying whatever sounds good so we can stop talking about my phone sex habit. When we disconnect, I have a queasy feeling, both from the lying and the gut check.

I should stop. Five figures? That’s, uh, more than four figures. How much would I spend if someone offered sleep medicine that fixed me?

Five figures, no question.

There we have it. It’s like sleep medicine.

I get the first round as punishment for being late. Julian is never late. I try not to make a mess of our beers as I weave my way through the crowded bar. How do servers do it without ever spilling a drop?

“Murphy’s Irish Stout for me,” I say with relief as I deposit the drinks in front of Julian. “Strongbow for you.”

The high-top table is perfect. I’ve been stuck on conference calls all day, so welcome the opportunity to stand. Julian, on the other hand, is half sprawled on a chair, dwarfing it with his big frame, making it look like it came from the kid section at IKEA.

He’s a black belt of some degree, so he can maim people with a scone in a dark alley, but you’d never guess it because he’s always smiling.

“Hard cider.” He looks like a local in his Blackhawks jersey. We knock our glasses together. “Cheers,” he says. Then his smile widens. “You keep eying your phone. Is it because you haven’t talked to your top secret girlfriend today?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend, top secret or otherwise.” It’s not a relationship.

“Who’s this person you’ve told me nothing about? It’s been weeks of you constantly being happy. It’s kind of creepy, all that grinning.” Julian nudges me. “What’s her name?”

The number of grins happening on my face is unchanged as far as I can tell. Maybe a little more when I’m talking to Kait, but otherwise the same.

“And there it is,” he says, knowing me too well. “You’re thinking about her. I know because you’re smiling.”

“Her name is Kait.” And it’s time for a subject change.

“A woman in your life. Huh. That’s some major breaking news.” He takes a big drink of his cider.

“Well, kind of gave them up for Lent.” I haven’t, but the idea is inspired.

“You mean Lent over a year ago?”

Such a dick. Having friends is a nuisance. “Yes, that Lent. Easier than giving up chocolate.” I’d rather keep chocolate than any of my exes, truly.

Julian arches a brow. “I strongly disagree, but you already know that.”

That’s an understatement. A celibate Julian would not be a pretty sight. It would be a miserable and overly cranky sight. “Did you get those papers filed this morning?” He did, but I’m desperate.

“Not a chance you’re changing the subject,” he says, not taking the bait. “Gimme some details, or I’ll tell every single woman in here that you’re a billionaire virgin looking for a life partner.”