Page 52 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

I try not to get my hopes up that I’ll live in the same city as Henry—I mean, get admitted to UIC for medical illustration. Admissions are competitive, and with AI taking a lot of the work, programs are limiting enrollment even more than usual. The odds are stacked heavily against me landing in Chicago, so I don’t get my hopes up or his, not that he’s hoping for anything.

I keep it vague. I haven’t lied. I keep my plans to myself, and not just about school. I don’t say a word to anyone other than Ana and Jessica about the huge phone sex service from California that has reached out about buying our company. I’m keeping my expectations to a minimum—nothing may come of it, but none of us is opposed, especially after hearing their opening bid. Holy freaking zeroes.

I set out the tubes of Sennelier paints I splurged on. I have a bit of a completionist problem for a tightwad. There are about one hundred and twenty colors in the range, and I’m not satisfied with the forty I have. They’re beautiful pigments. I picked up some iridescent metallics to execute my vision for this painting.

Henry doesn’t even know I paint, mostly because if he knew I was denying myself, he would order all eighty missing colors today. He sent a gift card that covered my books and art supplies this semester, even though I told him I have enough money. That made my heart sing. But telling him my major narrows it down too much. My desire to become a medical illustrator was mentioned multiple times in write-ups about the cross-country team. It falls under the heading of sharing too much identifying information. It’s one of the few boundaries I’ve managed to keep with him.

I pour the last cup of tea from my teapot. I mentioned seeing a cute Mad Hatter topsy-turvy teapot one day, and with the bare minimum of information, he somehow found the exact one and sent it. Matching cups and saucers arrived a few weeks later.

I don’t mention things I like anymore. Gifts are his love language, and I refuse to take advantage.

I can’t even talk about how he sent me his exact bedding for Christmas; I’ll get misty. We both sleep under identical soft duvets filled with fluffy down and decadent sheets. Not unlike Ana’s boys being tucked into the best sheets money can buy. I lost my mind and bought them the finest crib sets to ever crib. And tiny matching cashmere blankets with their initials. Baby Toby and baby Tyner were swaddled in them when Ana handed them to me for the first time at the hospital, and I may have sniffed away a tear or two when they were tucked into my arms, wearing tiny little hats to keep their bald heads warm.

Turns out my ovaries aren’t dead from a lack of sex.

I send Henry funny notes and things all the time. They are sweet but not expensive because I’m me. He doesn’t seem to mind the difference in cost. He loves the attention, and I’m happy to give it. I made an exception to the frugal rule for three men—two infants and Henry—this Christmas. I bought us a pair of matching friendship lamps. When I touch mine, his lights up, and vice versa. I’m like a little kid when he’s been away and I see my lamp light up because he’s home and thinking of me.

Swoonville.

I’m deep into laying down the anatomical outline with pencil when my lamp comes to life, and a few seconds later, my Henry phone chirps a text. I wipe off my hands so I don’t mess up the phone case.

Unicorn: Hey Pumpkin Spice. Pumpkin emoji. What are you up to?

He’s obscenely cute sometimes.

Me: Wondering why you never call me. Sniff.

I work with a bunch of jizz magicians who give me endless shit about him and decorated the damn thing. One quiet night, Hunter had them all laughing about how my personal cell is always dead or nearly dead, to the point where The Kathy calls her to reach me. I’m too cheap to buy a second charger, and my Henry phone must be fully charged at all times, along with my earbuds for hands-free conversation.

My next shift, they stole his phone when I was in the bathroom because phones near toilets are eww. I went on an absolute tirade, ranting and swearing I would never buy another cookie until I had to take a call. They slipped the damn thing under the door, so blame has never been apportioned.

Upon return, the phone was “upgraded” with a hot pink case that has monster antennae coming out the top. The entire back of the case was covered in kissy lips and heart stickers. I work with overgrown children; they just happen to be aural smut peddlers. And I secretly love the glow-up phone job.

Unicorn: It’s been less than 16 hours since we spoke, Kaitykins. I’m heading into dinner with a semi, thanks to someone who shall remain nameless. I should never open an email from you when I don’t have complete privacy. Frown emoji.

Adorable.

I send a sad face and a cute meme of a baby otter and its teddy bear. I can be adorable too.

Me: Call me, maybe. Phone emoji.

My phone rings, and my heart beats a little faster.

“Hiya, babycakes!”

“How was dinner?” I say. It’s eight his time; he must have been highly motivated to keep his dinner meeting to a minimum. Gee, I wonder why? Teehee.

“It was fine. I’m on my way home,” he says with a grumble. “The weather here is a mess, but at least it’s a thunderstorm instead of snow.”

“More importantly, how’s your situation?” I ask, suggestive with a huge helping of tease. “Is it hard to manage? Is it throbbing or aching?”

“The situation is currently manageable, but barely. No thanks to you. Please know I’m aware that you send smutty things when you’re sure I can do nothing about them.”

“I would never,” I say. It’s a total lie, and we both know it. “Is ‘the situation is manageable’ code for ‘I’m hard, but I’m driving, so I can’t do anything about it’?”

“Yes, exactly that.”

“Oh, good. I love it when you’re wound up and can’t touch, Henry.” He groans, long and loud. The frustrated kind, not the sexually satisfied type. “Do not be afraid,” I say, stifling a smile, even though he can’t see it. “I’m all things benevolent and kind.”