Page 60 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

“I was going to have dinner, then head to my room for a bedtime chat with my girlfriend.” As the words roll from my lips, I feel relief and a wee squeak of joy at the idea of Kait as something more to me than my phone sex operator.

“Of course,” she says, her lips tight at the subtle but present rejection. She’s not a woman used to hearing the word no. “A man who looks like you, I would be surprised if you weren’t spoken for.”

And I would be surprised if that was a boundary that mattered to her. It matters to me, even though Kait and I aren’t really a couple. If I went to Helena’s room, if we were intimate, I’d close my eyes and let Kait’s voice be the soundtrack. And I’d feel guilty about cheating on Kait the entire time.

With Helena, I know her name. With Kait, I don’t even know her name. I pay Kait. And yet I choose her over a flesh-and-blood woman who is—let’s be honest here—ready for a good time. I leave half of my pile of excellent fries and take my sticky toffee pudding to go while the bartender gives me a look that feels like pity. Then I torture myself thinking about my life choices until Kait and I connect.

“Babes,” I say, still keyed up. “I’m so happy to hear your voice. I’ve missed you.”

“I’m glad you’re still awake,” she responds. “I’ve been looking forward to talking to you.”

“Yes, well, here we are now,” I say, not in the least bit awkward. Sigh. Awkward beyond what I thought was my personal capability for awkwardness is more like it. “Talking. Just talking. Talking is good.”

“Spill.”

“What?”

“Did I stutter, Henry?” she says, her tone mild as she takes a sip of what I have to presume is tea. “I was looking forward to a beyond hot tease and denial interlude with you, and I wanted to discuss some work stuff with your lawyer brain, and I have questions about visiting Chicago, but you’re sounding weird, so we’ll set all that to the side for now. I mean, I was more than a little jazzed about tormenting you into an orgasm for the ages, but that can wait. And the work stuff too. Talk to me.”

So that’s what she was planning. Damn.

“I have no idea to what you are referring.” And that statement, all proper and stiff, is the nail in my coffin.

“I’ll just sit here quietly until you tell me what’s going on. Unless you’d prefer to hang up and get some sleep?”

She’s pure evil sometimes, but I can’t deny that being understood isn’t its own kind of aphrodisiac. One I never tasted before Kait. It’s heady. I could get drunk on her knowing me better than I know myself, the warmth of it coursing through my veins and leaving me tingling.

“Promise not to be mad?” I say. Dammit. It’s like I’m delusional and believe she’s my real girlfriend. As though wishes come true outside of fairy tales. As though she’s not being paid for this.

“Henry, I cannot imagine a world in which I was mad at you. I’m sure there will come a time, but it has yet to arrive.”

True. I hope that isn’t tonight. “I was having dinner at the bar, and there was a woman there who was… interested.”

I hold my breath, waiting for Kait’s reaction. And I wait, while she takes not one but two sips of tea and puts her teacup back on her saucer. The clatter, louder than I’ve ever heard from her end, makes me flinch.

“Go on,” she says after she makes me wait so long I wonder if my heart is going to stop. “Tell me more.” Her voice is measured. Bland even. As though she had asked about the quality of my most recent burp.

“It wasn’t so much what she said, but what she implied,” I whisper, afraid of what Kait might say, even though she’s the most open-minded person I’ve ever met. “She is, uh, here in Dublin for a few nights, like me. And I think she, uh, liked the look of me.”

“Is that Henry for ‘She wanted to try my dick on for size’?” The words are loaded, but the tone stays calm, so very perfectly and quietly calm.

“Erm, yes,” I say. “I think that could be inferred from our conversation. She was so straightforward about it, even I could tell she was, uhm, interested.” She latched onto my arm, and unease just spread through my entire body.

“Such a gentleman. And what did you say?” she asks, her voice the essence of tight control. Not mad. Curious, yes, angry, no. A swirl of relief dances in my stomach, but I’m still bracing for impact.

“I said my plans for the evening were to have dinner, then head to my room for a bedtime chat with my girlfriend.”

“Oh.”

That one little word is not nearly enough. She might as well have said nothing. And here I am, worried that I’ve upset my very-much-not-girlfriend, favorite phone sex operator by talking to another woman. For free. One might say I’m conflicted.

“I’m not delusional. I know you’re not my girlfriend, but we had plans for tonight,” I say as I squirm between the soft sheets, trying to think of a way out of this conversation. “I’m not crazy.”

“No, of course you’re not.”

She’s giving me nothing here. No heat, no anger, no encouragement, nothing. Just calm, cool, and collected while I get ready to have an aneurysm scrambling to explain myself, which I am not obligated to do in this situation. At all. Not one bit.

I try to slip into comfortable silence. I fail. I fling the covers off and sit up on the edge of the bed, my head in my hands. “I’m sorry,” I babble, words of apology pouring out of me like a broken dam, but I’m not sure for what I need to apologize. “I’m not sure what to say other than it felt wrong. I mean, I, it felt like I’d be cheating on you. Not cheating, exactly, since I’m aware we are not a couple, but I didn’t want that with her when I could be talking to you. You were the more appealing option. I mean, she was hot, but we had a date, errrr, a time arranged, you and I did…”