Page 107 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

She’s listening but looking at some point in the far distance, and I’m grateful.

“I dream of you. I wake up thinking of you, and for a few seconds, I’m happy. Then I wake up, and it isn’t real, and the pain is fresh every morning. Time isn’t helping. I have tried to come up with ways to find you. You are more than I ever imagined, and I don’t deserve to be part of your life.”

I am a grown man sobbing in a public park, and that’s just going to have to be okay.

“You owe me nothing.” I sniff. “And I am profoundly sorry.”

She looks at me, locking eyes for a second and nodding before looking away. Real tears start silently spilling down her face. We find an empty park bench and sit, on our separate ends, not touching.

I look into her eyes and tell her what I should have said long ago. “You’re the only person I’ve ever trusted to know all of me.”

Something visibly softens when I say those words. Her shoulders relax, and she leans back into the bench.

“I’m finally with you, and I’m still mourning the loss of you. How do I convince you I’m deserving of a second chance when I’ve proven I’m not worthy?” I swipe at the tears. I’m shameless.

I have nothing to lose. I’m not sure how a person comes back from something like this.

“For a guy who doesn’t have a clue how to be in love, I know how to have a broken heart. I’m terrible at love, spoiled, and selfish too. But I will never intentionally hurt you again.” I man up and capture her eyes, and they are terrified. “We were never meant to end this way.”

I wait silently for her to decide our fate. I’ve stated my case, but she’s the jury.

She’s quiet. It’s comfortable silence; just enough time passes to let our tears slow and dry. I resist the urge to fling an arm around her and pull her close, like I would with anyone else in my life who was hurting.

She slowly nods, like she’s having a silent conversation with herself.

Maybe we can be friends. That would be a win. “Can we be⁠—”

“First, we try, then—maybe—we trust.” She says it with a flinch, but she says it, and my heart soars. She knows me too well—it’s a riff on a line from one of my favorite movies from my teen years.

And when I can’t take one more wonderful thing without my heart imploding from the sheer wonder of it all, Kait reaches over and takes my shaking hand, lacing our fingers together. A hot zing starts in my fingers and sprawls through my body.

Her lips start to tilt up, a fraction of a smile, but it’s okay, my grin is big enough for both of us.

I may need a defibrillator.

We sit like that for a moment until Kait stands and tugs me to my feet with more strength than I expect. She totters on her heels, and I step in to catch her before she tumbles. Our bodies collide with an oof. She remains upright, safe and warm in my coat and my arms, and I don’t know who starts the kiss, I don’t know who steps into whom, but I groan as our mouths meet and our bodies align, perfect together.

One touch and I feel whole, like everything has locked into place, the timeline restored to the way it was meant to be.

Kait and Henry.

Henry and Kait. Together.

She’s right. We are inevitable.

Why I ever thought that our first kiss would be tentative or gentle, a soft brush of claiming interest, I don’t know, because this is world-ending, total devastation at its finest. Joy and heartbreak, love and tenderness—and a fair amount of bone-deep lust, if I’m being honest—all wrapped up in one endless kiss.

This is my ruination. The ending destiny prescribed.

I’m toast for all other women after a single brush of her plump lips on mine—as if I wasn’t before—and when I groan into her, Kait takes it as an invitation. It’s hard, deep, and frenzied, and I slide my fingers through her silken hair because I can’t resist.

You can be undone by a single kiss.

I am.

It’s so splendid that it spreads through all of me like warm maple syrup, coating me in pleasure that trickles down my nerve endings. Phone Kait was amazing, but the reality of her here, her hands on me, is incomparable. The tiny whimper she makes when I hold her close becomes a complaint of loss when we part.

It’s a minor miracle that I locate some tiny semblance of self-control before I ravish her on a public park bench. I start to pull away, but she has a vise grip on my tie and keeps me close until we’re both short of breath and panting.