Page 25 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

“Kaitlin?” Ana interrupts my thoughts. “Kaitlin, can I connect you?”

“Sure, put him through.”

“Hunter says to tell you that he sounds exceptionally like future boyfriend material today,” Ana says with a laugh, and I flinch because the outside contact thing is a big deal because of her—for her—but her tone is one of teasing, not upset. “I’m not getting in the middle of whatever she’s poking you about.” The line clicks, and she hangs up.

“Hi, Kait,” he says, and my smile is even bigger than it was when I was painting. Private-line callers don’t wait for their turn; they’re always next, but Henry doesn’t wait either because he’s him, and I’m me. He only waits if I’m already on a call, and then I call him, let it ring once or twice, and he knows to call me back.

“Henry! This is an unexpected surprise. I thought you were busy today?” We catch up on what’s happened in the last thirty-six hours, which, admittedly, isn’t a lot. I’m distracted, going back to the whole private-line thing instead of being totally focused on him.

Instead of torturing myself about it a minute longer, I dive into an explanation of the whole dedicated-private-line thing, and he stops me. “Hunter told me about the private line. She said the girl is the one to initiate that, and I didn’t want you to feel pressured, so I didn’t mention it.”

“You were waiting for me to bring it up?”

“Impatiently.” That answers that question. “We could talk on the phone like normal people? I’d call you, and you’d answer if you aren’t busy? We can text and talk?”

“Yes. You could call or text me directly.”

“Email?” There’s a lilt of excitement in his voice. He wants this.

“Sure.”

“WhatsApp when I’m in Europe?” He’s happy, no question, and suddenly, so am I, anxiety falling away as he’s unabashedly eager to do this with me.

“Of course.” I’m one of the owners, so yes, I’m making up the rules as I go. That’s what we call being a leader. “As long as I don’t give you identifying information, we’re good. I can’t send a photo of my face or give you my full name, or anything that would enable you to find me or my name, but I can call you, and you can call me.”

He hesitates. “Will it be expensive?” Any other caller would ask if I’d send him a boob shot, but not my Henry.

“Probably.” We’ll talk more, I’m sure of it. “You won’t pay a dime more than you do now. You’ll get the lowest rate we offer, and there’s no fee for the phone or anything. But unfettered access increases the temptation to talk more—and I don’t want you paying for my lack of self-control. I don’t think of you as a way to make money, but this has a real price tag for you.” It’s important, but I’ve gotten the impression this habit isn’t a financial strain for him.

He asks, “Are you okay with this?”

I hesitate.

Okay is a strong word. I’m terrified. But this guy thinking of me first makes me melt. Choosing honesty, I say, “I’ve never done the private-line thing, ever. Everyone else jumps at the first sign of a willing caller, but I have never made the offer before. My concern is that I can’t be trusted with easy access to you. One of us has shown some level of self-control. It isn’t me. I’ll have to resist the urge to call you.”

“Why would you do that? If the whole point is access, why wouldn’t you call?”

“I don’t want you in a position where you need to tell me to be less because I’m being too much.” Super-sad Kaitlin after Henry says he just isn’t that into me is a pathetic mental image. I mean Kait.

“Kait, we’ll see how it goes, but I cannot imagine wanting you less in my life. I’m perpetually resisting the urge to call, trying not to be a nuisance. I crave the connection, but I’m struggling, resisting even as I lean in. I’m constantly worried you’ll tire of me.”

It’s like he stole my concerns and made them his.

“If I didn’t want this, I wouldn’t have said anything. There are lots of people who call enough. There are precisely zero others I would offer this.” You fall asleep, and I hang up instead of finishing off your minutes. I save them so we can talk. Everyone else? I read or do homework until their minutes run dry.

“I’ve always scoffed at the notion of a private line,” I say, pausing to gather my thoughts. “I—I adore you, Henry, and that’s exactly why I’m conflicted about what a private line will mean for us when we’re, uh, unencumbered. I mean, uh, I don’t know who we might be turning into.”

It’s not a relationship. It’s a transaction. He’s not my boyfriend. It’s literally a rule. Catching feelings would be silly. He’s a fabulous caller, but a caller all the same.

“I’m looking forward to finding out.”

Just like that, there’s a deeply needy vibration in my chest. What is wrong with me? His warm, soft words interrupt my emotional doom spiral.

“Text me when you get the phone?”

Hell to the yes. I don’t say that. Instead, calmly, I say, “Sure I won’t wake you up? You sound sleepy.”

“Tonight? It didn’t occur to me that it would be today. Yeah, I’ll be up.” Is that a giddy Henry? “I can’t wait.”