Page 46 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

“I never should’ve told you that,” I say as I pull some socks from the drawer. “I can’t tell if you write these things down or if you have the memory of an elephant.”

“Only when it comes to you, Henrypoo.”

I suspect that’s not entirely true, but I have no way of proving it. “Anyway, there will be five of us in the car. God help me. I’m driving because I have a third-row seat, and I can’t take hours of ‘he’s touching me’ from grown adults.”

I grab a towel and take my things to the bathroom but stop short of turning on the shower. I’m enjoying talking to her too much. “When did we land on Henrypoo? I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

“Do you prefer Spicy Tipsy?”

“Shut up, Kaitypoo.” The memory of our conversation slams into me with that silly nickname, and I can’t decide if I want to laugh or fall to the floor and weep. “Kait E. Poo.”

“It’s coming back, isn’t it?”

The smile in her tone is malicious and teasing at the same time. How did she know? Did my breath hitch? Did I whimper? I probably whimpered.

“Thank you for putting up with me,” I mumble, fresh humiliation washing over me.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she says, and I swear, if we were face-to-face, she would wink at me.

“That’s a yes. Now I need to take my shower and wash the memory off.”

“Be thorough. Maybe use a loofah. There’s a lot to scrub off.”

“I hate you,” I say with another laugh. “I’ll call you when I get rid of my family.”

And with that, we hang up so I can rush through my routine before I pick up my ridiculous siblings and make the ridiculous drive to the ridiculous West Soybean Armpit, Illinois.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

KAITLIN

RULE #7: REMEMBER THEM AND THINGS THAT ARE IMPORTANT TO THEM, LIKE THEIR DOG’S NAME OR THEIR HOBBIES. TAKE NOTES IF YOU HAVE TO.

“Hello, this is Henry’s phone, but this is absolutely one hundred percent not Henry speaking.”

I’ve called Henry, but instead of his sexy voice, it’s an authentic British accent on speakerphone.

“Well, hello, Not Henry. How are you today?”

“I’m quite well, thank you. While Not Henry is a rather charming moniker, you may refer to me as Julian, paralegal, tiny office manager, right-hand man, and general Henry wrangler.” His diction is crisp, and somehow, that makes him funnier, like a fancy butler being silly.

“Well, Julian, nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.” It’s true. Henry makes Julian sound like the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

“It better all be glowing compliments and ringing endorsements.”

“All good. Including how you regularly make sure he’s fed, watered, and caffeinated when he’s too tired to function.” Henry does say assorted nice things about Julian, but Henry rarely says anything unkind about anyone aside from his eldest brother, and that’s mostly in jest.

“You must be the mysterious Kait I’ve not been told enough about. Now that I’ve heard your ringtone, I’m even more curious. I’ve been alternating between intrigued and convinced you’re a figment of his imagination. He won’t even show me your photo.”

“I’m not that interesting.” Once in a while, I get a reminder that this is not a relationship. He doesn’t have a photo of me for reasons.

Julian makes a disapproving sound. “Henry’s been walking around with a toothy grin for months. More recently, he’s crossed the line from happy to so oddly chipper I suspect he’s actually criminally insane. I presume you’re to blame?”

“I would love nothing more than to be guilty of inspiring some of his happiness.” It’s true. Blame me, baby, blame me.

“Henry’s been sleeping lately, I understand. Are you also responsible for that?” Guilty. Happily so.

“It’s because our conversations put him to sleep. I’m completely boring,” I say. “Would you care to tell me more about my ringtone?”