Page 47 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

“Your ringtone, well, it’s…” Henry perks up in the background, telling Julian to keep his trap shut and hand over the phone. It’s commanding in a way I’ve never heard from him before. He’s downright fierce.

“Sorry, Kait, it seems this information is verboten. I just got the finger-across-the-neck sign. Subtle, Henry. Oh, was I not supposed to speak your gesture aloud? Apologies. By any chance, do you, uh, parlez français?”

I don’t even get a chance to answer the question; I hear Henry screeching in the background to give the phone back. No matter, I’ll get it out of Henry. I have my ways, extremely pleasant and manipulative ways. “If you can’t tell me that, what are Henry’s middle names? I haven’t managed to worm that out of him, although he has told me that he is one hundred percent not Henry Ann or Henry Giuseppe, nor Marie, Bertha, or Bob.”

“I do, in fact, know his middle names, as I have a copy of his passport here in my desk drawer…”

A smoking hot, growly Henry interrupts, and Julian stops. Yum!

“It seems I need to give Henry his phone now. Delighted to have finally spoken with you, Kait. Please call again when Henry isn’t here so we can talk about him. I’ll text you my cell number now. Henry, don’t be so grabby. It’s your fault—you let Saoirse meet her first, and she’s been rubbing it in ever since.”

I need to not charge Henry for talking to Julian, but I also need to make sure Henry’s phone is where we continue to talk. Unsure, I say, “Julian, I’ll be calling you,” then hang up.

Within ten seconds, Henry is calling. “Kait, you never call me. Is everything okay?” I only call him when he asks me to, usually when he’s driving. Otherwise, he always calls me. It’s a line I drew in the sand, trying not to make a pest of myself. I text him all the time, even after he’s gone to bed. His phone is set to do not disturb unless I call him twice in less than five minutes. I’ve never done that.

“Everything is great. I just, well, I had something important I need to talk to you about.” That’s Kaitspeak for “I miss you desperately today.”

“Okay.”

If a person can audibly flinch, Henry’s doing it. I shouldn’t have called.

“Errrr. I’m sorry?” I say. I need to figure out how to hang up as quickly as possible.

“It’s okay, lay it on me, Kait.” He sounds rigid, like when he asks me to hold on a moment and does something lawyer-y and authoritative while I wait. “What is it?”

“So, uhm, did you know a baby puffin is called a puffling?” I ask, bracing for his excuse to hang up as quickly as possible. I whisper, “Isn’t that the cutest thing you’ve ever heard?”

He releases a breath. “Awww. Kaity Babes,” he says, sincere and sweet. “That’s adorable. I’m so glad you called to give me that very important information.”

“I am too. I’m having a much better day now that I’ve shared it with you.” I called because I didn’t talk to him yesterday; he had a flight from New York, then went to dinner with clients. I’ve reached a place where more than twenty-four hours without a dose of Henry leaves me restless and grumpy, but I know deep down that admitting I miss him, if only in the private space of my own head, makes me pathetic.

“Kait, I’ve told you a few hundred times that you don’t need an excuse to call me. If I’m busy, I’ll let it go to voicemail. I really, really mean it. You don’t have to wait for something extremely important like pufflings to call. You can call me for no reason at all.” He’s a beacon, pulling me gently into him like every single cell in my body is an iron filing and he’s magnetic north.

I hesitate, hating how needy I’ve become. “We didn’t talk yesterday, and that—I didn’t—I mean, it’s…” I stop. I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.

He drops into a whisper. “It’s okay. I’ve missed you too.” That’s reassuring, but I didn’t say that I missed him. I mean, it’s only been a day. I’m fine. Super-duper fine.

“Julian, I’m stepping out for a moment.” A door closes with a solid thunk.

“I’ve gotten rather spoiled. Hearing your voice every day has become an essential,” Henry murmurs. He sighs as he says, “Do you know what’s even better? When you’re in bed, ready to fall asleep too. I can pretend we’re in the same bed.”

Oh my god, this man.

“It would be wonderful for about two minutes, then you would steal all of the covers and hog the pillows,” Henry adds, then chuckles. Oh my heart.

“For you, sweet Henry, I’d share the pillows and maybe a few of the covers. I do have an important question for you, in addition to the puffling update. I need an answer, or it will bug me, and I won’t be able to go about my day.” Gross exaggeration, but what can you do when you want to keep Henry on the line for another minute or two? I’m not needy; I need Henry to feel needed. That’s all.

Luckily, he plays along, asking, “Okay, what’s the question?

“The world is being overrun by zombies, actual brain-slurping zombies.”

“Okay. There’s an important question coming, I can feel it.”

He’s so tolerant of my antics. If we were texting, he would get multiple smiley face emojis right now. “What song is the best for a zombie invasion?” I barely finish the sentence, and he’s blurting out the answer.

“‘Knights of Shame’ by AWOLNATION.”

“Henry, seriously, you do that so fast, it’s like you don’t even think about it.” It’s kind of a cool superpower. Way better than making random men shoot their load by talking about zombies.