Heidi's Guide to Four Letter Words(24)

“Mmmmmm, that’s nice. That’s really nice. You know, if something like that would ever happen to me with the neighbor. Which it won’t. Because he doesn’t see me like that. I’m just the dorky girl next door who can’t string together five words when I speak to him. I should maybe move on to the next part of my homework right now and save these other excerpts for later. I’m supposed to send him a text. How am I supposed to send him a text and act normal when I’ve got words like grind, wetter, sucks, and rhymes with flit swirling around in my brain?

“It’s fine. Everything is fine. I’m fine. Just jump off the cliff and do it already, Heidi. I’m pulling up his contact information. I’m starting a new text… uff da. Why are these buttons so small? Forget it. I’ll just use the voice-to-text thing. I’ll dictate it into my phone. Easy-peasy.

“Hey, Brent! How you doin’?

“There. My best Joey Tribbiani from Friends, even though text doesn’t have sound. Whatever. It’s simple and cool and flirty, just like my man, Joey. Wait. That’s not at all what I said, you stupid phone. Could you imagine if I actually sent that to him? Delete, delete.

“Oh, God. Oh no! Please tell me I did not accidentally hit Send!”





Chapter 12





“It’s not that bad.”

“Oh, it’s bad. It’s really bad,” I mutter to Aubrey as I pace around my living room, holding my cell phone to my ear with one hand and biting the thumb nail off my other hand.

Thank goodness she gave me her cell phone number in case of an emergency. This is a code blue situation right now. I’m pretty sure I died of heart failure and now my reanimated corpse is wearing a hole in my carpet.

“Read it for me one more time,” Aubrey requests, a hint of laughter in her voice that makes me want to reach through the phone and possibly punch her in the throat.

Who knew wine and bad decisions could make me so angry?

I pull the phone away from my ear and reread the text my stupid phone sent to Brent, where the word Delivered sits right underneath it, mocking me. With a sigh, I bring the phone back to my ear.

“Maybe it’s not even his number. Maybe he gave me a fake number like girls do at bars.”

Aubrey laughs. “So you’d rather Brent gave you a fake phone number because he thinks you’re annoying, instead of the fact that you sent him the best autocorrected text I’ve ever heard in my life?”

“Yes!” I shout. “Wait, no. I don’t know! Why did I let you talk me into this?”

“Because you’re being bold and confident. You drunk-texted him. Big deal. I once sent my father-in-law a picture of my boobs on accident, because his name is right under Jameson’s name in my phone.”

“Oh my. What did you do?”

“I didn’t speak to him for six months, because I was mortified. Are you kidding me? My father-in-law saw my boobs, Heidi. There’s no coming back from that. Then one time, we went over there for dinner, and my mother-in-law made chicken breasts, and as soon as she announced what was for dinner, I started choking so hard I almost passed out.”

“This is doing nothing to make me feel better,” I complain.

“Did you send Brent a picture of your naked tits?”

“No!”

“Then you’re fine. You can come back from this. If he doesn’t respond, it will be a great conversation starter the next time you see him. Oh, hey there, Brent! How about that text I sent you? Oh, jeez. Uff da. Wine. Am I right or am I right? Done any ice fishing lately? How ’bout those Twins this season, eh?” Aubrey says in her best Minnesota accent that sounds entirely too Canadian.

“I don’t talk like that,” I complain with a roll of my eyes.

“There’s a reason why my husband is the actor and I am the writer. Seriously, you have nothing—”

Aubrey stops talking abruptly when the sound of my doorbell chimes loudly through the house.

“Holy shit. Was that your doorbell?” she asks through a loud whisper.

“Holy shoot, that was my doorbell!” I hiss back. I stand in the middle of my living room, staring at my front door like it might suddenly come to life and start eating all the small children on my street, and possibly a few adults.

“It’s him! Oh my God, it’s him!” she squeals, which makes all the wine in my stomach churn until I have to press my hand there to stop myself from puking all over my carpet.

“There’s no way it’s him,” I mumble with a shake of my head as I slowly inch toward the door. “Why would he just show up at my door at ten o’clock at night?”

“Um, did you read the text you sent him? He probably thinks you have a brain aneurism and he’s making sure you’re still alive.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t that bad?” I whisper-scream.

“What kind of a new friend would I be if I was completely honest? When we’re old friends, then I can bust out the truth bombs. Wait, what’s happening? What are you doing? You can’t just ignore the doorbell!”

“Shhh, I’m listening. I have my ear pressed against the door,” I reply as quietly as possible.

“What in the fresh hell are you listening for? Don’t you have one of those peephole things? Just look out it and see if it’s him!”