Mr. Wrong Number(21)

I wasn’t interested in ever getting drunk on that shit again.


Me: Imagine if you could just order what you wanted like you were at a restaurant.

Mr. Wrong Number: Example, please.

Me: Good evening, Gar?on. For starters, I would like the one orgasm oral—fast and intense, please. And for the entrée, I think I’d like to get flipped over and pounded from behind.

Mr. Wrong Number: Would you like dessert with that, sunshine?



I made another noise, apparently, because Jack was shaking his head when I looked up from my phone.

“Are we a middle schooler now, texting boys at the dinner table? What’s with all the giggles?”

I felt the red streak across my hot cheeks. “I have funny friends, that’s all. More entertaining than baseball.”

“Says you.”

I rolled my eyes and went back to the titillating conversation I was having with Mr. Wrong Number.


Me: Yes. I would like the chef’s special—the deep sleep on my side of the bed with absolutely no spooning. (Hands back menu, takes sip of water)



“Any wine left in that bottle, Liv?”

I looked over at Colin, feeling totally busted. “Um, what?”

He gave me a funny look. “Did you kill the shiraz?”

“Oh. No.” I wrapped my fingers around the bottle and held it up, peering through the dark green glass. “Looks like there are at least two glasses left.”

“Nice.” Colin stood and stretched his back while I set the phone next to my plate and went to the kitchen for a Dr Pepper. I didn’t give it a thought as I went in search of a sobering beverage, but as soon as I heard my phone buzz—it was really loud—my head whipped in that direction. Much to my horror, he was looking down at the table, staring at my phone as the screen lit up from an incoming text.

Shit, shit, shit. I was an adult, but I didn’t want that jackhammer to see my sexual dinner menu. I casually speed-walked to the table, grabbed my phone, and looked at him, but he was filling his glass while appearing to watch the Cubs game on the TV.

Whew, he hadn’t seen anything. I unlocked the screen.


Mr. Wrong Number: Well I promise, if we were together irl, I would happily serve up that order. Hell, it’s what I would fantasize about you ordering, tbh.



It wasn’t logical, but his response sent a shiver through me. My fingers slid over the touch screen.


Me: Well it’s a shame we can’t . . . share a meal. Eat together. Ugh, gross. No way to make it sound like I’m not being creepy. I’m just saying that it’s nice to share a common interest, alright?!



I hit send, then added: Did that sound horndog creepy?

I hit send on that, but then felt the need to add: You know what I mean, right?

I looked up as I hit send, and Colin wasn’t looking at the TV anymore. No, he was staring down at the phone in his hand as if he’d never seen a phone before.





5





Colin


Holy shit.

Miss Misdial is Olivia?

She couldn’t be.

What in the actual fuck?

It couldn’t be possible, but I’d seen my text on her screen under the contact name of Mr. Wrong Number.

“You okay, Beck?”

I stared at my phone as it went dark and the messages disappeared. I didn’t want to look at her, didn’t want to see her face at that moment, but still I raised my eyes from the phone. Olivia was eyeing me from her spot at the table with an amused smirk, the smart-ass grin she always wore for me tilting up one side of her mouth.

“Fine.” I cleared my throat and slid my phone into my pocket. “Goddamned wonderful.”

I carried my glass over to the sink, needing to get out of there and clear my head. Because I wasn’t fine or goddamned wonderful. I set it on the counter, turned on the faucet, and clenched my teeth so hard they hurt. Apparently God had a sense of humor, and Olivia the Hottest Mess Marshall was my fantasy texter.

Hell.

I liked Liv just fine—she was easy on the eyes and fun to mess with—but Misdial was on another level. Or so I thought. I’d thought she was funny, charming, sexy, smart, unorthodox, and even kind of sweet.

Not like Olivia.

Could it really be her?

I started scrubbing one of the plates in the sink and felt gutted, like I’d just lost something by losing Misdial. Honestly, I was so damned disappointed I wanted to hit something. I wanted to tee off on something so badly because just like that, without warning, I no longer had a relationship with a stranger on the phone.

And not only was it over for me, but I was going to have to ghost her.

There was no other option.

I couldn’t tell Olivia the truth; I’d shared too much and couldn’t deal with her having that kind of information. And I definitely couldn’t keep texting anonymously now that I knew Jack’s baby sister was the recipient.

Oh, hell no.

So . . . I was done. I was done, it was finished, and I was going to have to nut up about the entire debacle and get over it. I’d known better anyway, right?

“So since I cooked, are you doing the dishes?” Olivia appeared at my side, but her perfume had reached me before she did. “I think that’s the rule.”