Mr. Wrong Number(30)
“Nope.”
“Fine.” He moved his hips back and forth, shaking the air mattress as he said, “I have no idea how you sleep on this thing.”
“It’s fine. Not all of us are used to fancy Purple mattresses, so we can deal better than you.”
“Wait a minute.” He crossed his arms, which totally made his biceps pop, and he caught me in his blue-eyed stare. “How do you know my bed is a Purple?”
“You just seem the type.” I rolled my eyes, hoping to be convincing.
“And my blanket smelled like perfume the other day.”
“So? That’s better than it smelling like sewage, right?” I stared at his narrowed, accusing eyes, my chin up, but something in my face must’ve given me away.
“Holy shit, you slept in my bed when I was out of town, didn’t you?” He looked horrified but also a smidge entertained as he sat up straighter and waited for my answer.
“Oh, my God, no, I would never do that.” I tucked my hair behind my ears and muttered, “I’ve just taken a couple naps on it, above the covers.”
“A couple naps.” He nodded his head and pursed his lips. “Above the covers.”
“Get over it—it’s not like I wore shoes on it or anything. This thing just sucks,” I said, bouncing a little on the raft, “and your perfectly made bed called to me.”
He just looked at me with a sarcastic half smile on his face, not saying a word, like he knew everything about me and was both amused and irritated by his knowledge.
“Oh, come on—you never would’ve known if I hadn’t told you, so just forget about it.” It must’ve been because I was tired, but I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop a giggle from escaping. “It never happened. I was just kidding, actually.”
He gave me a slow head shake and a begrudging smile. “I’ve never known anyone as bratty as you.”
“Look in a mirror, Beck.” I crossed my arms, matching his stance.
He made a noise—in either agreement or frustration—and climbed to his feet. It was odd; somehow Colin was able to pop right up, sticking the landing of air mattress disembarkment, whereas I usually stumbled and bounced a little before gaining my footing.
He gave me a weird look as he hovered by the door, like there was a lot going on in his head. He glanced at the wall above me before lowering his eyes and saying, “So I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”
“I guess you will.” I set the pretzel vat on the floor next to my bed and leaned down to take off my shoes. I unlaced the first sandal and said, “I’ve got a nine a.m. brunch date, actually.”
His eyes seemed to focus more intently on me when I said that. “Oh, yeah? How’d you meet Mr. Brunch?”
“Running.” I pictured Paul’s face and wished I would’ve canceled. “He was there when I rescued the old lady.”
“Is that right?” He crossed his arms and said, “So why didn’t he rescue her instead of you?”
“Because I was entirely capable, sexist.”
“I saw your knees.” His eyes dropped down to my legs, and my stomach dropped down to the floor. “Didn’t look like you were that capable to me.”
“Whatever.” I dropped my shoe onto the floor. “Are you going anywhere tomorrow afternoon, by the way?”
“Why?”
I shrugged and said quietly, “I might need a nap.”
He shook his head but I could tell he wanted to smile. “Come on, Marshall. What if I want to nap on my bed?”
“I won’t stop you.”
He immediately smirked and his eyes got that rowdy spark. “Really.”
Oh, damn. I’d meant it to mean suit yourself or do what you want I don’t care, but it totally came out as a feel-free-to-nap-with-me purr. I tried to sound unaffected as I took off my second shoe and said, “Really. As long as I’m on your pillow-soft bed, I don’t care what you do.”
His eyes raked over me, from the top of my head to my little bare toes, and I felt it like a physical touch. He let out a big exhale, shook his head like he didn’t know what was happening, and turned and left, closing the door behind him.
7
Olivia
“Follow me.”
I walked behind the hostess as she led us to a table, trying not to grit my teeth as I felt Paul do the whole guiding-me-by-my-lower-back thing. Like I didn’t know how to get there without his assistance. When my alarm had gone off, I’d seriously considered canceling, but then I remembered we were going to Upstream, and my stomach talked my brain out of it.
Once we sat down, the waitress appeared, and before I had a chance to even think about the menu, Paul said, “Can we get a couple coffees? And we’re both having the buffet.”
He wasn’t wrong, but he’d ordered for me without asking first.
Which made him absolutely wrong, right?
“Should we go get some food?” Paul smiled and gestured to the brunch buffet on the other side of the restaurant. “I’m starving.”
“Me too.” I stood and told myself to relax. Just because he probably wasn’t Mr. Right didn’t mean he couldn’t be fun to hang out with. “Let’s do it.”