Mr. Wrong Number(54)

“Colin’s wrong, actually.” I looked right at his blue eyes and said, “This freelance job is super part time and the wage is terrible. You can’t even really call it work.”

I saw his jaw clench—good, I’d irritated him—before my mother sucked him into a whole lot of ass kissing. I was forgotten, thank God, and when Colin got up from the table to take a phone call ten minutes later, I quickly said my goodbyes to the family and took off.



* * *



? ? ?

I SPENT THE afternoon writing automobile descriptions for car dealerships, my amazing new shitty freelance job. I kept falling asleep on my stool, so I took a break and went onto my deck to watch the rain. It was depressing and cold—usually my favorite—and seemed appropriate for my situation.

I snuggled into the chair, the chair that I’d shared with Colin, and I stared out at the wet cityscape. I needed to find a way to get my mojo back, to feel excited about the future. If I’d been able to bounce back from Eli and the fire, surely I could bounce back from Colin and the firing.

Right?

I needed to make something happen.

I scrolled through my contacts and clicked on Mr. Wrong Number. I knew it was a risk, especially since he’d just come back, but I was done waiting around for things to just fall into place.

I was going to do it, consequences be damned.


Me: I know what we’ve said from the beginning, but I think we should meet. I’m sure there are a thousand reasons why it shouldn’t happen, but I don’t care anymore. I will be at Cupps (coffee shop) Friday night at 7pm. Hopefully you won’t ghost me again.





Colin


Fuck.

What in the hell was she doing to me? To herself? I stared at the phone, sitting on my desk as I worked on the real estate budget for next year, and couldn’t quite believe it. Her life was shit right now, so how was getting stood up going to help her? She had to know that I—he—wasn’t going to show, right? I mean, after all the ghosting, she really thought this guy would show up in person?

Shit.

I hadn’t expected her to be at the Marshall breakfast—she never went—and something about the way she’d looked at me while inhaling soggy pancakes messed with my head.

It was almost like I missed her, and that wasn’t remotely okay.

Jack’s sister, she was Jack’s fucking sister, dammit. Your best friend’s sister, you moron.

Surely it was just the unbelievable sex messing with my mind. Olivia was just Olivia Marshall—klutzy little smart-ass—and there was no way I could miss her.

Fuck, no.

I took off my glasses and rubbed my eyes. I didn’t like the thought of Liv being stood up, but it was her own damned fault for proposing we meet. Mr. Wrong Number and Miss Misdial had agreed on anonymity, and just because she was having a bad stretch didn’t mean that changed the rules.

Tough lesson, but she was bringing it on herself.





Olivia


“That sounds terrible.” Sara motioned for the bartender to refill her glass and said to me, “But if it pays the bills, I’d totally write car descriptions.”

“And that’s where I’m at.” I crossed my legs and took a chug of my rum and Coke. I hadn’t felt like venturing out when Sara had called to invite me to happy hour, but what else did I really have going on? Usually at that hour of the day, I went out on my deck and pathetically watched the commuters—who still had their jobs—make their way home.

I hadn’t left the apartment since IHOP three days before, though, so the still-functioning part of my brain accepted her invite and forced me to shower for my own good.

“You’ll get another job in no time. You’re a great writer.” She leaned back on her stool and shook her head. “I still can’t believe you were the 402 Mom. I really loved your articles.”

“Thanks.” It felt good to hear that, even after the hellacious crash and burn.

“So listen. I had an ulterior motive for happy hour.” She crossed her arms and said, “Are you dating yet, post-Eli? Because my brother-in-law is adorable and single, and I think he would love you.”

Yeah, I hadn’t told her about Colin and all the sex.

I took another drink. The thought of dating made me want to pull out all my hair. Not because I was hung up on that dickhead with the big mouth and smoking bod, but because I wasn’t ready.

When Colin had started giving me long, slow kisses that night, I’d started feeling claustrophobic, terrified of falling under the influence of romance. Thankfully he’d kicked it up a notch, but it had reminded me that I was in no shape to pursue any entanglements. The only exception was Mr. Wrong Number, and that was only because we already sort of knew each other. “Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t think I’m ready.”

“Maybe you won’t know you’re ready until you actually go out with a guy.” The bartender set Sara’s glass on the bar in front of her and she smiled at him before continuing with, “You’re probably just scared because that Eli dude was horrible.”

Eli. She’d referenced Eli and . . . nothing. I hadn’t realized until that very moment that Eli had lost his power. When had that happened? Suddenly he was nothing anymore; like, I didn’t get any sort of feeling at all at the mention of his name.