Mr. Wrong Number(70)
“Not Colin Beck good, but yes.” Her smile was so big it was almost a laugh. “I’ll be making more than I was at the Times and the benefits are better.”
“Atta girl.” I set down the bread knife and wiped my hands on the towel I’d set on the counter. “When do you start?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I leaned my head down and kissed her happy mouth. “That’s soon.”
“They asked when I could start, and I was half-joking when I said tomorrow, and they were all ‘awesome,’ and I was all ‘awesome,’ and it was amazing.”
I laughed with her—it was contagious—and went over to take the casserole out of the oven. “If you want to sleep at your apartment tonight, I totally get it.”
“Oh, my God, Beck, if you think you’re getting out of letting me sleep in that bed of yours, you’ve got another thing coming.”
I pulled out the bubbling pasta pan and set it on the stove. “So it’s about my bed, then, not me?”
“I mean, you’re an orgasmic bonus, but yeah—I’ve missed that king-sized dreamboat.” She took another sip and added, “Besides, you get up at like five thirty so I’ll have plenty of time to scuttle home and get ready.”
“Isn’t scuttling what cockroaches do?”
“Among other vermin, yes.” She hopped off the counter, put her hands on her hips, and said, “Do you want me to, um, get out some dishes or pour some . . . cognac or something?”
“Cognac or something?”
She rolled her eyes and opened the cupboard where the dishes were. “I don’t know what people like you do when you have dinner dates. Multiple forks and brandy snifters? Cloth napkins and flaming appetizers?”
“Y’know, Marshall,” I said, never sure if she actually thought I was a pompous prick or if she was just messing with me, “just because I have a good job doesn’t mean I’m automatically a douche.”
Her face turned toward mine and she raised an eyebrow. “Then how do you explain your jack-off corkscrew?”
Now I rolled my eyes and muttered, “Touché.”
She set the dishes on the table and it reminded me of the night she’d made spaghetti and meatballs for Jack and me. She’d been nervous and irreverent, babbling as she served the food and owl-staring at me as I’d tried the first bite, and I’d been absolutely charmed by her.
Until she’d outed herself as Misdial before the night had ended.
God, that seemed like years ago.
We lost ourselves in the food and conversation after that. Liv launched into a story about how she’d broken her heel in a sidewalk crack on the way to her interview, and then she fetched the shoe from the entryway to show me how she’d repaired it by chewing six pieces of bubble gum. She asked about my day and made me describe every detail of my office so she could picture me in it whenever we texted.
I felt a little bit like Olivia; I was terrified because it seemed unbelievably perfect.
Olivia
“Marshall.” Colin’s voice was deep and sleepy. “Let’s go to bed.”
“Hmm?” I opened my eyes and there he was, looking down at me and smiling as I was all snuggled up against his chest on the couch. “I must’ve dozed off.”
“Think so?” he teased.
I sat up and stretched. “What time is it?”
He glanced at his watch. “Five after ten.”
“Ooh, so late.”
“You’ve got a big day tomorrow.” Colin shut off the TV. “You need a good night’s sleep.”
I climbed to my feet. “Can I borrow something to sleep in? I don’t feel like going back to my place right now.”
“Sure,” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me with him toward the bedroom.
It was weird, going into Colin’s room with him. I’d been in there alone many times, but following his tall body through the doorway and inside his lair was a brand-new experience.
He hit the wall switch and the bedside lamps turned on, infusing the room with warm light. Man, I loved his room. It was sleek and modern, but still had that cozy feel to it that made you want to snuggle under his heavy comforter and watch movies all day.
“Do you want actual pajamas,” he asked, pulling open a drawer, “or would you rather have a T-shirt?”
“Seriously, look at your drawers.” I walked over to him and peered over his shoulder at the clothes neatly folded in his dresser. “That attention to detail is obscene.”
“I’ll show you obscene,” he murmured, holding up a T-shirt for me. “Does this work?”
I nodded and took it, weirdly nervous all of a sudden.
But before I could overthink it, his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, glanced at the display, and said as if he was asking permission to answer, “It’s my sister.”
“Take it.”
He lifted the phone to his ear. “Hey, Jill. What’s up?”
For some reason, I found his friendship with his sister adorable.
He said, “Oh, yeah. Let me get you his number.”
Colin went out into the kitchen, so I took the time to change into his shirt and steal a pair of thick socks from his top drawer. I wasn’t sure whether or not he slept on a certain side of the bed, but I pulled back the blankets and climbed in the left side of the bed.