Page 8 of Wrong Number, Right Valentine

“I don’t know,” he continued. “I kind of didn’t mind. I got a really good dinner and some nice company. I was thinking maybe we could have a real date soon.”

“Yeah, I’d like that. A proper date would be great.” What I wanted to do was throw my arms around him and thank him for giving me a second go at a date. I had no idea who I had tried to call, but it was officially the best wrong number ever. “Would you mind writing your number down? My phone’s currently living in a vat of rice at the repair shop, but should be back in the morning.”

“Do I want to know?” he teased.

“Probably not—let’s just say you are better at dishes than I was yesterday.”

He wrote his number down, and I put mine in his phone. He’d agreed to our first real date, and I was already giddy about it. He still refused to take the money, which made me feel like a complete jerk, but I figured I’d make it up to him on our date.

I watched him walk out the door and already missed him. Waiting for our date wasn’t going to be easy.

7

BANKS

“Sorry, Banks!” My boss poked his head into my office.

Having a name that was also a noun describing a type of business lent to so many confusing and awkward exchanges. As a kid, my friends had teased me in the playground, making jokes about banks stealing money, their folks were changing banks, and how people waited in line at banks.

It was tiresome, and I railed against my folks’ decision to give me that name.

As an adult, people didn’t usually make derogatory comments, but situations could get messed up.

Like right now.

Was Foster making a general statement about banks? Probably not, but I had no clue why he was apologizing to me.

“Hope your Valentine’s Day wasn’t messed up.”

“Ummm, no.” That response gave me some time to figure out what he was talking about. Or he might disappear and the conversation would go nowhere.

“Tommy flaked, and my husband told me I shouldn’t set any more friends up on a blind date.”

“Good advice.” I begged the universe to send Foster away so I didn’t have to reveal I was at a loss as to who Tommy was.

“Glad you’re not upset.”

“On the contrary. I had a great night.”

Foster made an odd clicking sound and vanished. I let out a long breath, thankful he’d decided matchmaking wasn’t the way forward.

I sent a silent thank-you to Tommy for not doing what he was supposed to, which was calling me, I guessed.

I checked my phone, thinking Reg might have texted. We’d exchanged numbers last night or very early this morning, but the guy was probably still asleep, and even if he was awake, that didn’t mean he’d rushed to the phone repair shop.

But we did agree we had to go on a proper date and not one after both of us had worked a long shift, and in my case, a dirty and sweaty one. When I showered last night, I scrubbed my skin trying to get rid of the kitchen smells from my pores.

It was mid-afternoon when the phone beeped. Reg! Every time I saw his name, I pictured me kneeling before him and him knighting me with his sword. A giggle burst out of me because he wasn’t holding a weapon made of the finest steel. Nope. He had his cock in hand.

How are the hands?

Itching to do something other than fly over the keyboard. That was ambiguous enough that he could take it any way he chose.

I have a solution.

Goody. I held the phone close, thinking he might send me a not-safe-for-work image. Hoping he’d appear at my door wrapped in pink ribbon, my hands trembled as they grasped the phone.

But instead, he called.

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