Page 20 of Mr. Wrong Number

Mr. Wrong Number:Question Two—Traditional on top, or reverse cowgirl?

That made me literally laugh out loud, and I rolled onto my stomach.

Me:Okay, what is with that? First of all, who names sexual positions? Is it high schoolers? It has to be because the names are so idiotic. Unless a Stetson is a requirement for the position. Then it is perfectly appropriate. Secondly, if any female says reversecowgirl is her favorite, she’s lying. The angle is all wrong and who wants to use knobby knees for leverage?

Mr. Wrong Number:Wow. Tell me how you really feel.

Me:Okay, your turn. Question One: What’s your favorite position?

Mr. Wrong Number:I like the missionary/from-behind combo.

Me:I didn’t know we could do a combo. And I thought you said missionary was boring.

Mr. Wrong Number:No, I said it’s boring for you. I’m really good at it, though.

I rolled my eyes and set down the phone. What was wrong with me? Why was I feeling so giddy, talking to a stranger? I’d seen every episode of MTV’sCatfish; I knew the facts.

But still, I was smitten with my anonymous friend.

The only thing that made my affinity for this weird texting connection okay was that I wanted this guy to be anonymous forever. I didn’t ever want to meet him or get to know him in real life; that would ruin whatever made this so great.

So I was fine to play a little.

I opened the door and went into the kitchen for some water. I needed to cool down a bit or I’d end up sending boob pics to a stranger like some sort of irresponsible college girl. I walked over to the fridge, and just as I was opening it, Colin came out of his room.

Oh, sweet Lord.

He was shirtless and shredded, wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs that showed off the corded muscles in his thighs,and I felt the heat rush up my chest and burn my cheeks as I quickly trained my eyes on his face.

Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down.

“Hey.” I struggled to make my suddenly dry mouth form words. “I didn’t know you were back.”

“Well, I am.” He walked over, completely confident in his underwear. He looked a little less sarcastic than usual, somehow a little softer as he gave me a half grin. “Looks like it’s a thirsty night for everyone.”

Wow. Thirsty.

And so much naked.

I cleared my throat and grabbed two bottles of water. “Definitely.”

I extended one to him and he took it, his voice a little scratchy when he said, “Thanks.”

I think I managed to sayblerg-g’nightor something equally eloquent.

When I got back to my phone, I read Wrong Number’s message and felt a little giggly.

Mr. Wrong Number:Last question for the night. Long and slow, or fast and furious?

I imagined there was a sexy eloquence I should invoke, but I couldn’t stop myself from my knee-jerk answer.

Me:Fast and furious. Every time.

Mr. Wrong Number:You’re not into hot oil, Enya-on-a-loop, tantric kind of bedding?

Wow.I bit down on my lip, wondered yet again what the hell I was doing with this whole exchanging-sex-talk-with-a-stranger thing, and then I responded.

Me:I’ll take back-scratching, shoulder-biting, frantic-sex-against-a-wall for five hundred, Alex.

---