Page 25 of Mr. Wrong Number

And then I did.

The kitchen hadn’t been spotless when I left. The kitchen had been a disaster when I left. I said, “Did you clean it up?”

He just shook his head and pointed toward Colin’s room. “Hedid, and he was already pissed at me for springing amonthlong roomie on him last minute. I told him you wouldn’t trash the place when he agreed to let you stay. Why couldn’t you just pick up after yourself?”

I stepped out of my Chucks and whisper-yelled, “Why is he home already?”

“I don’t know.”

“Aren’t you best friends?”

“We’re grown-ass men, moron. We don’t tell each other our schedules.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

I rolled my eyes. “So, what—did he bitch to you about the mess like he’s the house mother here? Itishalf your apartment, you wuss. Get a backbone.”

“First of all, it’shiscondo and I pay him rent, which he gives me a big-ass break on, so as always, you’re wrong.”

“Oh, well, that makes—”

“Second of all, he didn’t have to bitch to me because we got home and witnessed your war zone at the same time, numb nuts. I called you a dipshit and took a shower, and by the time I got out it looked like this.”

“Geez, Jack, how long was your shower?”

“Shh.” He looked over his shoulder, then looked back at me with his face contorted like I was full-out screaming. “And don’t do that. Don’t turn this on me when you’re the one who keeps screwing up and it’s only been a week.”

“I know, I know.” I went around him and set my grocery bags on the counter. “You’re right and I’m sorry.”

His face screwed up again. “What?”

“Listen, I can fix this.” I felt a little bad for putting Jack in a bad position with Colin, especially now that I knew he was doing my brother a major favor by letting him live there for a cheaper rent. “Tell Colin that dinner will be ready at seven, there’s good wine, and I have news that will make him happy enough to forgive my little kitchen transgression.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Did you make Grandma’s meatballs just to butter us up?”

“Yep.”

“You tricky little shit, that might actually work.” He breathed in deeply and said, “I’ll tell him. But just quit being a screwup, okay?”

“Okay.” That actually stung a little. “But keep your asses in your rooms until seven.”

•••

AT EXACTLY SEVENo’clock, as I was standing in front of the island, trying my damnedest to open a bottle of wine, Colin came out of his room. He’d clearly dressed for dinner, wearing a button-down shirt and a really nice pair of pants, and I felt like a moron in the black-and-white polka-dot sundress that I’d worn to the “beach party” dance my junior year.

He looked hot and sophisticated as hell, and I was wearing the same thing I’d sported when I was first-based by Alex Brown in the front seat of his dad’s Camaro. I’d paired the dress with a black hair scarf and red lipstick, but I still felt like I was wearing the Ghost of Fashions Past.

Colin walked over, his eyes laughing, and he cleared his throat. “Need some help, Liv?”

“What kind of stupid corkscrew is this?” My entire face and neck were hot as I held up the sleek device that looked a little pornographic to me. “It’s like rich people want to make things difficult so the rest of us feel dumb.”

“Which rich people are you referring to?” He took the wine bottle from my hands, and two motions later it was open.

I rolled my eyes and turned my back to him, walking over to the stove. “The people who make idiotic corkscrews like that. And the pretentious boobs who buy them.”

That made him laugh and he followed me into the kitchen. “Did you just call me a pretentious boob?”

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