Page 92 of Mr. Wrong Number

“The next time I talked to her was when she called and said her building was burning down and she needed a place to stay. So... your guess is as good as mine.”

Poor Liv. I mean, obviously I was glad she hadn’t ended up with that prick, but that had to have hurt, thinking you were getting a proposal when you were actually getting cheated on.

“What was he like?”

“Fucking sweet as hell you are.” He shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so insecure in my entire life. Just be yourself, sunshine, and she will love you as much as I do.”

I started laughing. “You’re such a dick.”

He grinned before saying, “You got no worries. He had a beard, bad hair, and shitty taste in music.”

Why did that make me feel better—what was I, a fourteen-year-old boy? “What’d he listen to?”

“He had a Felston playlist on Spotify.”

“Felston?” I made a face—we hated that shit. “What a pussy.”

18

Olivia

The next couple weeks fell into a weird, unplanned routine. I filled out job applications and wrote boring car descriptions while Colin went to work, and then Colin would call on his way home to see if I needed anything. I always came up with something—food, trash bags, a growler of O! Gold from Upstream—just so he had to come visit me.

And visit he did.

Every night he came into my apartment, loosened his tie in that way that I loved, and spent the evening hanging out with me. We ate together, watched TV together, and used each other’s bodies in the most delightful way. Like clockwork, he gathered his stuff around midnight and went back to his place without ever pushing to stay over.

It was perfect.

If it weren’t for the fact that I was terrified he was going tobreak my heart, I’d say things with him were about as close to perfect as they could possibly get.

I was sitting out on the balcony with him one afternoon after he’d left work early, both of us reading as the threat of autumn cooled the air, when my phone rang. I didn’t know the number, but still picked up and said, “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Olivia Marshall?”

I glanced at Colin and stood to go inside. The last thing I needed was him hearing me get a call about an overdraft charge or something, although I was pretty sure my account was still in mediocre shape. “This is she.”

“Hi. This is Elena Wrigley, the editor ofFeminine Ragemagazine.”

I opened the slider and went inside, trying to sound unaffected and cool. But that magazine was my favorite; it was likePeoplecombined withTeen Voguecombined withMcSweeney’s. I managed to find my voice and deliver a perky “Hey.”

“I got your application for the content writer position. Do you have time to talk?”

I walked over to one of the stools and sat down, terrified to get excited. “Of course.”

“I’m going to be honest with you. I got your application because recruiting was going to pass it to the content editor, but then they read about the fire. The story actually cracked me up, and I fell down a rabbit hole of finding information about you.”

“Shit.”Dammit. I just saidshitto a potential employer.“I mean, um—”

“No, it’s a totally appropriate response.” She was laughing, so I let out a breath. “I have to ask you, though, Olivia, if youhave a sense of humor about these things or if they’re sore subjects.”

“I definitely can laugh at myself. May I ask why?”

“Of course. But I don’t want to offend you, so please jump in if I am.”

“Okay.” I was intrigued.

“We used to have an advice column called Ask Abbie.It was super popular because Abbie was kind of bitchy, but also hilarious and good with the advice.”

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