Page 19 of Mr. Wrong Number

•••

I’D RACED THROUGHmy chores and was finally done with my assignments, so I was going to have a little fun and converse with Mr. Wrong Number for a bit. I dropped down to the raft-bed, feeling pathetically excited as I grabbed my phone and opened my messages.

And—yes—there was one from him, sent thirty minutes ago.

Mr. Wrong Number:Come out and play.

Butterflies flitted through my stomach as I lay back on the bed and smiled down at the phone.What do you want to play?

Mr. Wrong Number:Such a loaded question from the lady.

I knew the dude was a troll, but I still felt flirty.

Me:How about twenty questions?

Mr. Wrong Number:I thought we wanted to stay anonymous.

Me:We do. Maybe... twenty questions about things we like.

Mr. Wrong Number:Sexually?

“Wow.” I looked at the phone and wasn’t sure how to respond.

Me:That seems like it’s crossing a line, doesn’t it?

Mr. Wrong Number:It does, but it sounds fun, too.

Me:Okay, well, let’s keep it clinical.

Mr. Wrong Number:What does that even mean?

Me:I don’t know. Like, discussing sex without being intimate.

Mr. Wrong Number:So we’re like an old married couple?

Me:No, we’re like scientists discussing data.

Mr. Wrong Number:Permission to request an example.

Me:Granted.

I stared into space, smiling and trying to think of something. I typed,Sample question: What is your favorite position? Sample answer: Missionary.

Mr. Wrong Number:Please tell me the sample answer isn’t your actual boring-ass answer.

Me:I cannot answer until the game officially begins.

Mr. Wrong Number:Let’s go.

Me:Wait. If you’re a really freaky dude, like into stuff that requires chat rooms to meet others like you or if you have a special sex room, I would like to respectfully bow out of this game. No judgment, but we’re just on different levels.

Mr. Wrong Number:What if it’s just a tiny sex closet?

Me:Tiny Sex Closet. Band name—called it.

Mr. Wrong Number:Question One—What’s your favorite position?

Me:I like being on top.

---