Page 42 of Mr. Wrong Number

Mr. Wrong Number:He’s not your dad. Text if you want to text.

Me:How do you know he’s not my dad?

Mr. Wrong Number:Ew. How is the date going?

Me:Meh. Like, he’s attractive and hasn’t pissed me off, but he reminds me of my brother so...

Mr. Wrong Number:Oof.

Me:Oof indeed.

Mr. Wrong Number:I have a great idea.

I rolled my eyes but giggled.Proceed.

Mr. Wrong Number:Go back to the date, but keep texting me. See how many texts it takes for him to say something. I’m betting on ten.

Me:I don’t like confrontation.

Mr. Wrong Number:Chicken.

Me:I’m not a chicken. I’ll do it, but only because I want to.

Mr. Wrong Number:Atta girl.

When I sat back down, I was full-on grinning. Paul smiled back but looked at me like he was waiting for the punch line, for which I had none, of course. We fell back into small talk, and he was entertaining like a comedian when it came to pop culture. I was cackling as he talked aboutThe Bachelor, and it was going so well that I actually decided to ditch the texting challenge.

Until...

“—so I mean yeah, the dude was a creep, but the hashtagMe Too stuff has gotten way out of hand. Like, a guy with money can’t even be alone with a woman anymore.”

I slowly gnawed on a chewy piece of bacon. “What do you mean?”

“These women—not all women, you know—but a lot of women will just make shit up to bring a guy down.”

My hands immediately went to my phone, because the date was done.

Me:Game starts now.

Mr. Wrong Number:Excellent. Give me one of your golden questions.

Me:If you had to choose between showering and brushing your teeth—and you could only choose one—which would you pick?

Mr. Wrong Number:Forever?

Me:Yup.

I glanced up and Paul was eating and looking at the table next to us.

Mr. Wrong Number:I guess I’d go with showering...?

Me:You do realize that no one will ever kiss you again if you stop brushing your teeth.

Mr. Wrong Number:Well I don’t think I’ll be getting a lot of action with B.O., either.

“Do you want to go get more food?” Paul’s eyebrows were up and he was staring at me as if waiting for me to participate.

“No, thanks. I’m good.” I set my napkin on my plate. “But you go ahead.”

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