Page 8 of Mr. Wrong Number

Mr. Wrong Number:You don’t find this kind of... entertaining?

Me:I do, actually.

Mr. Wrong Number:So...?

Me:So... sticking with my original answer. These things always get weird.

Mr. Wrong Number:You’re probably right. Especially with your bad luck.

Me:Yup.

Mr. Wrong Number:Well, good night, then, Miss Misdial.

Me:Good night to you, Mr. Wrong Number.

I put my phone away and it almost felt like I was waking up from something, like I’d just come outside after a month in a dark basement. I felt more relaxed than I’d been in a really long time as I stretched in the moonlight and stacked my hands behind my head.

It was strange to think, but I kind of felt like it was becauseI’d unloaded on Wrong Number. I feltlighter.Light enough to go back to the apartment, in fact.

Because really, who cared if Jack and Colin thought I was a loser? Why had I let that bother me in the first place? I loved my brother, but the reality was that theirs was just an apartment for me to sleep in for the next month.

A really nice apartment that I was going to enjoy, dammit. Like an Airbnb without the required payment.

I texted Jack:Are you guys home?

Jack:At the Old Market. Why?

Yes! Alone time.

Me:Just curious. Have fun.

I went down to my car, grabbed the trash bag full of high school clothes, and headed upstairs. I’d been so emotionally shredded the night before that I hadn’t had a chance to get comfortable and explore the place. I hummed as I rode the elevator, feeling a little more like a functional, thriving adult than a cheated-on loser for the first time since Eli thanked me for introducing him to his soul mate.

When I got inside, I dropped my keys on the table by the door and dragged my garbage bag into the office. I dumped everything out onto the floor in the corner, digging through the pile until I found what I was looking for: the soft green plaid flannel pants I’d slept in every night in high school and my paint-stained CAT hoodie.

It didn’t matter that it was June. The apartment was freezing, so the outfit was like wearing a blanket. I burrowed into its softness, slid my feet into a pair of mismatched socks, and threw my hair up in a ponytail. Two quick flicks in my phone’s Bluetooth settings, and I was headed for the kitchen.

“Alexa, playHit It Mix.”

“Sex Talk” started and I cranked the volume, bouncing a little across that swanky apartment. I’d made the playlist as a joke for Eli, filling it with nasty songs I knew he’d find offensive, but apparently I was tougher to offend because I fell in love with the potpourri of upbeat, über-sexual songs instead.

And now that he was the biggest bastard in the world, the playlist was my theme music.

I did a few pirouettes on the sleek kitchen floor, getting maximum spin in my socks, before wandering over to the windows that overlooked the city. I was obsessed with that part of the apartment. I could stand there—in front of those huge floor-to-ceiling windows—and watch the world for hours.

“Want a beer?”

“God.” I turned around, my hand on my heart, and Colin was standing in the doorway of his bedroom, one side of his mouth slid up in a smirk. He was wearing a black shirt and a pair of jeans, his hair still perfect in its Ivy League style. “I didn’t know anyone else was home.”

He pointed toward the speaker above him in the ceiling. “I kind of assumed.”

“I thought you were with my brother.” I felt my cheeks get hot as Megan Thee Stallion started singing exactly how her man liked it.Superloudly.

I nearly screamed, “Alexa, turn off music!”

Colin’s eyes were smiling and he crossed his arms. “So, beer...?”

Unaccustomed to his congeniality, I asked, “Are you offering, or just taking a poll?”

---