Page 20 of Right Number, Wrong Man
“Oh, the expensive French white I always order in for my birthday dinner? Can you even afford that?”
“No, but that’s how sure I am that I’ll win. And if I get a date, you’ll bring me an entire suitcase full of sweets and delicacies from your honeymoon in Europe.”
Andrea grins. “I’m in.”
“Deal.” I rise from the sofa, strolling out of the livingroom and into the hallway. “Loved talking to you, girl, but I have to get going. I still have errands to run before work.”
“Okie-dokie. You know our catch-up calls are my weekly highlight. But before you run…” She tilts her head. “Think about it, Hails. I bet under Colt’s stern Southern demeanor hides a real perv?—”
“Bye!” I shout and hang up.
My heart slams into my ribs as I enter the bedroom. I pause by the window, my eyes catching on the row of tall windows above the movie theater. The curtains are drawn, but the hairs on the back of my neck rise like they always do when I look at Colt’s apartment.
I can’t help feeling watched.
It’s nonsense. Just my overactive imagination acting up. To be fair, watching a million horror movies and a serial killer on the loose isn’t helping, either.
DatingColt, though? I scoff. What an insane idea. Chewing glass would be more fun than spending any minute more than I have to with that grumpy asshole.
Besides, I’ve never thought about him likethat.
Colt was always just… Colt. Mike’s older brother and an arrogant bully. The reason for my therapy bills until I gave up on getting over the arachnophobia his prank caused.
I never took note of Colt’s body. That he’s tall. And muscular. And his voice is smooth and dark and when he scowls?—
Oh shit, heishot! Andrea is right.
I think I’ll need a lobotomy to erase that knowledge, but it’s sticking to my brain like a piece of gum in my hair.
When did Colt turn hot? Was healwayshot?
After he graduated high school, we never talked much. We didn’t even see each other more than a handful oftimes. Deployment kept him busy. He missed most holidays and special occasions, including Mike’s and my wedding.
For his parents’ sake, I tried to make peace one Christmas in my early twenties, but whenever I tried to strike up a friendly conversation, he gave methatlook. The one reserved for me.
Brows drawn. Eyes slitted. Sneering. He basically looks at me like I’m smeared in cow dung and smell the part, too.
It always seemed like he’s physically repulsed by me and being around me causes him actual pain. I never understood how someone could hate me so much for no reason.
At first, I was hurt when he refused to talk to me as adults—except to argue with me. Then I figured fuck it and started arguing back.
If he won’t play nice, why should I?
With all our bickering at work, it’s a miracle he hasn’t fired me. I guess he thinks he owes it to Mike to keep a roof over his widow’s head.
We’re getting new movies in today, but I can’t look forward to that. Not with my intrusive thoughts about Colt and that stupid text from the stranger last night.
I sniffle, holding back another surge of angry tears.
Who would call the cops over accidental dirty texts? I bet that idiot and Colt would get along famously.
8
COLT
I regret impulsively jerkingoff to Hailey’s video last night. I’ve always fantasized about her, but seeing the real deal again is a whole other kind of poison and I’m hooked.
All day long, I could only think of pounding her holes until she cries out my name like a prayer. I still do while selling tickets in theRetro Reel.
