Page 82 of Right Number, Wrong Man
I texted him the details for the party last night and judging by his instant triple texts back, he seemedveryexcited.
I felt guilty for never calling him. That’s the main reason I asked him out, but there’s also the bet with Andrea. I don’t have the spare cash for a crate of her favorite wine and what’s the harm in one date? Worst case, I’ll have to suffer through some hours of awkward conversations.
“Is that a new linen dress?” I ask my mom, trying to steer the conversation away from my irregular love life. “Are you going somewhere special this morning?”
“Yes, the community center downtown has a class on guided meditation today. Oh, that reminds me!” She squints at the screen. “Gosh, it’s so late already!” She jumps up, throwing air kisses at the camera. “I’m sorry, honey, but I have to go or I’ll miss the beginning.”
I wave. “Have fun and give Dad my love!”
She waves back before the connection cuts off and I shut the laptop, looking around my quiet kitchen. I’m not one for meditation or spiritualism, but I have my own state of zen right here.
I put on coffee before taking a plate from the kitchen cabinet. Humming, I pluck a croissant off the tray and plop it on the plate. While I have breakfast, I’ll stream that new British slasher movie that just released. For lunch, I could order my favorite greencurry or?—
The shrill echo of the doorbell rips me out of my peaceful mood. I trip, stubbing my little toe on the table.
“Crap!” I howl and put the plate on the counter to rub my throbbing foot.
The bell rings again.
“Okay, okay, I heard it the first time, asshole! Calm the fuck down!” I shout.
So much for fucking zen.
I stomp to the front door and rip it open, but the person on the other side has my pulse leaping into my throat.
Colt standswith his arms behind his back, brows quirking. A smirk tugs on his lips and my stomach flutters. He should really smile more often. Not at me though.
He shouldneversmile at me again because it makes me feel like my heart is falling out of my coochie.
“Somebody’s grumpy this mornin’,” he says, blue eyes sparkling like sapphires from under the brim of his hat.
I huff, raising my arms and dropping them to my thighs with a dramatic slap. “Not untilyourang the bell like a lunatic. It’s Saturday fucking morning! I could’ve dropped my croissant, asshat!”
He chuckles. “Maybe this’ll put you in a better mood, Spitfire.” From behind his back, he takes a cup holder from my favorite coffee shop. “Two iced raspberry caramel macchiatos. Five pumps of raspberry syrup, milk, double espresso, whipped cream, and extra caramel syrup on top. Exactly how you like ‘em.”
Heat rises from my neck to my face. Colt knows my custom coffee order?
He saw me get it once when Mike and I met with himlast December. I vividly remember the day because Mike mocked me for having an iced drink in winter, but I didn’t think Colt was paying attention.
“Those aren’t on the menu,” I point out.
He shrugs. “Nope, they ain’t.”
“And why do you have two?”
“Since you love ‘em so much they must be special and I thought I should try one. I waited for you, though. Didn’t wanna start without you.”
I snort. “Mike wouldn’t have been caught dead with a pink coffee. He said real men don’t like that cutesy stuff.” I flinch. “Oh, no. That was inappropriate! You guys had a complicated relationship but he’s your brother and he’sactuallydead and here I go saying he wouldn’t be caught dead?—”
“Real mendon’t give a shit about the opinion of others. Only an insecure little boy would think drinking pink coffee makes him less manly,” Colt bites out.
His large hand wraps around one cup and he lifts it to his mouth. He looks adorable, sipping from the purple polka dot straw with a scowl on his face.
“Now, this shit isfuckin’ delicious, Spitfire,” he says and drinks some more. “My brother was an idiot.”
“Your words, not mine. Fine, come on in then. I’ll trade the other raspberry macchiato for some fresh croissants.”
He shuffles his feet, teeth digging into his bottom lip. “As tempting as that sounds, I thought we could drink them on the way. How ‘bout you pack up some croissants for the drive?”
