Page 83 of Right Number, Wrong Man
I hold up a hand. “Wait, you lost me. On the way towhere? Did I forget an appointment?”
“You didn’t forget anything. This is me being…spontaneous.Learnin’ to cut loose.” His deep, soft laugh has mybelly flipping. “I hoped the coffee could bribe you into some gun training.”
My eyes widen. I look Colt up and down. He’s ready to go in his dark jeans and plaid button-down shirt, his pistol at his belt. And then the unthinkable happens. Instead of telling him to go back to whatever icy hell he crawled out of, Ismile.
“You know what… Why not? Let’s go!” I grab my keys from the rack and try to step outside, but Colt blocks my path. “What now?” I ask, my earlier impatience returning.
“I think you ought to change first. Pink slippers and a fluffy bathrobe ain’t an appropriate outfit to learn about gun safety.”
My face catches fire. How could I forget that I literally stumbled out of bed before baking croissants and calling my mom? I’m glad he didn’t see my Hey Kitty nightgown, but he surely noticed the bird’s nest on my head.
He clears his throat, smirking. “Looks cute, though.”
Is hemockingme?
“That’s rich coming from the guy wearing a cowboy hat and boots two thousand miles from Texas. Do you think you’re the star in a country music video?” I fake gag.
“It’s called timeless style, brat,” he shoots back, still grinning.
“It’s called looking like a douchebag.”
“Ahandsomedouchebag.”
“Why does every Southern man with the slow talking and the lazy smirks think he’s God’s gift to the women of this world?”
He shrugs, sipping his coffee. “Because you ladies can’t help swoonin’ at our charm.”
“If by swooning you meantrying not to throw up on myself, then yes. I’mtotallyswooning.”
I snatch the untouched cup and rush back into myapartment. “If your ego fits through the doorframe, you can sit in the kitchen while I get dressed,cowboy,” I shout, halfway down the hallway. I can’t look at him right now.
“Yee-haw! Yes, ma’am!” he yells before I close the bedroom door behind me.
Whowas swooning?Not me.I must be allergic to his cologne and that’s why my throat is tight and my heart pounds.
Disgruntled, I sip on my raspberry macchiato and groan.
It’s perfect. God, I hate that.
I press the cold cup against my hot cheek, and surprisingly, I don’t sizzle.
I don’t like this nice new Colt. Asshole Colt is easy to handle because I know where I stand with him, but sweet Colt has my head spinning.
I hope I can get through today without losing my mind or getting shot.
31
HAILEY
After a car ridewith country music—which has unfortunately been growing on me—and Colt complimenting my croissants, he stops on a deserted backroad by a forest edge.
I already regret my decision to come with him.
It’s a bright, sunny day, but I’m not an outdoor girlie. How could I be? I hate bugs. What if there’s a spider and I repeat my embarrassing panic attack from the shed?
Colt gets out first and opens my door for me with a smile. My pulse spikes again.
What’s with all the gentlemanly shit?
