Mr. Wrong Number

I spent the entire next day looking at apartments, but the problem was that I looked at the one available studio in Colin’s building first. It was tiny but ridiculously perfect: new appliances, new flooring, cool ceilings, and the loft had a changing area and tiny half bath, so it felt like way more space than it actually was. And, of course, it had a view of the city that made my soul feel alive. The rent was doable, too, but their income requirements would probably knock me out of the running.

There were a couple others I checked out in the downtown area, but they were dumps and I couldn’t afford them. So I went farther out into the suburbs, looking at super-basic old vanilla apartments, and before I knew it I was two blocks from my parents’ house.

Talk about your bad omens.

But since I was in the neighborhood, I decided to swing by.

“Ma?” I opened the front door and went inside. My parents never locked the house until bedtime, so I never had to worry about having a key on me. “Where are you?”

“Basement.”

I ran down the stairs, expecting to see her watching TV by herself, but she was actually surrounded by four ladies from church. Ellie, Beth, Tiff, and that crotchety one with the ever-narrowed eyes who’d always watched me like I was about to steal the collection baskets.

“Oh. Hey, everyone.” I gave them all a smile and wished I wasn’t wearing skinny jeans and a tank top that said Summer Girl. Now that I had a paying job, I needed to go shopping for clothes, but working remotely had kept me lazy and entirely unconcerned with my wardrobe. “How are you guys?”

“What are you doing here, hon?” My mother looked at me suspiciously and added, “You didn’t lose your job already, did you?”

“Why?” I clenched my fists to keep myself from being snotty in front of her friends. “Why would you think that?”

“Because it’s the middle of the day, dear,” she said, her eyes moving over me from head to toe as if cataloging every failing, “And you’re dressed like a scrub. Do you need some money to go shopping?”

More clenching. “No, Ma, I have money. But thank you. I just haven’t had time to shop because I’ve been working so hard.”

There. Boom.

“Oh, that’s right—your father’s been saving your articles. He really liked the story about the steakhouse that boozes up every dish.”

I felt beads of sweat on my nose as my mom’s friends looked at me like I was a disappointment.

“I tell you what,” Mom said, leaning closer to Tiff, “I don’t know what the paper is thinking with that new cartoon mom thing. Have you guys read that?”

Now my forehead was sweaty, too.

She continued. “After all the commercials, I thought it was going to be good stuff, but it’s some young smart-ass who likes to be funny instead of helpful.”

I rolled in my lips and inhaled through my nose.

Tiff said, “Oh, now, Nancy—I thought she was hilarious.”

Beth said, “Me too.”

“It was definitely different.” Ellie tilted her head a little and added, “But I enjoyed it.”

The crotchety one just looked at me, still trying to decide if I was a felonious troublemaker, but I didn’t care. She could kiss my ass, because the rest of them dug my work.

“Listen, I’ve got to get going. I’m apartment hunting today, but since I was close, I thought I’d stop by and say hi.” I pulled my keys out of my pocket. “Tell Dad, too, okay?”

My mother pursed her lips. “You could tell him yourself if you ever called us on the phone.”

“I don’t call anyone.” I gnawed on my lip. “I hate talking on the phone.”

“Who hates talking on the phone?” My mother looked at her friends as if she were speaking about a sociopathic murderer. “I swear, your generation has completely forgotten common courtesy.”

I forced a smile on my face. “Well, this discourteous girl has to go. I’ll talk to you later, Mom.”

“You should come by for spaghetti on Sunday.”

“Okay.” A courteous spaghetti Sunday. Sounded awesome. “Bye.”

I looked at five apartments after that, then stopped at Target for a few groceries and two non–high school outfits. By the time I got home, it was almost dark and I was exhausted. I put away my groceries, then immediately changed into pajamas and parked myself on the couch. Jack was at Vanessa’s, his new “friend,” and Colin seemed to already be asleep because it was quiet behind his door, so I had all night to rule the living room.

Which was good because even though I was slowly getting caught up on Marriage in a Month, I still needed to binge three more episodes before I’d be up-to-date. I lay down and turned it on, but I was distracted by my phone and social media. I psychotically checked the comments when the Times posted one of my articles, and by “psychotically checked,” I meant refreshed the page every three-to-four minutes.

I was on my fiftieth refresh when I noticed I had a voicemail. I usually didn’t even listen to messages, because, like I’d told my mother, I hated talking on the phone. But it was a number I didn’t know, so I clicked on it.

“Hi, Olivia—it’s Jordyn in the office. Just wanted to let you know that your application was approved. Please call me tomorrow and we can talk about signing the lease and setting up your move-in date. Thanks.”

What? I couldn’t believe it. I listened to the message again. Holy shit! I was seriously going to live in the perfect loft apartment, for the same rent as all the suburban dumps I’d looked at that afternoon?

I ran over to Colin’s door and quietly knocked. “Colin?”

I didn’t want to wake him up, but I so wanted to wake him up. I was beyond excited but because of my lack of friends, I had no one to freak out with except him.

He pulled open the door, wearing an unbuttoned dress shirt and nice pants, and there was an undone tie hanging around his neck.

“Guess what.” I pictured the apartment and couldn’t help but squeal. “I got the apartment!”

“Shut up—for real?” He gave me a wide grin that was like the role model for all other smiles. “Congratulations!”

I squealed again and then we were hugging. It was a total friend hug, a hug of supportive congratulations, but as soon as it commenced my brain was shorting out from the feel of his hands wrapped around my waist.

The smell of his neck.

The bumpy musculature of his shoulders.

I pulled back, but when I did—holy damn—his blue eyes were hot. I licked my lower lip, about to blabber some bullshit small talk, when his hands came up to my face and his mouth came down on mine.

No drift, no lean, no subliminal staring at each other’s mouths as if to suggestively remind the other that kissing existed. No, this was decisive.

My fingers curled into the white cotton that covered his shoulders, and his mouth ate at mine like it was a ripe fruit and he was starved for its sweetness. Had been starved for an age. His lips were wild and aggressive, teasing and biting and making me purr into his mouth, but the way he held my cheeks left no question that all of the choices were mine to make.

I turned a little, backing against the doorframe so he could lean all of his body into mine.

And he did.

It was fire and passion and starvation, and I wanted to wrap my legs around his waist and make the dumbest possible decision I could make.

But.

“Colin.” I panted his name through biting kisses. “What are we doing?”

“Fuck, Liv.” His eyes were dark and intense as he fed me razor-sharp kisses that rubbed his day’s stubble against my skin in the most delicious way. “I have no idea.”

I put my hands on his biceps—good God—and squeezed. “We should.” That tongue, shit. “Probably stop.”

“I know.” His teeth dragged over my earlobe and I felt it everywhere. “Why the hell am I kissing the biggest pain in the ass I know?”

I dug my fingernails into his skin as his mouth did wicked things. “Because I’m irresistible, you cocky dipshit.”

“Says you.”

His mouth was back on mine then, and the doorframe was digging into my back as our bodies were pressed so tightly together that I could feel every. Single. Inch. Of. Him.

Oh, holy hell.

“Colin. Really.” I freed my mouth long enough to repeat, “What are we doing?”

That was the exact second we heard Jack’s keys in the lock, so we jumped apart. I blinked fast, as did he, and he said, “Let’s not make this weird, okay? We were both excited and kind of forgot ourselves. No big deal, right?”

I nodded and touched my lips, trying not to look at the bare chest that’d just been pressed against me. “Right.”

Jack came in, slamming the door behind him as he carried a bag from Taco Bell over to the table. He barely shot us a glance as he sat down, so I murmured a “G’night, you guys” and slipped away into my room.

Colin

Holy shit. Had that really just happened?

I changed out of my clothes and threw them on the chair by the window, too wired to be bothered with putting them away. I paced my room like a caged animal, freaking out over my stupid punk-ass move.

I’d kissed Olivia.

I had kissed the little sister of my best friend like a total asshole. Why? Oh, yeah—because she had hugged me. I was such a big dumb oaf that the smell of perfume on her neck and the feel of her hands on my shoulders had made me lose my shit.

Fucking weak much?

Jack would kill me if he ever found out, and that would be the total right move, by the way. I’d seen him go apeshit over harmless little pricks sniffing around his sister’s back when she was in middle school, and I knew it’d be no different today.

Hell, if Olivia were my sister (praise Jesus that she wasn’t), I’d react the exact same way.

The worst part about it was that even as I cursed myself for my stupidity, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way she’d kissed me back. Because it’d been exactly the way she’d said it would be when she’d texted Mr. Wrong Number. She liked it hot and heavy and up against the wall, right?

Her kiss was definitely a preview of that unholy hotness.

After another hour of mentally kicking my own ass, I laced up my shoes and went for a run. Clearly my mind wasn’t going to get tired, so maybe if my body did, sleep would eventually come and save me from my thoughts.