Page 48 of The Other Guy

Me: No problem. Have a good day.

Unknown: Oh, I’m sure I will.

I set my phone down and release a sigh of relief then decide to take things one step farther and search through my texts to where I was talking with the guy who’s at fault in the first place.

Me: I see you’re still using my number.

Within minutes he’s replying…

Him: What are you talking about?

Me: I just got another text from whoever you spent your evening with.

Him: Hate to tell you but whoever was texting you definitely wasn’t with me. I spent the night alone. Thanks to you.

Me: Me? How do you figure?

Him: All hell broke loose last week for me. My girlfriend found out, I had a full glass of beer dumped on my head, and kicked out of my favorite bar.

Me: And this is my fault, how? And girlfriend? You had a girlfriend this entire time?

Him: I did. But I’ll get her back. She threw a fit and left but I know her, she’ll be back. She took my fucking dog with her, too. Probably so I’d chase her. So if she doesn’t come back on her own, I’ll be able to go after her to get my dog back.

Me: Wow. You really know how to pick them.

Him: Well, now that I know you’re still cool with me using your number, I’ll get back on track.

Me: I didn’t say that. I actually was going to tell you to stop.

Him: Oh, come on now. You can’t tell me this hasn’t been fun.

Me: Doesn’t matter. I’ve had enough and really don’t feel like having to change my number. So stop using mine.

I set my phone aside and flip it over. Not that I won’t hear the alert if I get a notification or call, but it makes me feel better to have it out of sight.

The rest of the day is blissfully quiet. I feel a little better about the silence now that I’ve stood up to this guy, whoever he is, and it might make me sound like a petty person, but I kind of like the fact that he got dumped — both by his girlfriend and a glass of beer on his head. He deserved it.

And then the quiet vanishes with the sound of my doorbell.

It’s a little unnerving that I’m shocked someone could be stopping over on a Sunday night because I have no life.

And when I open the door, I’m even more shocked.

“Sierra?”

“Hi.”

“And… friend?” I glance down at the dog panting happily at her feet, long leather leash dangling between them.

“This is Toby.”

“Hi, Toby.”

His tail wags and he struggles against the leash to come inside my house, jerking on Sierra’s arm until he’s pushing his way inside. But not before giving me a good sniff to which I have to bend over so his nose doesn’t do some damage.

Sierra laughs as she walks in after her little friend.

“Do come in.”

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