Page 28 of Mr. Wrong Number

I glanced over at Jack and Colin, who were already sitting and staring at their phones in front of the TV.

Mr. Wrong Number:Not at all, which is why I’m happy you’re texting.

Me:I’m not exciting.

Mr. Wrong Number:I believe we ended last night with you telling me that you prefer a good up-against-the-wall bang. Call me crazy, but that’s hella exciting.

I snorted a giggle and glanced up. Jack and Colin were both looking at me, Colin with an eyebrow raised, and I couldn’t help it; I beamed and giggled again. I thought about trying to explain it away, but instead just waved a hand.

Me:Wow—right back at it, are we?

Mr. Wrong Number:I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t spent a fair amount of time today thinking about your response.

Me:And therein lies the joy of anonymity—I don’t have to be embarrassed.

Mr. Wrong Number:Hell, no, you don’t. Own that shit.

Me:Wouldn’t it be great if you could be straight-up honest about these things with an actual partner? I mean, some people say they are, or claim that it’s healthy to speak 100% truth, but that’s total bullshit. Because if you care about someone, you’re not going to look them in the face when they’re gently kissing you and say “can you knock it off and just bend me over the counter, babe?”

Mr. Wrong Number:Not a fan of kissing?

I thought about that before responding. I liked kissing, but I liked hot, wild, I-might-accidentally-draw-blood kissing. Gentle kisses made you love-drunk. They made you think and feel and get lulled into believing you were in love, that both of you were, when in reality it was just two mouths mating with each other.

I wasn’t interested in ever getting drunk on that shit again.

Me:Imagine if you could just order what you wanted like you were at a restaurant.

Mr. Wrong Number:Example, please.

Me:Good evening, Garçon. For starters, I would like the one orgasm oral—fast and intense, please. Andfor the entrée, I think I’d like to get flipped over and pounded from behind.

Mr. Wrong Number:Would you like dessert with that, sunshine?

I made another noise, apparently, because Jack was shaking his head when I looked up from my phone.

“Are we a middle schooler now, texting boys at the dinner table? What’s with all the giggles?”

I felt the red streak across my hot cheeks. “I have funny friends, that’s all. More entertaining than baseball.”

“Says you.”

I rolled my eyes and went back to the titillating conversation I was having with Mr. Wrong Number.

Me:Yes. I would like the chef’s special—the deep sleep on my side of the bed with absolutely no spooning. (Hands back menu, takes sip of water)

“Any wine left in that bottle, Liv?”

I looked over at Colin, feeling totally busted. “Um, what?”

He gave me a funny look. “Did you kill the shiraz?”

“Oh. No.” I wrapped my fingers around the bottle and held it up, peering through the dark green glass. “Looks like there are at least two glasses left.”

“Nice.” Colin stood and stretched his back while I set the phone next to my plate and went to the kitchen for a Dr Pepper. I didn’t give it a thought as I went in search of a sobering beverage, but as soon as I heard my phone buzz—itwasreally loud—my head whipped in that direction. Much to my horror, he was looking down at the table, staring at my phone as the screen lit up from an incoming text.

Shit, shit, shit.I was an adult, but I didn’t want that jackhammer to see my sexual dinner menu. I casually speed-walked to the table, grabbed my phone, and looked at him, but he was filling his glass while appearing to watch the Cubs game on the TV.

Whew, he hadn’t seen anything. I unlocked the screen.

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