Page 97 of Mr. Wrong Number

And God, it seemed like he felt the same. I wasn’t going to say he was wildly in love with me, but there was obviously something between us that he liked because he kept coming back and making me happier with every passing day.

And last night had felt... downright magical.

I sat down on a stool and texted Mr. Wrong Number.

Me:I know it’s early, but since you mostly just ghost me I figure it doesn’t matter.

Send.

Me:It was great meeting you and you have no idea how much our texting meant to me in the beginning.

Send.

Wait, did that sound weird, sayingin the beginning? I supposed it was too late to worry about it because I’d already sent it.

Me:But I’m seeing someone now and it feels wrong to keep texting you, like I’m having a secret relationship or something.

Send.

Colin’s phone lit up, catching my eye as it charged in the dark kitchen. It was probably a reminder to be perfect or an eat-more-protein notification. He used his phone to über-organize his life, whereas I used mine as just a texting machine.

Me:Good luck with everything, and thanks for being a friend when I didn’t really have any.

Send.

Colin’s phone lit up again.

Me:Thanks for everything.

Send.

Colin’s phone lit up again.

I got up and walked around to where his phone was plugged in. I was sure it was just a weird coincidence, but I texted:Um.

Send.

My ears started ringing, my stomach dropped, and everything got blurry for a second when the notification window popped up on his phone.

Miss Misdial:Um.

Colin

I opened my eyes and reached for her, but she wasn’t there.

Holy God, Olivia Marshall woke up before me? What time was it?

I sat up and could hear her scuttling around in the kitchen. It sounded like she was pacing, probably with her lip between her teeth as she imagined everything that could go wrong on her first day. I stood and got a pair of shorts and a T-shirt out of the dresser; she needed a distraction or a pep talk, maybe both.

Might have to blow off the run that morning.

I was pulling my shirt on when I walked into the kitchen and saw her face. She was leaning against the refrigerator, her cheeks red, her eyes glassy.

“What’s wrong, Livvie?” I took a step toward her—God, had something happened with the job already?—and she held out her hand to stop me.

And in her hand was my phone.

“Why do you have Misdial messages in here?” Her voice cracked and she blinked fast. “I keep trying to figure it out, but nothing makes sense. How in the hell would you get my messages?”

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