Page 22 of The Disasters of Dating
“That’s new,” I say.
“Yeah, my brother came and installed it last week. Pretty cool, huh?”
I pull up the streaming service on the TV and hit play. The opening scenes of the movie start.
The movie ends, and both Paisleigh and I sigh. “Such a good show,” she says.
I nod. “I know.”
Paisleigh turns on the lights. “How about a bathroom break and then we start the next one?”
My phone dings, and I open my messages app.
(603) 538-7114
Hey, I missed you at the restaurant…not that I blame you for not coming. But I’m telling myself it’s because you had to work. (Please say you had to work.) Maybe next time?
Seriously, this is the second text I’ve gotten from this person. I have no idea who it is. I don’t give out my number without texting their number back to me and labeling it in my contacts. It’s probably a wrong number. I frown. Or someone phishing me. I ignored it earlier, hoping they would get the picture when no one showed up at the restaurant. But obvs, they didn’t.
“What’s that about? Your face looks kind of fierce right now.” Paisleigh settles back on the couch.
I shrug. “It’s a wrong number.”
She raises a brow. “Oh? What do they want? They aren’t a Princethat needs some money for a few days until their inheritance comes through, are they?”
I laugh. “No, I’m not that lucky lately. It’s someone asking me if I wanted to meet them at some restaurant for dinner.” I throw my phone onto the table. “I’m sure it’s just a wrong number. They’ll get the hint if I ignore them.”
Paisleigh looks at me. “What restaurant?”
I give her a quizzical look. “Does it matter?”
“Well, it’s more believable if it’s at least a local one. Or is it something like Red Robin that is nationwide? Cuz that would be way sus.”
I open the message and read the first one again. “It says the restaurant is called Black Strap Brewery.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Hey, that’s in Lehi.”
I wave her words away. “I’m sure there is another restaurant with that name somewhere in the country. The area code on the phone number isn’t a local one.”
She grabs her phone. “What is the area code?”
“603,” I say. I’m not sure why she is looking it up. It won’t tell us anything.
She puts down her phone without typing anything into it. “Oh, that’s New Hampshire.” She looks at me with expectant eyes.
“You just happen to know that area code?” I ask.
“Yeah, that’s where Shay lives, remember?” Her brow furrows. “Do you know anyone from New Hampshire?”
I slowly shake my head. “Just Shay.” I mean, I think I remember Keaton, the good kisser from the airport, saying he was from New Hampshire. But I already have his contact info in my phone. If it was him, it would say his name, not just the number.
She looks bummed. “Maybe you should tell them they have the wrong number. What if they think the person they are texting is mad or something? You could be destroying a friendship.” She says this with a pitying look on her face, her head nodding.
“Or they could be phishing,” I say.
She gives me a duh look. “I’m not saying you should tell them they have the wrong number and then give them your social security number and all your banking information.”
I sigh. “But by replying, I’m telling them that I’m an active number. They could put me on all kinds of scammer lists. My phone could blow up with phishing texts.”
