Page 10 of Wrong Number, Right Grump
Love. Joy. A partner in life.
The phone buzzes, and the vibration zips through my body, threading through knots and zigzagging around minefields, winding me tighter than the spring on a rat trap.
Someone who makes me laugh without trying. Who says what she thinks. And maybe overshares a little, even when she knows she probably shouldn’t. I like honesty.– Grump
I stare at the screen, instantly warming all over. The tightness in my chest lightens, and I take an easy breath.
I type.
Someone who doesn’t talk too much. But when he does, you want to hear every word. Someone who listens. And somehow makes you feel like you’re not too much after all.– Lola
He doesn’t reply right away. Which is fine. I don’t expect him to. That was more honest than I meant to be. But his words touched something inside me that I haven’t felt in a while.
I feel seen.
And that’s something because some days, I don’t even recognize myself. Something softens inside, and I don’t want wine, cheese, ice cream or anything else that’ll numb me. I just want peace. I flip over to Spotify to distract myself by scrolling through the playlist. My heart pinches. I delete the rage song I added when Chad told me my laugh was “a lot” and replace it with “The Way I Am” by Ingrid Michaelson.
As if on cue, another incoming text.
You’re not really too much Lola.– Grump
He knows my name. Which makes me feel all tingly and sappy. My nose and eyes sting as I hold back moisture that threatens my vision.
Would you like to meet? For real this time?– Lola
I smile as the little three bouncing dots immediately appear.
CHAPTER 6
***
Lola
“I should’ve said coffee,” I mutter, tugging on the hem of my top. “Or lunch. Coffee says casual. Lunch says friendly. Drinks? Drinks saydate.”
“Drinks say you’re a grown woman with a fabulous rack and excellent taste in men who don’t talk too much,” Darby replies, not looking up from her mascara wand.
I flop dramatically onto her bed.
“Why did I agree to this?”
“Because you’re brave and horny and secretly hoping this grump has hidden dimples.”
“I am not horny.” I pause. “Okay, I am. But also terrified.”
“Same thing.”
She tosses the mascara aside and yanks me back upright. “Stop second-guessing everything. You’re meeting a guy who listened to your accidental verbal vomit meltdown and still wanted to talk to you. That’s some romantic shit right there.”
“You forgot humiliating,” I say.
“You were honest. Honest is hot.”
I give her a look.
“Okay,nowyou look hot,” she says, shoving a mirror into my hands.
I glance at my reflection. The outfit is cute without trying too hard. Jeans, boots, cropped cardigan with a square neckline that hints without screaming. Hair down and floofy. Makeup holding up. I look like someone whomightbe fine if this date—not-date—goes badly.
