Page 9 of Wrong Number, Right Grump
My heart pounds as I wait. Finally. A reply. He hasn’t blown me off.
6/10 out of best or worst?– Grump
My heart stutters. My thumb slips. I reread it twice.
No. Freaking. Way.Grump is Rude-Hot. Rude-Hot is Grump. I sit bolt upright and stare at the message as if it might explode if I blink wrong.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
“Did he send a pic of his junk?” Darby yells from the kitchen.
I wish. No. No, I don’t. I shudder.
“No!” I shout. “Worse! He’s the guy from the coffee shop.”
A beat of silence, then Darby steps into the living room. “The tree you want to climb?”
Why do I tell her everything? I don’t answer, already typing. It was a lucky guess. But...
You’re him? Tall. Broody. Minimal words. Serious forearm situation. You??– Lola
I hold my breath, heart pounding, waiting for a reply.
You forgot devastating jawline. Excellent shoulders. Impeccable manners.– Grump
Wow. I laugh out loud. So humble.
I’m on to you, Grump. You’re guessing.– Lola
Am I?– Grump
My hands sweat. Darby plops onto the sofa beside me and peers over my shoulder. I don’t even care that she’s snooping. I need the moral support. If Rude-Hot guy is Grump, then Houston, we have a very big problem. Grump knows way too much about me... and Chad... and my revenge playlist... and... What other secrets did I spill last night?
Prove it. Describe yourself. Be honest.– Lola
6’2”. Dark hair. Beard. Black T-shirt, jeans, boots. Stared too long at a woman wearing a Not Today Satan t-shirt. Couldn’t be sure if that was my sign to make a break for the door.– Grump
Okay. That last part tickled my funny bone. Good looksanda sense of humor. I like that.
Are you sure you want to out yourself to a woman with a flair for the dramatic and a playlist of rage that doesn’t quite cut muster?– Lola
That’s oddly specific. And accurate.– Grump
You should come with a warning label.– Lola
Says the pot calling the kettle black.– Grump
Another pause as I let things settle with me. He’s not wrong. I’m messy with a wild child streak running through me. I’m a handful. Two handsful. Too daring for my own good. To open with my heart. Too... too much.
I tug my blanket tighter around my shoulders and turn the phone away from Darby’s prying eyes. She takes the hint with a harumph and plods back to the kitchen. I tuck my fuzzy-socked feet under me, trying to settle the nervous energy building in the pit of my stomach.
Fine. Maybe I like a little grump. Is it weird that I’m oddly attracted to a stranger less than twenty-four hours after leaving a breakup message for Chad? Screw cheater boyfriends. I won’t let him wander around rent-free in my head. So, let’s even the playing field with Grump.
Fair. What do you find attractive?– Lola
Feeling a twinge of anxious energy. There’s a beat of silence. And another one as I hold my breath, and I imagine him thinking it over. Maybe overthinking it. Because I already am. When too much time lapses, I know he’s trying to find diplomatic words so I don’t go full rage on his voicemail.
The dots return. I nibble my fingernails, anticipating he’ll say all the things I think about myself when I’m having a bad day. When my hair won’t cooperate. When I wake up bloated. When it’s that time of the month. When my man flirts with someone prettier than me. Skinnier than me. Better than me. Because I’m all fire and brimstone on the outside. Inside, I’m a beautiful wreck who wants what everyone wants.
