Page 64 of Right Number, Wrong Man
“He’s cute in a nerdy way,” Andrea whispers, giggling. “Maybe he’s your chance to win our bet? I think he’d look good in a suit and a man who reads makes for good conversation.”
“Not my type,” I lie.
I don’t really have a type, but I wouldn’t know how toexplain that glasses guy gives me major heebie-jeebies for no discernible reason other than vaguely ominouscreepy vibes.
“Alright then. I can’t wait for my French wine!” Andrea singsongs and slurps the rest of her piña colada, signaling the bartender for another.
“Where were we?” She tilts her head at me, red tresses falling into her face. “Oh, right! Would it be so bad if you were wrong about Colt?”
“Duh? It would mean I misjudged the poor man and hated him without a reason—for half my life! That would make me a colossal, gaping, prolapsed asshole.” I make a big circle with my hands. “About this huge.”
“You’re painting a lovely picture.” She shudders. “Why don’t you start at the beginning? I barely understood a word of your hectic ramblings on the phone. What happened on Sunday? I thought you went to dinner at Colt’s parents’ house like you and Mike always did once a month.”
“Colt gave me a DVD in the car!” I grip her sleeve, but she looks at me like I’m crazy.
“And what’s the problem? I guess DVDs are a little outdated as a gift… or is that code for something?”
“Ugh, it was an autographed special edition ofWraithface I. Autographed! Colt said it was a peace offering, but for a peace offering, you gift a box of chocolates or something small—not a rare collectible! I’ve wanted this edition forever, but it was always too expensive!”
I can’t stop talking. It’s like a seal inside me has broken and all the weird thoughts festering in my head are spilling out. Andrea hums as the bartender slides a piña colada toward her. She sips, gesturing for me to continue.
We’ve been friends for so long, she knows I want her to listen rightnow.
My voice cracking, I continue. “And that’s not even the worst part! Before dinner, Colt told his dad he would protect me.Protect.Me.”
Andrea picks at the slice of pineapple on the rim of her glass, an impressed look crossing her face.
“Then his mom asked us to get some leftover paint from the garden shed and there was a spider! I had the most embarrassing panic attack in front of Colt. I thought he’d make fun of me because he loves to see me suffer—but no! He waspatient.Understanding. He talked me through abreathing exercise!”
Andrea waggles her brows and I blush. I can’t bring myself to spill the beans about Colt calling me a brat. Or worse, that he’d punish me. It feels like if I told anyone, the whole thing would become real, and I already can’t handle kind Colt.
Flirty Colt is impossible. The final boss.
“Now you’d think a military guy like him would kill a spider without hesitation, right?” I ask.
She nods. “Sure.”
I slap the counter. “Nope! There I go, being wrong about himagain. He carried it outside and let it go! When I asked him why, he said he doesn’t like hurting innocent animals. Then we got into an argument and he dropped agigantictruth bomb. Mike pranked me with the spider jar, not Colt! He took the blame so Mike wouldn’t get expelled from school and be in trouble at home—fuck! Isn’t that noble of him? Why does he have to be so nice?”
My skull throbs and I rub over my tight scalp. I should’ve booked a hotel in town for the night so I could have a proper drink. The mocktails aren’t cutting it and a little buzz is really tempting. Groaning, I drop my forehead on the polished bar top.
“What am I supposed to do now?” I whisper dejectedly.
Andrea pats my back. “Do you want words of comfort or advice?”
“Both?” I give her a small smile.
“I hear you.” She waves her hand and her engagement ring sparkles. “First of all,ifyou misjudged Colt, you’rebothat fault. Don’t put all the blame on yourself. It takes two to tango. Or in this case, it takes two to avoid an adult conversation. Adult as in talking like grown-ups to clear up a misunderstanding, not the sexy kind of adult.” She winks.
I huff. “Stop it with the innuendo!”
“I think Colt is growing on you,” she says, and though she’s smirking, there’s warmth in her eyes.
“Yes, he’s growing on me like a nasty, pus-filled ulcer,” I respond, though that is not the whole truth.
I’m not sure how I feel about Colt, but it was easier to hate him. Hate is clear cut. These new, undefinable feelings make me want to rip out my hair and I don’t think I can rock a bald head.
Andrea puts a hand on my shoulder. “Maybe you should talk things through with Colt? Then you’d have an easier time at work and I’m sure it would make Sara Jean and Earl happy. From what you told me, Colt seems willing to put the past behind him. You should consider it, too.”
