Page 24 of Right Number, Wrong Man

HAILEY

“Is everything I know about Colton Walker wrong?” I whine, swirling a metal straw through my virgin raspberry daiquiri.

Slow jazz drifts from crackling speakers around the bar. It fits my broody mood and so does the dim lighting, accurately visualizing the cloud hanging over my head since Sunday.

Andrea leans on the bar top, frowning. She presses a hand to my forehead and her gold bracelet dangles against the tip of my nose. “Hmm, you don’t have a fever. Wait, that must mean—” Her eyes narrow impishly. “The body snatchers got my best friend! Where is the real Hailey Walker?”

I playfully slap her hand away. “Great, I make the drive into Burtonville to get in-person moral support from you, and you mock me. Also, please don’t call me that! I’ve already filed the petition to change my last name back to my maiden name.”

“Well, I’m sorry grumpy face. But I’m here to listen to your woes, aren’t I?” She laughs .

“No, I am sorry and I shouldn’t let my frustrations out on you. I’m just so overwhelmed. Confused. It’s like the rug was pulled from under my feet and I’m free falling.”

Andrea nods. “I knew things were serious when you texted me this morning. The last time you asked to meet in this run-down watering hole was when you sent that scathing comment about your old boss’s golf-themed tie to your work group chat instead of me.”

I groan. “Don’t remind me, please. My embarrassment has aged like milk out of the fridge.”

“That was… eight years ago? I’m surprised this bar is still in business. It was never super popular, but I remember it being a little more crowded than this .” She gestures at the two other patrons.

An old man occupies a corner table, nursing a beer while muttering to himself. In the center of the room sits a guy with combed back, black hair, reading an old, leather-bound book.

His dark eyes rise over the edge of the cover, meeting mine through his thick-rimmed glasses, and he smirks. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Objectively, he’s handsome with a square jaw and a straight nose, but I can’t bring myself to smile back.

I turn to Andrea, still feeling his gaze like a blade scraping across my spine. He’s probably just socially awkward, but thanks to the serial killer stuff on the news and my overconsumption of horror movies, I suspect great evil in everyone.

“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 to explain that glasses guy gives me major heebie-jeebies for no discernible reason other than vaguely ominous creepy vibes .

“Alright then. I can’t wait for my French wine!” Andrea singsongs and slurps the rest of her pina 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 of Wraithface 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 pina colada toward her. She sips, gesturing for me to continue.

We’ve been friends for so long, she knows I want her to listen right now.

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 was patient . Understanding . He talked me through a breathing 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 him again . 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 a gigantic truth 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, if you misjudged Colt, you’re both at 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.”

I sigh and slump on the bar stool, the backrest digging uncomfortably into my spine. “How do you put sixteen years of arguing behind you?”

“I guess the first step is to stop arguing.”

“That sounds too easy. Can it really be that simple?”

“You’re overthinking this, Hails. And if I'm double honest , I never understood why you don’t get along with Colt.”

I click my tongue. “Because he started it! When we were teens, he hated me at first sight and always ignored me. Then he traumatized me for life with the spiders—at least, I thought he did.” I roll my eyes. “But the ignoring part is real. He can’t get out of that one!”

“Because he ignored you doesn’t mean he hated you. Some people are just shy or—” she laughs, cutting herself off. “Some people are just shy.”

“Or what?” I squint at her. “What were you about to say?”

“I forgot.” Her lips purse and she bats her lashes innocently. “Point is, I always thought that you and Colt have no reason to bite each other’s heads off.”

“But isn’t it weird to act like nothing happened?—”

“Excuse me,” a mellow, deep voice interrupts and I whirl around on my chair.