Page 8 of Right Number, Wrong Man

My face goes up in flames. It’s the same mask I wore when I lost my virginity.

“Colt wouldn’t be into that. He’s too proper. I bet he only does missionary at 9 p.m. with the lights out,” I object.

“He’s got that old Southern charm and the manners of a military man, but that doesn’t mean he’s boring in bed. Hey, friends help friends get laid! I’m your bestie so that’s my job, and I’m just pointing out an opportunity. ”

At the bottom of the video call, I watch my cheeks turn from pink to dark red.

Images of a half-naked Colt flash through my mind and a lick of heat echoes in my core. I last saw him topless one summer when we were teens. He was already tall and pretty muscular then, but now that he’s a fully grown man?—

No, I won’t think about how Colt looks naked!

I’m visualizing hating him. Him and all his muscles.

“Speaking of the best sex of one’s life…” I shake my head. “That Halloween night was mine. How depressing to peak sexually right after high school. Only been downhill since then.”

“You deserve better, and you will have better!” Andrea says firmly. “On the upside, every other woman I know says their first time sucked. Mine did, too. At least you got lucky with Mike then.”

I blow out a breath. “Mike was a different man for one night. Like Cinderella, but instead of her dress turning into rags and her carriage into a pumpkin, the dominant, masked man who took my virginity turned into a kink-shaming cheater.”

Thinking back on it, the sex was great, but the whole situation was fucked up. I was too naive.

My heart broke when Mike left me at the guest house, but he came over the next afternoon to apologize. He said he suddenly felt sick from drinking too much and didn’t want to throw up in front of me. At the time, it seemed like a good reason and when he asked me to be his girlfriend, I forgave him.

I shouldn’t have.

Andrea claps, ripping me from my thoughts. “That’s another reason to get back on the dating scene! You’re thirty, in your prime, and single! ”

I scoff, putting my mug on the coffee table. “Not sure if I want a relationship again this soon.”

“Then don’t have one. Nobody said you should get married. Just have some fun and explore yourself… maybe with a hot sniper named Colt. If he’s leaving soon, you can have some no-strings-attached hookups.”

Hysterical giggles spill from my mouth. Soon, I can’t stop laughing, gasping for air with tears running down my cheeks.

Honestly, I’m not sure why I’m laughing.

Maybe because I’m thinking about Colt half-naked again. Colt running those strong, rough hands all over my body. Colt wearing a Wraithface mask while he pins me down with a knife to my throat and?—

Am I having an aneurism? I must be having a mysterious medical emergency to explain these thoughts.

“Imagine what a tall guy like him hides in his pants…” Andrea whispers suggestively.

I howl like I should be locked up and wearing grippy socks. “Stop it! Right now!” I choke out between laughs.

“Why don’t you bring him to the wedding party next month?”

I wipe a hand over my eyes, finally catching my breath. “Shut up! I can get a proper date that isn’t my dead husband’s brother. I’ll prove it to you. Let’s bet! If I show up dateless, I’ll buy you a crate of your favorite wine.”

“Oh, the expensive French white I always order in for my birthday dinner? Can you even afford that?”

“No, but that’s how sure I am that I’ll win. And if I get a date, you’ll bring me an entire suitcase full of sweets and delicacies from your honeymoon in Europe.”

Andrea grins. “I’m in.”

“Deal.” I rise from the sofa, strolling out of the living room and into the hallway. “Loved talking to you, girl, but I have to get going. I still have errands to run before work.”

“Okie-dokie. You know our catch-up calls are my weekly highlight. But before you run…” She tilts her head. “Think about it, Hails. I bet under Colt’s stern Southern demeanor hides a real perv?—”

“Bye!” I shout and hang up.

My heart slams into my ribs as I enter the bedroom. I pause by the window, my eyes catching on the row of tall windows above the movie theater. The curtains are drawn, but the hairs on the back of my neck rise like they always do when I look at Colt’s apartment.

I can’t help feeling watched.

It’s nonsense. Just my overactive imagination acting up. To be fair, watching a million horror movies and a serial killer on the loose isn’t helping, either.

Dating Colt, though? I scoff. What an insane idea. Chewing glass would be more fun than spending any minute more than I have to with that grumpy asshole.

Besides, I’ve never thought about him like that .

Colt was always just… Colt. Mike’s older brother and an arrogant bully. The reason for my therapy bills until I gave up on getting over the arachnophobia his prank caused.

I never took note of Colt’s body. That he’s tall. And muscular. And his voice is smooth and dark and when he scowls?—

Oh shit, he is hot! Andrea is right.

I think I’ll need a lobotomy to erase that knowledge, but it’s sticking to my brain like a piece of gum in my hair.

When did Colt turn hot? Was he always hot?

After he graduated high school, we never talked much. We didn’t even see each other more than a handful of times. Deployment kept him busy. He missed most holidays and special occasions, including Mike’s and my wedding.

For his parents’ sake, I tried to make peace one Christmas in my early twenties, but whenever I tried to strike up a friendly conversation, he gave me that look. The one reserved for me.

Brows drawn. Eyes slitted. Sneering. He basically looks at me like I’m smeared in cow dung and smell the part, too.

It always seemed like he’s physically repulsed by me and being around me causes him actual pain. I never understood how someone could hate me so much for no reason.

At first, I was hurt when he refused to talk to me as adults—except to argue with me. Then I figured fuck it and started arguing back.

If he won’t play nice, why should I?

With all our bickering at work, it’s a miracle he hasn’t fired me. I guess he thinks he owes it to Mike to keep a roof over his widow’s head.

We’re getting new movies in today, but I can’t look forward to that. Not with my intrusive thoughts about Colt and that stupid text from the stranger last night.

I sniffle, holding back another surge of angry tears.

Who would call the cops over accidental dirty texts? I bet that idiot and Colt would get along famously.