Wrong Number

  wrong number

  mila hart

  Edited by

  wallflower edits

  Cover by

  vanilla lily designs

  Copyright © 2022 by Mila Hart

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  contents

  1. One

  2. Two

  3. Three

  4. Four

  5. Five

  6. Six

  7. Seven

  8. Eight

  9. Nine

  10. Ten

  11. Eleven

  12. Twelve

  13. Thirteen

  14. Fourteen

  15. Fifteen

  16. Sixteen

  17. Seventeen

  18. Eighteen

  19. Nineteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Mila Hart

  one

  Seth

  “Seriously, Jake? I haven’t seen or spoken to Stacey in months. Where have you been?” You’d think that since we’d been best friends for longer than we had knowns girls existed, he would at least keep up with who I was dating, but clearly, that was expecting too much.

  Jake set down his glass on the bar top as he shook his head. “Seth, I don’t even know the name of the chick who rode my cock last night. You can’t seriously expect me to know who’s bobbing on yours?”

  I barely refrained from rolling my eyes and shoving him off the barstool he was perched on. We may be friends, but we had conflicting views when it came to the opposite sex. He was never going to settle down, and I, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to get married and have kids—white-picket-fence type shit. The whole package—Disney would want to make a movie off my life if things went the way I planned. Jake knew I wanted more, but I wouldn’t dare speak about just how badly I wanted it.

  Whenever I broke up with a girl—or she dumped me—I always told him some bullshit about why the chick wasn’t working for me, but really, in the end, it was always because I couldn’t see a future with them or I wanted more than they did. For me, it was a waste of time to date someone I knew I wouldn’t marry. Jake, however, would stick around as long as he didn’t want to strangle her—outside of the bedroom—and use her for all he could until moving on to the next honey in line.

  “You’re such a dick. Are you ever going to grow up? I bet you by the time you’re fifty, you have at least half a dozen illegitimate children out there in the world. You better move up in the firm, or you’re fucked when they all come knocking for back child support.” I held in my laughter because although I was joking, I had a point, and when women figured out how much money he made, they would come take a crack at his bank account.

  Jake never wrapped it up and had a different chick in his bed every night—sometimes more than one—and he didn’t give a shit about fidelity, much less monogamy. It seemed exhausting. My best friend ordered another drink and scoffed at my accusations. “You’ll never understand what it’s like to be me.” He was absolutely right on that front.

  “And for that, I will forever be grateful.”

  My drink sloshed over the edge as he punched me in the shoulder. “Fuck you, man. Being me is the best thing ever. I’ve got an amazing job, a sweet ride, and my penthouse is killer. What more could a guy ask for?”

  Love. I wasn’t about to risk sounding like a pussy and saying that out loud, but love was more important to me than any list of material things Jake could spout off. It was followed closely by intimacy, honesty, companionship, and comfort. I’d watched my parents together my whole life and had vowed to find the same type of relationship. They were committed to each other and the life they had chosen. Even during the downtimes, my parents always made their relationship their top priority. They still dated, for God’s sake. It was cute in a sickeningly romantic sort of way, but it worked—and I wanted that…all of it. I knew the divorce rates—Jake liked to remind me of them every time I brought up marriage—but that’s why I knew I had to find the one, not just anyone. So far, she—the one—had been elusive, but I wasn’t giving up.

  Jake nudged me. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing. Why?” I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about; he seemed to think I could read his mind.

  He turned to glance across the bar and then back at me. “You’ve been staring off over there for a solid minute. What the fuck are you looking at?” Jake shifted several ways to see what he was missing. “There’s not even a hot piece of ass over there. What’s got your attention?”

  “Shut the fuck up. So what do you have planned for tonight?” I changed the subject back to him, which always worked. I loved the guy like a brother, but he was self-centered and had no issues talking about himself at length, regardless of whether or not anyone was listening.

  He shrugged and tipped back his drink. “Probably hop on one of my apps and invite someone over.”

  I still couldn’t believe that women these days would just go to a random guy’s house without so much as a single conversation on the phone or in a public place—it was like they had a death wish. I was aware he had a nice place so pulling up, they would know that, but he could still be a serial killer in a penthouse, yet they showed up for a booty call, no questions asked. He was a good-looking guy with a fat bank account and a great career. Pulling women in was never an issue. And he had no desire to keep them, so he didn’t give a shit how he treated them beyond making them scream his name and getting him off, although the latter was definitely more important than the former.

  “What about you? Going home to yank it?” He burst out laughing at his lame joke.

  “Laugh it up, dick. No, I’m not.” I glared at him and wondered why he spent so much time thinking about whether I was masturbating or not. “I’ve actually been talking to someone online. Her name is Jasmine. We haven’t met yet, but I’m sure we will soon.”

  He didn’t say a word. Just nodded and downed the rest of his drink. I was a little shocked that he didn’t have some smart-ass comment, but I breathed a sigh of relief when he let it go. It was unusual for Jake not to rib me for being such a “pussy about chicks” or telling me I wasn’t “getting any pussy because I was a pussy.” However, I thanked God for the brief reprieve.

  Jasmine and I had been talking for about three weeks. I wasn’t a pro at online dating, but I liked to get to know the girl before meeting her. I had no desire to race out to meet every woman who nudged me or swiped right in some stupid app. I didn’t have a ton of extra time in my life, and I wanted to spend it with a purpose. So I figured I could learn a lot about someone from just talking, and since I was looking for more than just sex, meeting online seemed to be a good idea to weed out the ones who weren’t marriage material.

  Jake and I finished our drinks and went our separate ways as we did every week. Both of us were attorneys, but he worked for a family law firm where I focused on estate planning. Dealing with divorce and custody battles day in and day out truly cemented his decision never to tie the knot. He’d seen more than I ever cared to dream about, and while I was hoping for a Disney film deal about my forever romance, Jake could have entertained the likes of Michael Connelly or James Patterson for book deals galore. Since we both worked long hours, we didn’t get to see each other as much as we used to. Now, we meet for drinks every week to unwind from the stressful week and occasionally talk shop, whether that was women or work. Truth be told, I preferred talking about our careers since we didn’t see eye to eye in the relationship department,
and it wasn’t cool for me to be a romantic at heart.

  Once we finished the obligatory weekly meeting, I typically stuck around to make sure Jake got into an Uber before I walked home. I didn’t trust him not to be a moron and get behind the wheel, thinking the three or four drinks he’d had weren’t that much.

  As I stepped through my front door, I loosened my tied, shirked my suit jacket, and set my briefcase down. Then, a notification popped up like the girl who currently occupied my thoughts somehow knew I was finally alone. I smiled, thinking about Jasmine. I toed off my shoes and then made my way toward my bedroom.

  My phone was burning a hole in my pocket, but I needed to make her wait a bit so I didn’t come off as needy—I hated playing these games. But as much as I hated the game, I’d become a player of them all, trying to master the nuances of my generation and what the expectations were for people my age. I certainly didn’t have it all figured out, but I knew that answering immediately like I had my phone in my hand, waiting for her text, was not the route to go. I flipped on my bedside lamp before removing my tie and unbuttoning my dress shirt. I loved my job, but my least favorite part was the stuffy clothes. They were binding as hell, so unforgiving, and when the stress got really bad, a tie felt more like a noose and a sports coat was akin to a straightjacket. I lived for my weekends with sweatpants or jeans and a T-shirt and no requirement to shave my face for two days. I wanted a shower, but instead, I slipped into my joggers and hopped onto the bed with my cell in hand.

  I turned on the screen, and my stomach dropped. It wasn’t a text from Jasmine as I’d hoped. Instead, the notification read You’ve got a new match. I hadn’t swiped on anyone in weeks, not since I’d started talking to Jasmine, so I wasn’t expecting a new possibility. I wasn’t the guy who could manage multiple women, even if it was just texting. I gave whoever I was talking to my full attention, and since I didn’t have tons of extra time, that meant this was a single file line with a heavy emphasis on the single without a line. I ignored it and decided on a shower instead.

  I was usually the one to initiate conversation with Jasmine, so tonight, I was trying to wait her out and see if she would reach out to me. There came a time in each relationship where you had to acknowledge where you stood. Without equal interest, there was no point in moving forward. I'd reached that point with Jasmine. I needed her to show the same level of curiosity that I’d give to her. This street had to run both ways, and recently, we’d been headed down a one-way road. I liked her, but I needed something in return.

  The water washed over me as I stood under the stream. I adjusted the wall jets to high and massaged my lower back. I’d been in court this week, and the chairs had to be the most uncomfortable things to sit in. The water did the trick and helped to relieve the tension and work out the knots—I’d have to make sure to stretch really well in the morning before I worked out. I finished washing up, got out of the shower, dried off, and went back to my room to change back into the sweats and watch a movie.

  About halfway through the movie, it was already nine o’clock and I hadn’t heard from Jasmine, so I caved.

  Me: You around?

  I waited a few minutes, but I went back to my movie when she hadn’t read it. I wasn’t even sure what it was about, much less why I was watching it.

  My phone pinged, waking me from my sleep. I looked over at the clock on my side table. It was just past eleven o’clock. I must have fallen asleep sometime during that boring-ass movie. I picked up the remote and shut off the TV before searching for my phone in the sheets. I smiled when I saw Jasmine’s name on the screen.

  JazzyAF: Hey, how are you?

  Me: I’m good. How was your week?

  JazzyAF: Same old. Nothing exciting.

  I knew she was full of it because she was a paramedic. I couldn’t imagine her job ever involved the same old anything unless she meant saving lives and being heroic had been so commonplace in her world that it no longer deserved mentioning…which I couldn’t imagine. I let it go, thinking it was likely one of those jobs that you needed to leave at work when you clocked out because it was so serious and stressful.

  We chatted for a while about our plans for the weekend like we usually did. Our conversations were always easy, never stifled. It didn’t take any effort to carry on with her for hours at a time, but no matter what we talked about, it never got deep between us. There were no secrets shared, no dreams or aspirations—it was all pretty surface level, and we hadn’t once talked about meeting. The longer this went on, the odder I started to feel that was. Typically, I was the one who put off a face-to-face meeting. Women always wanted to meet quickly, but Jasmine was going to need a little bit of encouragement. So I decided to ease into moving things forward. I could go as slow as she wanted, but there needed to be some sort of progression or we were both wasting our time.

  Me: So I was thinking…

  JazzyAF: About?

  Me: How about we exchange numbers?

  As much as I thought that wasn’t something that would scare someone off, she left me on read for a good ten minutes before she finally answered.

  JazzyAF: I guess that would be okay.

  Me: I think it would be nice to hear your voice and talk. No pressure.

  JazzyAF: All right…

  Me: We don’t have to. It was just a thought.

  Me: Forget I asked. It’s fine.

  I honestly wasn’t sure what the big deal was. We’d been talking for weeks; most people would’ve already met by now.

  JazzyAF: No, it’s fine. Sorry, I’m being weird. You know I’m new to this online dating stuff. It makes me nervous. My number is 954-555-9824

  Me: I totally get it.

  I felt like a dick for pushing her. I ran my fingers through my hair and let out a sigh.

  JazzyAF: Maybe you can call me tomorrow?

  Me: Sounds good to me.

  JazzyAF: I’m going to head to bed. Night, Seth.

  Me: Night.

  I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. That had gone way differently than I’d pictured, and it seemed really…strange, but maybe Jasmine had had a bad day or something. I wasn’t sure, but I would call her tomorrow and finally get to hear her voice.

  I plugged in my phone and fell asleep to thoughts of Jasmine.

  The lyrics to “Should I Stay Or Should I Go” by The Clash blared in my headphones as I pounded the treadmill. I’d run faster and harder than I usually did and just hit three miles with no plans for stopping anytime soon. I’d woken up with so much pent-up energy that I needed to get out, so I figured why not run for a while. The song switched to “Sabotage” by Beastie Boys, and I took it up a notch. This song always got me pumped, and right now, I was more than happy to keep logging miles. My body told me to stop, but my mind pushed back, and I finished up two more miles. I finally slowed to a walking pace, and my breathing evened out.

  When I stepped off the treadmill, I waited a few minutes for the floating feeling to leave my legs before heading for the bathroom. I looked in the mirror, my body dripping with sweat. Tilting my head to the side, I examined myself. I could admit, I was a good-looking guy with dark hair and blue eyes, but it was my physique the ladies were after. I worked hard to keep it. I wasn’t one of those guys who was ripped and ate whatever he wanted. It took a lot of hours in the gym to maintain my muscle tone, and I had to watch what I ate and drank.

  I reached for the towel, but instead of wiping off the perspiration, I grabbed my phone and snapped a picture. I didn’t usually take selfies but thought maybe I could use it to send to Jasmine after calling her. I’d been itching to dial her number; however, I’d decided to wait a little while longer, so I’d made a list of errands I’d been putting off and decided I’d do those first and reward myself with a phone call to Jasmine when I finished.

  It took me nearly four hours to get everything on my list done, and I didn’t take my time. So by the time I pulled into my driveway, it was just after two. I made myself something to eat and se
ttled on a bar stool with my phone in hand. I hovered over her name in my contacts as I hesitated. I wasn’t sure why I was so nervous. Sure it would be the first time we’d talked, but we’ve been texting for weeks and conversation had never been an issue. This was just an extension of that, the next level of communication. It should be easy.

  I gave myself a little pep talk, telling myself to stop being a pussy. Jesus, Jake would have a field day with this if he could see me right now. I closed my eyes tight and forced myself to click the call button. There was silence for a moment, but then it started to ring. After five rings, I was expecting voice mail, but she answered.

  “Hello?” Her voice matched her profile picture to a tee.

  I cleared my throat. “Jasmine?”

  “This is she. Who’s calling?”

  I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. I didn’t know why I had expected her to know it was me. “Hey, it’s Seth. How are you?”

  “I’m good?” It sounded more like a question.

  two

  Jasmine

  There was a deep chuckle on the other line. “Great. What are you up to today? Still heading to the gym.”

  “Umm yeah, I am. Well, I plan on it. Whether I make it there or not is an entirely different story.” I wasn’t sure why he was asking me this. Honestly, why was it his business?

  “I totally get that. If I didn’t have a gym in my house, I would never work out.”

  “Are you sick, Seth? You sound weird.” He usually had a higher-pitched voice than this. Maybe it was because I’d never spoken to him on the phone, but I highly doubted the phone not only made his girlishly high voice this deep but also sound sexy. And I’d never known the guy to work out a day in his life—he was certainly missing the mark if he spent a lot of time pounding iron.