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Mr. Wrong Number(14)

Author:Lynn Painter

I glanced up and moved over to the right, stopping beside a closed storefront so I could text without walking into traffic or getting trampled by my fellow on-foot commuters. I texted: I’m busy. You think I can just come up with these gems on the fly?

Mr. Wrong Number: That is exactly what I think.

That made me smile because it was bizarre the way I kind of felt like he got me, even though we were total strangers.

I pushed up my sunglasses before typing: Okay. Do you think an intelligent person who has never done a CERTAIN THING is capable of giving good advice about a CERTAIN THING if they’re studious and do the research?

Mr. Wrong Number: First of all, this one’s boring. Second, you’re asking for a friend, right?

Me: Right.

Mr. Wrong Number: Okay. Well. I think it depends. If you’re talking about surgery—please God no. But if you’re talking about something a little abstract, like dating advice, then yes, I think it’s possible for the right person to pull it off.

Parenting was kind of abstract, right?

Me: Thank you. Okay, I’ll give you what you really want now.

Mr. Wrong Number: Oh, baby.

Me: Eww.

Mr. Wrong Number: Waiting.

Me: How many 5th grade boys could you beat in a fight at one time? And no weapons allowed.

Mr. Wrong Number: What if my hands are registered weapons?

Me: Spare me the machismo.

Mr. Wrong Number: Hmm. I’d say . . . twelve.

Me: You have GOT to be kidding.

Mr. Wrong Number: You think more?

Me: Your answer makes me think you’ve never been around little boys. I’d say no more than six, because you only have two hands. That’s three kids per hand.

Mr. Wrong Number: But you’re forgetting about the legs.

Me: The legs can hold them off, but not win. The win will be in the hands.

Mr. Wrong Number: You clearly skip leg day.

Me: Listen, I have to go. I’m literally standing on the sidewalk and texting like I’m a teenager.

Mr. Wrong Number: Holy shit—did I ever ask? You’re not a teenager, are you???

Me: Relax, I’m 25. You’re . . . not a baby either, right?

Mr. Wrong Number: 29 so you’re safe.

Me: Although really, it’s not like we’re sexting or anything. It technically wouldn’t even matter if we weren’t of age.

Mr. Wrong Number: . . . sending dick pic . . .

Me: I will block you so fast. Unless you’ve got some sort of . . . special gift. Then I will block you, but slowly.

Mr. Wrong Number: I’ll be good.

Me: Thank God. Because I would actually hate to have to block you. Weird, right?

Mr. Wrong Number: Same. And totally weird.

Me: Okay, well, later, Mr. Wrong Number.

Mr. Wrong Number: Goodbye, Miss Misdial. And btw, I would totally get the slow block.

* * *

? ? ?

“YOU HAVE TO hold on or you’ll fall off.”

“Okay.” Kyle wrapped his arms around my neck, squeezed, and yelled, “Go, donkey!”

I started crawling across the hardwood floor of the apartment while he rode me like I was an actual donkey. Brady, on the other hand, was staring mindlessly at the TV while my oldest brother, Will, knelt before him, struggling to put on his little shoes.

“Why do you let him do that?” Jack asked from his spot on the couch, a grimace on his face as he watched me. “He’s too big.”

I crawled faster as Kyle giggled. “Because of this. Auntie Liv is his favorite and I’m going to do everything in my power to ensure that never changes.”

“Once he’s old enough to know what cool is, Uncle Jack will pull in the lead.”

“You have never watched the boys.” Will picked up Brady and threw him over his shoulder while giving Jack a look. “Not even once. Liv, on the other hand, babysat for us even when she didn’t live here.”

Jack rolled his eyes and said to Will, “Like you would’ve ever babysat a couple of toddlers when you were single.”

I collapsed onto the floor, bucking Kyle off and making him giggle hysterically.

Will shot him a grin of commiseration. “True. I don’t even love it now, and they’re my own kids.”

I sat up, sticking out a hand to deflect Kyle’s reboarding attempt. “You guys are crazy; I’d borrow the boys for months at a time if I could.”

“Not while you’re staying here.” Jack pointed at me with his Lone Star bottle. “This is a special exception because Colin’s out of town. Just a one-off.”

Will and I exchanged a look, because I’d already agreed to watch the boys for Will and Dana’s upcoming date night.

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