“Speaking of Colin,” I said, watching as Kyle got herded toward the door by Will, “what does he do for a living? When I saw him last week he looked . . . I don’t know, important. Businessy. I thought he was, like, a salesman.”
“You’re so clueless,” Will laughed, and I flipped him off.
He gestured at his kids, feigning outrage. “The children, Livvie.”
“Well, knock off your crap so I don’t teach them my bad habits.” I rolled my eyes and climbed to my feet. “So what does Colin actually do, then?”
“Oh. Yeah.” Jack said, “I think his title is something like senior financial analyst.”
I tried to picture it. “For real?”
“For real.” He started peeling the label off his beer as he said, “It gives him an unfair advantage in fantasy football that pisses me off.”
I walked over to the door to give the boys kisses before they left, but I looked over my shoulder at Jack and said, “I can’t believe he works in finance.”
I kind of assumed he’d be good at his job, whatever it was, but I’d imagined Colin working in real estate or something equally slick, like a sports car salesman.
“You’re surprised?” Jack stood and set down his beer. “He has a master’s in math and got a perfect score on his ACT.”
“Shut up.” I mean, Colin didn’t come across as stupid, but he also didn’t bring to mind equations and studiousness, either. His bone structure was too good for that kind of solidity. “I had no idea.”
“That’s because you always assumed the worst about him.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Oh, come on. He always gave you shit, and you couldn’t take it so you decided he was Satan.”
“You have to admit, he has the slick overconfidence of Lucifer.”
“Nah.” Will put the diaper bag over his shoulder and said, “That’s just rich-boy overconfidence. The arrogance that comes from growing up wealthy.”
“Probably.” My mother had always treated him like he was an actual prince when he came around because according to her, everyone in his family was a fancy lawyer. Grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles; they all worked at Beck & Beck, the city’s oldest and most prestigious law firm.
“That’s bullshit.” Jack brought Kyle’s stuffed Paw Patrol dog over to where we were in the entryway. “His family is loaded, but Colin and his sister aren’t snooty like the rest of them.”
“Wait, Colin has a sister?”
How had I not known that? I remembered Jack telling me a whole dramatic story when we were in high school about Colin’s dad having an affair with his paralegal and then getting pissed at Colin’s mother for being upset about it. Jack had said the guy was so entitled that he lost his shit whenever someone dared to not agree with him.
I’d been fascinated by that story, because it sounded way more like my mother’s beloved General Hospital than anything I knew to be real life. Jack used to say Colin’s dad was a jerk who constantly rode Colin’s ass, but I didn’t recall anything about a sister. I’d pictured him all alone in the drama. “He’s got ‘Entitled Only Child’ written all over him.”
“See? Assuming the worst.”
“Whatever. Come here, Kyle.” I knelt, burrowed my face into the nape of his neck, and blew, which made him erupt into giggles. He hugged me tightly and wouldn’t let go, so it led to me carrying him down to Will’s car because I wasn’t ready to let him go yet, either.
Suddenly I was glad to no longer live five hundred miles away.
After they drove off, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I ignored it as I went inside and rode the elevator up, because I wasn’t allowing myself to engage with Mr. Wrong Number until I was finished with my projects. I still needed to shower （not really a project but definitely necessary）， send thankyou emails for the interviews I’d botched, and create a list of ten more positions to apply for tomorrow.
After that, I’d allow myself to play with my anonymous friend.
Who, apparently, would require the slow block.
Lawd. I really need to stop thinking about him.
* * *
? ? ?
I’D RACED THROUGH my chores and was finally done with my assignments, so I was going to have a little fun and converse with Mr. Wrong Number for a bit. I dropped down to the raft-bed, feeling pathetically excited as I grabbed my phone and opened my messages.
And—yes—there was one from him, sent thirty minutes ago.