“Wrong Number?”
He nodded and smiled and then we shared an awkward half hug. He said, “I grabbed us a table by the window.”
“Oh, awesome.” I followed him and wasn’t disappointed, per se, because he was a handsome-enough guy. But I think I’d expected to feel some sort of awareness or familiarity with him, like a major connection, and it didn’t seem like that was happening.
I slid into his booth and we shared a nervous smile. I said, “I can’t believe we’re finally meeting.”
“Right?” He nodded and smiled.
“The whole thing is just so bizarre. I mean, you were there, so you know, but still.”
He said, “Right?”
Hmmm . . . two rights in one minute didn’t make a wrong, but three probably would.
“I texted and asked what you were wearing, and you said my mom’s wedding dress.” He gave a laugh and said, “The rest is history.”
“Yep. That’s how I remember it, too.”
“And remember that time you pissed off that guy about Hooters?”
“I do.” I waved to the waitress. “So, what is your name, Wrong Number? We can say it now, right?”
He smiled. “I guess we can. I’m Nick DeVry.”
I nodded; Wrong Number had an actual name. Nick. “I’m Olivia Marshall. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Two nervous smiles at one tiny table.
I cleared my throat. “So, what do you do, Nick?”
“I’m in finance. Snore, right?”
I smiled, irritated that the word finance instantly put the image of Colin in my head. “Good paying snore, though.”
“It is. And you . . . ?”
“I’m a writer.” Please don’t ask where I work.
The waitress came over and took my order, and then my phone buzzed. While Nick was ordering a piece of cake, I looked at the message.
Sara: So . . . ?
Me: Seems nice.
Sara: Uh-oh. Not a love connection? Sorry, kitten.
Me: Thanks.
I put my phone in the pocket of my sweater. “So what part of town do you live in, Nick? Did you grow up here? What’s your story?”
He leaned back and stroked his chin, or where I assumed his chin was under the brush. “Grew up in KC, and I live out in Millard.”
“So you’re a suburb guy.”
“That’s me.” He stopped stroking. “I’ve got hella street cred, though.”
“Oh, sure.”
His eyes twinkled. “Don’t make me prove it.”
I smiled. “Um, how would you be doing that . . . ?”
“Break dancing. Duh.”
“Um, I’m afraid I’m definitely going to have to make you prove it.”
And Nick, bless his heart, flashed me a grin, stood, and started moonwalking in the middle of the packed coffeehouse.
* * *
? ? ?
“I HAD A really great time talking to you, Olivia.”
“Same.”
We stopped in front of my building, and I was so ready to be done with the date. Nick was great, but in person we had none of the crackling electricity that’d existed in our texts. Like, not an ounce. Honestly, I couldn’t even imagine Nick thinking dirty thoughts, much less sending them in a text. Or teasing me. He was just . . . nice.
I swallowed and looked at his face—really looked. And he was definitely cute. I hated the stupid ick factor, because it had arrived, and all I felt in my stomach was ick for Nick.
So disappointing.
Dammit—NO. I stepped forward and put my mouth on his. A test kiss. Maybe we’d share a kiss for the record books and it’d change everything. I wasn’t above forcing things at this point—I needed a win.
Nick made a breathing whistle sound through his nose, and then he turned his head and just let go with his everything.
He kissed the shit out of me.
I didn’t know if he had a grotesquely oversized tongue or if he was just trying to see if he could fit the entire thing in my mouth, but kissing him messed with my breathing. There was so much happening in my mouth that I couldn’t get enough air. It was full of intended passion and an ample amount of saliva, but it just didn’t work.
And it felt like I might have collected a beard hair in my mouth.
I pulled back and smiled. “Thanks again for the coffee. Have a good night, Nick.”
Colin
Nick texted me after the date. She seemed nice and I think it went well.
Perfect.
I kept watching for Liv to text something to Wrong Number, but she was unusually quiet. I went upstairs to the gym and lifted, and when I got home, there was a message.