Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Player (Wrong Number, Right Grump #3)

Chapter 1

ONE

JO

The look of pure shock and horror must be written on my face. Clearly enough that even someone as oblivious as Mark can read it.

His cheeks flush red from the other side of the car.

He clears his throat. “I guess this is coming as more of a surprise to you than I thought it would be.”

“You think?” I scoff.

Even the driver must agree, if his snort from the front seat is any indication.

“Look, Jo,” Mark sighs. “We both know this isn’t going anywhere. There’s never been much of a spark, and I’m not sure we want the same things. Plus, I’ve been talking to the new girl in accounting, and she thinks—”

“Wait.” I hold up my hand to silence him and shift in my seat so I can stare my now-ex-boyfriend directly in the eyes.

Or, I would stare him in the eye if he wasn’t looking anywhere but me.

Coward.

If I’d known he was one, I would have dumped him first. Though, I would have picked a better time and place.

“Let me get all of this straight,” I say. “You suddenly realized tonight that we don’t have a future together.”

Mark nods, and swallows hard. Still not looking at me. “That’s right.”

“Fair enough.” I nod slowly. “I don’t disagree. But I do question the timing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s look at a timeline of the events. We just left our firm’s annual awards dinner, where everyone we work with saw us attend together as a couple.”

“We did.”

“Glad we’re on the same page there. And if my memory serves me correctly, this was an awards dinner where I was expecting to get the promotion I’ve been working toward for the past year. But instead the partners announced that they were going to do an external search instead.”

Mark shakes his head like he doesn’t understand what one thing has to do with the other. Has he always been this oblivious? Or is he just heartless?

“Okay, so it would probably be fair to say that it’s not a big stretch for me to think that the two things might be related. Especially since you’ve been talking to Carrie in accounting, who no doubt has been saying you should be with someone who can help your career more.”

“How did you know she said…” He trails off and has the decency to look sheepish.

Seriously. How have I been dating this guy for two whole months?

“All that aside,” I continue. “The fact that tonight has already been one of the more disappointing nights in my professional career. The fact that you’ve been talking about our relationship with another woman at work.

The fact that you decided to dump me in front of a witness.

There’s still one little fact that isn’t quite adding up in my head. ”

He looks weary. “What’s that?”

“Did I, or did I not, give you a handjob in the supply closet on the way in to dinner because you said it would ‘calm your nerves’?”

Mark’s eyes widen and he darts a look at the driver, apparently noticing him for the first time. “Josephine—”

“I just think it’s really interesting that you had decided our relationship was going nowhere and you were going to end it on a really bad night in a really insensitive place. But I was still good enough to get you off one last time.”

“Well, it did help me relax.” Mark shrugs. “Besides, we’re both smart enough to know that sex and love don’t always come together.”

The car comes to a sudden halt. I brace myself on the back of the seat, but Mark smacks into the back of the driver’s.

“Hey,” he rubs his forehead. “Watch what you’re doing.”

The driver turns to glare at him. “Get. Out.”

Mark’s hand—and jaw—drop. “What did you say?”

“I told you, young man, to get the hell out of my car.”

“But this isn’t my spot.”

A quick glance out the window shows that’s right. We’re near a shopping mall that has been closed for hours.

“It is now.”

Mark stares at the driver, seemingly waiting for the older gentleman to turn around and restart the car. But he doesn’t.

With one more huff, and a muttered “unbelievable,” Mark unsnaps his seatbelt, throws open the door and gets out.

“We’ll always have the supply closet next to the banquet hall,” I call out after him.

The door slams shut. All of my vibrato, all of my badass energy seems to have gone out the door with him.

In its place, I’m left alone in the back of a car. With a driver kind enough to turn up the volume on the radio so I can cry without drawing more attention to myself. At a red light, he silently hands me a box of tissues.

I hate that I’m crying. About Mark. About the job. About losing my cool over both. But the tears keep coming and they don’t stop coming until the driver pulls up in front of my apartment building.

He turns to me then, giving me the full force of his wrinkled smile and wise eyes. “You’re better than that man and those idiots you work with.”

My bottom lip quivers. “Thank you.”

“I hope you have someone you can talk to tonight.”

I open my mouth to assure him I do, but clamp it shut just as quickly. The truth is… I don’t think I do. Not tonight.

My best friend is on her honeymoon. I don’t want to bother her with my bullshit right now. Especially because there’s a fifty-fifty chance I reach her pre- or post-coital.

The rest of our friends are at a charity bachelor auction I wish I’d gone to instead of the stupid office party.

I can’t call my work bestie. As much as I love her, I don’t need this getting around the office just yet. Monday morning is soon enough.

My brother, Patrick, isn’t going to be very sympathetic. Assuming he even picks up the phone.

Even my parents are gone. They finally took that Mediterranean Cruise they’ve been talking about since before I could write my name.

Not only do I not know the time wherever they are, but I do know they’re too cheap to purchase an international cell plan.

I also have my doubts about whether or not they’ve figured out how to get on the ship’s WiFi.

So, no. I don’t think there’s anyone I can talk to tonight. And that’s… sad. Really, really sad.

This is why every woman needs a cat. I swear, I’m adopting one ASAP.

But, instead of unloading this on the poor unsuspecting driver who has really already gone above and beyond, I force a smile on my face and nod.

“I’ll be just fine.” I swallow past the lump lodged in my throat. “Thank you. For everything. I promise, you’re getting five stars from me.”

He chuckles lightly and accepts the cash I hand him. I know you’re supposed to tip through the app—and I will. But this man went above and beyond the call of duty tonight. He deserves every penny I have.

With a few parting words of gratitude, I get out of the car and blindly make my way up to my apartment. Kicking off my heels, I sink onto my couch. Gripping my phone, because I desperately want to talk to someone.

But who?

I unlock my phone anyway.

Mom.

Dad.

Patrick.

Katie.

A whole list of no options. I stare at the list of names until the screen starts to dim.

I sigh and let the phone flop onto the couch beside me. It buzzes almost immediately. My heart does the stupid little hopeful leap I swore it wasn’t going to do.

Mark.

For one humiliating second, I think maybe he’s texting to apologize.

I hope you’ll still consider helping me with the athletic drink pitch.

I stare at the screen. Then I laugh. Not because it’s funny. Because if I don’t laugh, I’m going to throw my phone through my television.

“You’re welcome,” I mutter. “I hope Carrie enjoys your next trip to the supply closet.”

Block Contact.

Done.

Well. That chapter of my life lasted a whopping eight weeks. Yay me.

The apartment falls quiet again. I curl deeper into the corner of the couch, pulling my knees against my chest.

Not wanting to watch TV, and not quite ready to doomscroll, I open my contacts again. My thumb scrolls past names I haven’t thought about in years.

Former coworkers. College classmates. People I once swore I’d keep in touch with. It’s funny how life gets in the way of those promises. Then my thumb stops.

Ethan.

My stomach twists. I haven’t talked to Ethan since... College? Maybe. It’s been so long I honestly can’t remember.

He was my favorite study partner. My favorite person to grab terrible vending machine coffee with between classes.

The guy who always saved me a seat.

The guy who walked me back to my apartment after late-night library sessions because he insisted campus wasn’t safe after midnight.

We were never anything. Not officially. Just... Friends. Really good friends. Except every once in a while he’d smile at me across a textbook and I’d wonder if maybe... Maybe...

Then graduation came. Jobs happened. Life happened. And he became one of those “what if” chapters in my life.

I smile sadly. I wonder if he ever thinks about me. Probably not. He’s probably married. Living somewhere with a golden retriever, two kids, and a house with a wine fridge.

Good for him.

My thumb hovers over his conversation anyway. The last text is almost nine years old.

If we survive finals, drinks are on me.

I never answered. God. I’m the worst.

“What are you doing?” I ask myself. I open the message thread anyway. My thumbs hover over the keyboard. I type. Delete. Type.

Delete again.

Finally, I take a deep breath.

Do you ever wonder what would’ve happened if we’d been a little braver and just gone for it?

I stare at the message. “This is insane.”

My finger taps Send before my brain has a chance to object. The little blue bubble flies away.

I groan and drop my forehead against the couch cushion.

“Congratulations, Jo. You’ve officially become the woman who randomly texts someone who wasn’t even a real ex.”

My phone buzzes.

I freeze.

No way.

There’s absolutely no way Ethan still has the same number.

I pick up the phone.

Depends.

I blink.

Another bubble appears before I can process the first.

How brave are we talking?

Then he writes something that makes my eyebrows climb halfway to my hairline and my face flush hotter than it ever has before.

That definitely isn’t Ethan. I type as fast as my thumbs will move.

Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry. I think I texted the wrong number.

That explains why you skipped the part where you introduced yourself before asking if I’d ever fantasized about kissing you.

Heat rushes straight into my cheeks.

Oh.

My.

God.

I clap a hand over my mouth. He thinks... No. Absolutely not. I start typing another apology. Before I can send it, another message arrives.

For the record, I haven’t decided if I should be offended or intrigued. It all depends on what you say next.

I stare at the screen.

Then, despite the absolute train wreck this evening has become, I smile.

I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to write back.