CHAPTER 4
The alarm on her phone sounded at a quarter to six in the morning two weeks after she’d arrived in Manchester. Two weeks that had been surprisingly uneventful, considering how close they were to the season’s opening game.
While Scarlett had managed to meet every on the women’s team, Theo Ross had kept pushing back her interviews with the men’s team, citing a need to practice.
It was fine, considering all the players were now back in the city for the start of the season, but she really needed to hammer out a plan for the men’s team if she was going to get their reputation back on track.
But every time she went to speak with Theo, he would disappear, which was becoming more aggravating as time went on.
Thankfully, whenever she became annoyed with him or the lackluster support regarding the women’s team, she had a distraction in her back pocket.
Mr. Wrong Number was proving to be a very helpful guide to the city, and even though Scarlett could ask a number of people any questions she had, she liked giving off the impression that she was knowledgeable about Manchester, even if she had only been there for two weeks.
They had only discussed little things, like where the best place to get a meal was, and what time was best to avoid certain traffic. Pretty blasé stuff, but then, every once in a while they’d diverge into a weirdly specific conversation that would leave her grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
Like when he asked, You’re having your portrait painted. What’s your background?
She went into a whole spiel about how she’d always wanted one of those Renaissance paintings done of her, but then how maybe she’d rather be painted like a 1940s movie star, as she had a weakness for old black-and-white films. He had texted her saying that he’d bet she would put people like Rita Hayworth to shame, and even though it wasn’t true, she had basked in the compliment.
The alarm buzzed again. She needed to be in the office early, but when she reached for her phone to silence the alarm, she saw a little white text window.
Mr. Wrong Number had texted her a little over an hour ago.
It was absurd how giddy she became when seeing a message from him.
They didn’t know anything about each other, and the likelihood that he was some deviant creep was very high, but there was something about him.
It was comforting, almost, to have a secret friend.
Maybe it was the anonymity. She was sure it was some sort of kink, but having a secret person to flirt with once in a while was certainly a mood booster.
Sliding the screen to unlock her phone, she tapped the message.
Early morning. You up?
She smirked.
I am now.
No triple dots. It had been an hour. She rolled over onto her back and stretched. He was probably already busy doing something else—
Ding!
Scarlett rolled back and grabbed her phone.
Too late. I was going to use you to avoid going to the gym this morning, but I went when you didn’t text back.
The gym? So, he worked out.
In my defense, no one wakes up at 4:45 a.m. to go to the gym.
Sure they do.
Only people avoiding things—like their seventeen kids or angry wife.
Scarlett winced, hoping her sarcasm would land. It was so hard to do over text, particularly with a stranger. Or worse, he might actually have seventeen kids and an angry wife. A flashback to a very uncomfortable Bumble date in Portland last year flashed in her mind.
“Please don’t a weirdo,” she whispered as the phone dinged.
Wouldn’t know anything about those sorts of things.
“Exactly what a married man who fathered a litter of children would say,” she said, sighing.
Yeah, right.
Believe what you like, but I already told you, I’m unattached.
Scarlett squinted at her phone, still unbelieving.
Not since your ex, right?
Right.
Can I ask you what happened?
Delete, delete, delete. But then she typed it out again and sent it.
Why shouldn’t she ask? It wasn’t like she knew this person, and therefore, she had no reason to feel awkward about asking him such a personal question.
Still, she grimaced as she hit send. She doubted he’d answer.
He could flat-out lie to her, and she would be none the wiser.
This was a difficult game to play.
Ding! She sat up a bit to read his text.
She was having a hard time being away from her family, and when she went back to visit over the holidays, she hooked up with an old friend. On Christmas.
“Damn,” Scarlett said, resting her elbows on her bent knees.
Why didn’t you go with her?
For the holidays, I mean.
Work.
He was probably a workaholic. Scarlett didn’t believe that anyone deserved to be cheated on, but she was relieved when he continued to text.
I wasn’t the most attentive boyfriend.
That’s honest of you to say…
If you are being honest.
You know, this isn’t going to work if you don’t at least pretend to believe my texts.
What exactly is this?
What do you want it to be?
A solid question, but one she wasn’t sure how to answer as she snuggled back against her pillow. It was fun, texting someone she didn’t know and who didn’t know her. She could be anyone she wanted, say anything she wanted, and it would only exist in this small, inconsequential part of the world.
There was something oddly attractive about the whole situation.
Scarlett had already started to dream up what sort of man might be on the other end of the line.
Was he tall? Short? Light-skinned or dark?
What was the shape of his face, his lips and eyes, the color of his hair, the texture of his skin?
Did he wear glasses?
For the briefest of moments, an image of Theo Ross popped into her head, but she batted that away.
She could do without the curly hair and five o’clock shadow.
Or at least that was what she told herself.
But the perpetual scowl on his face would not let go of her, and she shivered from thinking about him.
She needed to figure out why she found mean guys so attractive.
She had to answer. Reaching for her necklace to fiddle with her charm, she wondered how brave she could be with a stranger as she texted him back.
Something easy… Maybe something fun?
Send. Scarlett shrank back against her pillow and let out a squeak before covering her mouth with her free hand.
Like?
Exhaling, she told herself the worst thing that could happen was that one person who didn’t have any idea who she was would think she was a pervert, but it didn’t matter because they were strangers and she could block his number at any time and completely forget the whole situation.
And with the image of a growly Theo Ross in her head, she couldn’t help but feel a bit turned on.
So she gave it a go.
What are you wearing?
Scarlett inhaled and exhaled slowly as the three dots appeared. That was an innocent enough text, wasn’t it? He could answer or not, and it would be fine, because really—
I just got out of the shower, so a towel. What about you?
Scarlett’s cheeks warmed as she glanced down at her oversized Northwestern University tee shirt and Thanksgiving pajama bottoms her mom had given to her several years ago. Not the sexiest clothes, but then, he didn’t have to know that.
I’m about to get into the shower, so same.
“Liar,” she whispered to herself as she waited for the dots to change into words.
Do you ever touch yourself in the shower?
Radiating heat bloomed around Scarlett’s neck as her skin began to tingle.
This was it. She was going to have some sort of sexting session with a stranger, and while she knew there was a load of guilt or embarrassment she should be experiencing in that moment, she pushed it all out of her mind and let herself fall into the moment.
Yes. Sometimes.
Are you going to now?
Do you want me to?
Yes.
Anticipation tingled within.
Then yes.
Scarlett’s hand moved down her torso as she actively pushed the recurring image of Theo out of her mind. She didn’t want to think about him when she was talking to Mr. Wrong Number, but he was so mean, and for some diabolical reason, she found that irresistibly attractive.
Touch the inside of your thigh.
Scarlett obeyed. It was a sensitive spot for sure, yet it felt even more so now as her fingertips trailed along her skin. It was more pronounced, more tantalizing being told what to do, even though she was alone, wishing she wasn’t.
I am.
Good. Now—
At that moment, the phone slipped and her other hand came up to grab it. Suddenly, a blaring BEEP BEEP sounded over the speaker. She was calling him. No, not only that, she was FaceTiming him.
“Shit!” she said as she ended the call before he could pick up and tossed it toward the foot of the bed. “Oh my God! Ugh.”
She rolled over onto her stomach and buried her face into the pillow. Of course she was incapable of keeping things relaxed and easygoing. He probably thought she was crazy for calling.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she chastised herself as she quickly sent off a message.
Sorry! That was an accident.
Sitting up, she realized that it was half past six already, and she needed to get up. Grabbing her phone, she peeked to see if he had texted anything else, but to her relief and mortification, he hadn’t. And likely wouldn’t ever text her again.
She sighed as she rolled out of bed. It was probably for the best. Having anonymous phone sex was the last thing she needed to bother with, considering the headache that work was already proving to be.
With an unsatisfied weight hanging around her neck, Scarlett took a cold shower to cool herself off, then dressed in a pair of faded jeans, a tucked-in tee, bright blue heels, and a black blazer and headed down the stairs, where she found Maxie at the small dining table, spreading apricot jam over a piece of toast.
“Good morning,” she said, nodding to the kettle on the counter. “Tea?”