Page 1 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Firefighter

1

HEATHER

It’sno secret my dating life is a dumpster fire. So why I’m surprised that yet another oh-so-promising date has gone so far south I can see Antarctica is something I should really evaluate. As soon as I escape this horror show of a dinner, I will.

Or, well, maybe I’ll do it tomorrow.

Tonight, I just want my favorite comfy Garfield pajama pants, the pint of caramel chocolate cheesecake ice cream that’s waiting in my freezer, and a trashy reality TV show to help numb the pain of chronic disappointment that is my love life.

If I have to suffer through one more date where the manchild does ninety-eight percent of the talking about how great he is and asks exactly zero questions about me, I’m going to stab my eyes out with my steak knife. I sure as hell don’t need it for the steak I wasn’t allowed to order since my date requested a salad for me on my behalf.

Jonathan the Jackass, everybody.

I think it’s time to call off the search for Mr. Right and adopt a cat.

“I think four kids will be satisfactory, don’t you?” Jonathan asks, sliding a photo across the table, nearly knocking over myice water in the process. I trusted my Spidey senses enough not to drink the wine he ordered me, and the picture of a family of six reinforces my decision to stay sober. In the photo, I’m on one side, Jonathan on the other, and in between are four kids that have eerily familiar faces with unsettling smiles. It’s like something out of a horror show.

“What is this?”

“It’s our family.”

“Um, what?” My plan to slip away to the bathroom and climb out the window might be an underreaction considering how disturbing this photo is. This man is giving off serious serial killer vibes.

“Isn’t it amazing what technology can do? With our combined genetics, our kids are going to be beautiful. Two boys. Two girls. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve already picked out their names.”

“Jon, look,” I say.

“Jonathan,” he corrects me.

“Johnny Boy, this is just a first date, and there won’t be a second, so?—”

“I agree we don’t need a second date. Best just to skip right to the good part I always say. But save the Johnny Boy for the bedroom from now on. It turns me on.”

My entire body shudders so fiercely my chair rattles.

I know I’ll regret asking, but my desperate need to keep him distracted as I discreetly reach for my purse beneath my chair and set it in my lap makes me do it anyway. “What’s the good part?”

“The wedding night, of course.”

Fuck, it’s a good thing I wasn’t taking a drink. I’d have choked on an ice cube. “You hardly know me. What makes you think you want to marry me?” Never mind that I definitely donotwant to marry him.

“Oh, I know a lot about you,” he says, the smug look he flashes me unnerving as hell. It suggests he knows something I don’t, and it sounds the loudest alarm bells yet. My ears will ring permanently after this is all over.IfI survive the night. “I know you have a degree in business management with a minor in art studies. That 4.0 GPA is impressive. Of course, you won’t need any of that once we’re married.”

“My degree wasn’t on my dating profile.” A chill races down my spine as I fish out my phone from the depths of my purse. It’s buried beneath God only knows what. But hey, at least there’s pepper spray. That might come in handy later.

“I also know you worked at Harry’s Pizza Palace for two years. Your experience will serve you well for how much time you’ll be spending in the kitchen.” He laughs. “See what I did there? Serve because you were a server?”

“Funny,” I deadpan.

I had that job during college, more than a decade ago. How the fuck does he know about that?

Careful to keep my attention as much on Jonathan as possible to avoid suspicion, I hastily scroll through my contacts. I silently chastise myself for deleting my entire text history tosave storagean hour before this disaster of a date that would make sending this SOS message to my bestie so much quicker. Instead, I’m forced to sort through my extensive list of contacts in search of the letterP.

“Do you still substitute teach art class?” Jonathan asks. “I couldn’t find any recent work history on that, so I wasn’t sure.”

“Uh, no.”

“Just as well,” he says as I glance down at the screen in my lap. “We’ll want to start on this family right away since your childbearing years are nearly behind you. Best if you don’t have any extra commitments to distract you.”