Page 3 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Guy Next Door

I sit up so fast the swing knocks the wall.

You were supposed to delete it.

I'm reading it again, actually.

Please don't.

Too late. I'm enjoying the part about directions.

I press my hand over my face and laugh into it, alone in the dark on a mountain, drunk on my aunt's terrible red wine.

I shouldn’t be doing this. I should block this random number like any sensible person.

In my defense, he really did need them.

If a man needs a map, he’s not paying attention.

I make a sound that would embarrass me if anyone heard it.

This is the worst night of my life.

I’ve had worse.

Are you always like this with strangers?

You texted me.

Fair. Completely fair.

Do I get to know who I've traumatized?

No.

That's rude.

I’m a man of mystery.

I smile and then knock the bottle of wine over. It’s empty.

I have to sleep. I have boxes to unpack.

Goodnight, sexy.

Goodnight, stranger.

Chapter Two

HARRIS

The phone buzzes in my pocket as I’m closing the curtains for the night.

Nobody texts me. The propane company, occasionally. A man in New York who still wants to know about a photograph I took a lifetime ago and can't take no for an answer. My sister sends me long emails from Alaska, while my father occasionally sends a Christmas card.

I pick it up.

Since you asked what I miss: not your excuses. Just the one thing you were ever good at, which was your mouth on me. Even if I had to give you directions, you knew how to make me come.

I read it twice. My heart goes off like something startled out of the brush, and every drop of blood I've got heads to my cock at once.