Page 9 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Guy Next Door

Bad night?

Long day. Can I tell you something weird?

Always.

I almost kissed my neighbor today.

The dots come up immediately, then stop, then come back, and take longer than they've ever taken.

Almost?

But then my aunt showed up with a pitcher of lemonade.

Good.

I roll onto my side and pull the sheet over my legs, hot all over and not entirely from the fan.

Are you jealous?

Tell me what happened first.

And I do. I don't know why; maybe it's because he's a stranger, or because he's just some words on the screen and none of this is real.

He doesn't answer for a while.

What did you want him to do?

I press my thighs together and stare at the ceiling.

Nothing polite.

Try again.

Everything. I wanted him to pick me up. He's got these big hands… I wanted him to stop being careful. Is this weird? Telling you this?

No.

I keep thinking about you, too. My mystery man.

Say that again.

I think about you. At night. More than I'd admit.

What do you think about?

You first.

Coward.

Are you in bed?

Yes. What are you wearing?

A shirt. That's it. It's too hot for anything else.

Then push it up.

My whole body goes molten. I look at the window, at the dark trees, at the fan turning slowly overhead, and I put my hand on my stomach and slide the hem of the shirt up over my ribs. My nipples pebble as the hot air from the fan blows across my body.