Wrong Number: A Forbidden Love Age-Gap Romance

by Iris Trovao

  He snatched the wrapper from his desk and shoved it in the garbage can beneath, innocently folding his hands on top of it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Nurse Patricia,” he replied sternly, struggling to calm his racing heart. He hoped his guilty and terrified reaction had come off as playful.

  She rolled her eyes. “Hon, if you saw what I eat at home you would probably die inside. And force me to see a dietician.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “We’ve got a patient triaged back here for you, if you’re finished in here.”

  “Yes, yes of course,” he stammered, and quickly clicked his phone to sleep, shoving it in his pocket before following her out of his office.

  Chapter Five

  Jolie stared at her phone for a full five minutes. No dots to show he was typing a reply. Nothing. She dropped her phone and pulled the covers up over her face.

  I just hit on a married man, she thought, groaning into the comforter. What the fuck am I doing? I’m married too, for fuck’s sake!

  Not that it felt like it, most of the time. She flopped over onto John’s side with a huff. The cold side of the bed. So often cold. She didn’t know where he was. Working? At the gym? Passed out in a hotel somewhere? She didn’t know.

  And the worst part was that at this point, she couldn’t even bring herself to care. She starfished on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. A sad, lonely wife, drinking alone on Valentine’s Day only to return home and drunk text a stranger that she’s fantasizing about him, she thought, brain sluggish.

  A nice, married doctor. Well, she still wasn’t one hundred percent sure that he was actually nice, or even if he was really a doctor. There still hadn’t been any dick pics though. And she had enjoyed the company over her shitshow of a dinner.

  At least Alicia had finally messaged her, full of apologies for forgetting to give her a ride home the night before. Her new number, as it turned out, was one digit off from the good doctor’s.

  Jolie ran her tongue over her teeth and let out a deep sigh. She imagined a studious man, with a serious face and deep-set eyes, wearing a crisp lab coat. He sat behind a big oak desk, staring down at his phone, fiddling with a wedding ring on his finger as he read her text messages, shaking his head and not knowing what to say.

  He’d stuck with her through ass-talk, f-bombs, and asking too many questions about his patients, but she had to go and take it the extra mile. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  But she couldn’t stop picturing him. Salt-and-pepper hair maybe, with some scruff on a chiseled jaw.

  She groaned and picked up her phone again. Of course there were no new messages. She hadn’t felt it buzz. Her thumbs quivered over the touch screen, but she didn’t know what to say.

  Sorry for kind of hitting on you, lol it was a joke? No, that was a conversation killer. Or at least, it wouldn’t save her from the conversation killer. He’d said his wife was cheating on him, but that didn’t magically make it okay for her to cross that line.

  Jolie’s stomach sank and flipped. She pressed her thighs together.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she asked herself, voice swallowed by the darkness around her. She didn’t know if it was the wine or the attention or the topics of their conversation, but she was turned on. For the first time in a long time.

  No, it wasn’t the thoughts of foreign objects or disastrous dates, it was this vision in her head of a sexy older doctor sitting behind his fancy, sturdy oak desk. Her imagination took over, betraying her will to be good.

  The doctor stood from his office chair, broad shoulders straining against the bright white fabric of the lab coat. He shrugged out of it, revealing a tight black beater beneath, and jeans that cupped his thighs and ass like a set of hands. A stethoscope hung around his neck, and he pulled it off slowly, his steel gaze locked on hers.

  She was in the vision now too, sitting on his desk, wearing nothing. He didn’t say anything—she hadn’t imagined his voice yet—and simply stepped towards her, reaching out to lock the stethoscope behind her neck with both hands like a scarf.

  She gasped as he leaned towards her, lips looking satiny soft, plush pink clouds coming in for what was sure to be a mind-melting kiss.

  The click of the front door unlatching echoed like a battering ram.

  Jolie dove under the covers of her bed and closed her eyes, steadying her breathing. She realized she was still clutching her phone and quickly darted her hand out from beneath the blankets, setting it quietly on her nightstand before returning to playing possum.

  John shuffled in, shedding his clothes along the floor as he made his way to the bathroom. After the longest piss in human history, he returned and slid into bed, snoring within minutes.

  She stayed stock still through all of it, relaxing only once he’d fallen asleep.

  Forgetting your Valentine’s Day date with your wife must be so exhausting, she thought bitterly as she listened to him. This was a ritual for her, when he came home late. She was always awake, and she always pretended to be asleep to avoid talking to him.

  How stupid, to be so lonely but avoid all confrontation with the person you live with. She swallowed hard. This was about the time that the guilt set in. Guilt that she wasn’t doing more to try to salvage their relationship. Guilt that she’d just been fantasizing about another man. Granted, she’d fabricated the man, but the idea behind the fabrication was a real person that she’d been talking to. Flirting with.

  She wondered what John would say if she woke him up to tell him. Hey honey, I’ve been flirting with this hot doctor and you interrupted me about to rub one out thinking about him. Can you throw me a pity fuck so I can release this energy, please? She stifled a hysterical laugh that threatened to bubble up from her throat.

  What the fuck is wrong with me? She clenched her jaw and rolled over to peek at her phone on the nightstand. Still no response from Dr. Tweedledick.

  Her stomach twinged again, with a different kind of guilt. She broke out into a cold sweat at the stark reality that she felt more guilty for possibly offending her new friend than any of the guilt she had pertaining to her husband.

  It’s best if he blocked my number, she thought, trying to ignore the sudden thick feeling in her throat. This is not a good situation, for either of us.

  She assured herself that he was a smart man, a studious, faithful man, and that he for sure had blocked her number to avoid any further inappropriate remarks.

  As she burrowed herself into the blankets, willing herself to go to sleep, she couldn’t help but hope that she was wrong.

  Chapter Six

  Carson headed into the house as the sun rose over the horizon, closing the front door as quietly as he could behind him. Realistically, he knew that the girls slept like logs, and he could probably take a wooden spoon to every pot and pan in the kitchen and they wouldn’t wake up.

  But in this quiet hour, the stillness of the house, it just felt like he shouldn’t disturb anything.

  A throaty purr underscored the silence as he hung up his coat and Seamus, Lily’s fat tabby, rubbed up against his leg. He smiled down at the squash-nosed boy and knelt to scratch behind his ears. The cat’s eyes closed in euphoria as he leaned into the affection.

  “Life’s little pleasures, eh buddy?” Carson murmured and pushed to his feet.

  As he made his way to the kitchen, his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he prayed that it wasn’t anyone from the ER asking questions. He just wanted to enjoy a green tea and go to sleep for a few hours.

  Jane: Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I’ll stop texting you.

  He drew his lower lip between his teeth, chewing it for a moment. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t known what to say to her in the middle of the night, either, and thankfully had been called away to check on a five-month-old baby who’d been brought in with a fever. He’d busied himself talking to the parents about teething, while playing with the sweet little guy, and tried to push mystery girl out of his head.

 
But now, in the dim morning light of the kitchen, there were no distractions. He filled the kettle and dumped some kibbles into Seamus’ food bowl, but that took very little brain power.

  Buzz. He sighed.

  Jane: You should block my number.

  He knew he should. He knew he should block the number, erase his conversations with her, and put her out of his head. He’d already crossed the line with this random girl by confessing his wife’s affair, and it shouldn’t have even gone that far.

  And now he had a drunk girl, probably barely into her twenties, texting him about her fantasies in the middle of the night? It felt wrong. It was wrong.

  Carson packed the infuser full before sticking it into his chipped white mug. It was the only intact one left from a set he and Gina had received as a wedding present.

  He knew what he should do. So why wasn’t he doing it already? He didn’t know this girl. They’d been chatting for two days. He didn’t owe her anything. And she most certainly didn’t owe him anything.

  Part of him felt badly for her, that she didn’t seem to have anyone else to talk to. But that wasn’t his responsibility. His responsibility was to his family. To his patients. Not to a depressed random girl. One who had her own husband, no less. She wasn’t one of his patients, and he wasn’t even that kind of doctor.

  He stared at his phone as if he could will it to do what he knew he should do.

  As if on cue, it buzzed.

  Jane: Did you do it? Did you block my number?

  As the kettle began to hiss and warm up, he picked up his phone. Some part of him had hoped that he didn’t have to block her number, and that she would just stop texting him. But it seemed that she was determined to continue texting into the void.

  Only it wasn’t a void. And it wasn’t nice to let her think so. It wasn’t moral. As if any of this was moral.

  No, I didn’t, he sent, then added, Sorry I let you think that.

  Little dots appeared, then disappeared. Then appeared, then disappeared. As the kettle began to burble, this dance happened on his messenger screen, the bubbles in the water just like the bubble on the screen. Anticipation built in him just as heat built in the kettle—but anticipation for what? He wasn’t sure if he was anxious or excited.

  Carson rubbed his forehead. He felt like a schoolkid, desperately waiting for an answer from his crush. Only when he was young enough to be in school, text messages weren’t a thing…and she probably wasn’t old enough to walk.

  Mother of god, what am I doing? he thought, scrubbing his hands down his face. The kettle whistled, and he moved it from one element to the other, flicking off the heat. As he waited for the water to settle to the proper temperature for green tea, his phone finally buzzed.

  Jane: Shit.

  A laugh exploded from his throat, unbidden, and he clapped a hand over his mouth. All of that typing, and likely erasing, and that was what came out. There were no more little dots, and he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say.

  He’d done his duty, hadn’t he? He’d told her that he hadn’t blocked her number, so that she knew that whatever she sent would actually be seen. Now the ball was in her court.

  Except it wasn’t, really. What was he expecting from her? An apology? The knot of guilt in his stomach spoke volumes of how complicit he was in this situation. He didn’t deserve an apology from her… If anything, they should both be apologizing to their spouses.

  That thought made him almost laugh again, considering he and Gina hadn’t been in the same room together since her parents had come to dinner for New Year’s and they’d put on the airs of ‘perfect happy family.’ Or at least, she’d put on the airs. He still loved his wife, and it had been wonderful to be able to be affectionate with her, even if it was just for show.

  He hadn’t missed the way she’d stiffened under each touch, each kiss atop her head, despite the warm smiles plastered across her face. He’d felt like he was dying inside, to feel her indecision, his very touch so alien to her that she hadn’t known how to react.

  Her false smiles had fooled her parents. Fooled their children. But they couldn’t fool him.

  He grabbed the kettle and poured the steaming water over his tea leaves, stirring the infuser around a little to leach flavour out of the leaves. The scent usually soothed him, but not that morning. He set a timer for two minutes and thirty-seven seconds.

  He finally picked up his phone again. I didn’t know what to say. You seemed to be too drunk for it to be wise for you to be texting anyone. So I thought I’d leave you alone until the morning… He paused, wondering if he should add more, or if she’d infer what the ellipsis meant. That he was giving her an out, that she could blame her text on the alcohol and that he’d ignored her so that she wouldn’t embarrass herself further.

  He hit send.

  Jane: Yeah, it was a stupid drunk text.

  He sighed with relief that she’d taken the bait, marvelling at how all-encompassing that relief was.

  His timer went off, startling him, and he knocked his mug over, spilling hot tea across the counter to drip down onto the floor in steaming rivulets.

  “No!” Carson hissed, jumping back to avoid the splash. He reached forward to snatch his phone away from an approaching lake, shoving it into his pocket before whipping around to grab the towel hanging from the oven handle.

  He flung it on the counter and it quickly soaked through, but didn’t stem the drips onto the floor. He tore a roll of paper towel from the holder above the sink and unrolled at least six sheets, tossing them down onto the floor to catch the waterfall.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket and he stared helplessly at the sopping towels, taking a step back and checking his screen.

  Jane: So, can we forget I made an ass of myself and move on, Dr. Foreign Object?

  As the excess tea began to drip into the seam between the stove and the counter, Carson shoved his phone back into his pocket and lunged forward to take care of his mess.

  Chapter Seven

  Jolie stared at her messaging app, as if she could will Dr. Tweedledick to reply to her. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t blocked her number. When he’d replied, she’d been filled with both relief and dread. Relief because he still wanted to talk to her, and dread because now she had to face up to being a total moron the night before.

  But now she’d asked him if they could move on, and she hadn’t heard back from him all morning. He works night shift, idiot, he’s probably sleeping now, she berated herself.

  She took a bite of her cherry cheese danish, but it didn’t bring the same joy it usually did. She wasn’t sure if it was her sour mood or her hangover, but her salted caramel latte tasted like shit, too.

  “Sorry I’m late, lady,” Alicia trilled as she swept into the little cafe, leopard-print coat billowing behind her.

  Jolie set her phone down on the table, face down. “Since I expect you to be late, you’re right on time,” she quipped, and wrapped her hand around her mug, curling her legs underneath her on the plush grey couch.

  “Oh, don’t be a whore.” Alicia rolled her eyes, but there was no venom in her tone. She shrugged out of her coat and flopped down next to Jolie, curling her straight blonde tresses behind her ears. “Where’s my stuff?” she asked, surveying the coffee table where only Jolie’s plate sat. She raised her hand, snapping her fingers. “Janos!”

  The barista grabbed a glass bottle of milk from the fridge beneath the counter and stuck his tongue out at her. “Coming right up, babe,” he sang, shaking his perfectly-coiffed head.

  “Thank you!” Alicia dragged out the you in the same pitch he’d sang to her, complete with a vibrato, pressing her palms together like a prayer. She crossed her legs and leaned back, stretching her arms above her head.

  Jolie took a small sip of her latte and licked the stray foam from her top lip. “So, how was your seminar?” she asked. “Did you learn about self-love?” She raised her hand, making a clear jerk-off motion, and revelled in her friend wrin
kling her little nose.

  “You’re disgusting,” Alicia declared as the steam wand squealed in the background. “It was an enlightening presentation, yes. Doctor Lohm knows what he’s talking about. We did this personality test, then learned about how to better present ourselves to others based on our own results. And how to rapidly figure out what somebody else’s results would be to better communicate with them.”

  Jolie widened her eyes, feigning excitement for what sounded like the most boring seminar of all time. “Ooooh, do me, what is my personality?” She flapped her hand in front of her face as if to fan herself. “I need to know.”

  “You don’t get to know, because you wouldn’t come with me,” Alicia shot back, flipping her hair over her shoulder with an exaggerated huff.

  “I think being stranded in the snow was punishment enough, thanks.” Jolie took a loud slurp of her latte to accentuate her point. Doctor Lohm, more like Doctor Lame, she thought to herself, stifling a chuckle. She thought of how crazy it would be if Dr. Tweedledick was the guy doing the seminar. Maybe he wasn’t an ER doctor at all, but some con-artist self-help peddler.

  Probably not. He would have tried to sell her a book by now.

  “Are we still on that?” Alicia sighed, then flashed Janos a thousand-watt smile as he approached her with her quad-shot mocha and a lemon cranberry muffin. “Thanks, babe.”

  He shot her a pointed look. “Girl, I only do table service for you so I can ogle your boots.” He straightened up, waving a hand towards her feet. “Let’s see.”

  Alicia extended one of her slim legs straight up, showing off her new Fendis in forest green nubuck. “You like?”

  Janos let out a low whistle. “If only your personality was as lovely as your fashion sense.”

  “That’s not very good customer service,” she teased with a twinkle in her eye. “See if I give you a tip.”