Wrong Number

by Laura Brown

  “No pressure there or anything.”

  “Why would I apply pressure?” Her smile was sweet laced with evil as she headed out back.

  I grabbed my phone, ready to text Avery about this exchange. But I didn’t have her number. The only new one I had was Wrong Number. And this wasn’t for her.

  I put my phone away.

  *

  The following night, I stood outside the back door, five minutes before seven, waiting on Avery. Anticipation had me shifting my bad leg, struggling to get a comfortable position. The night was still, not a lot of wind, only traffic in the distance. A streetlight lit the area in a yellow glow. The kitchen would be quiet, only the night staff on.

  I shoved my hands into my jean pockets as headlights shined on my face. Being blinded in the city was never a good thing. I blinked and stepped back as a small sedan parked next to my car. The door opened and my eyes adjusted just in time to catch Avery get out. Her hair was down, long strands brushing past her shoulders. I wanted my hands in her hair. Part profession, I’d been braiding my sister’s hair as a kid since Mom was usually at the bakery before school. The other part was what I recognized as the Avery effect.

  Her coat covered her, but a skirt brushed her legs above a pair of kick-ass boots, making me glad I opted for a button-down. The boots, the hair, this was a different woman than I saw in the bakery. A thrill worked up my spine at seeing this side of her.

  “You made it,” I said when she got close.

  “Well, my television tried to sway me, but I figured it wasn’t in my best interest to stand up the boss’s son.” A sly smile crossed her lips, one I thought would taste as good as it looked. It matched her.

  “Then I’m extra glad you made it.”

  Silence worked in along with a gentle breeze. We grinned at one another, her eyes crinkling at the corners, sharing a special moment in our personal bubble. One filled with comfort and laced with promises of what may still come. A stronger breeze blew past, fluttering the ends of her skirt. We couldn’t stand here forever.

  I gestured to my car. “I can drive you to the restaurant, or you can follow me.”

  Boss’s son or not, she didn’t really know me. Something I had every intention of changing.

  She brushed the small upturned edge of her skirt back into place. “I’m still getting used to the area. I’m liable to get lost.”

  That shouldn’t have stroked my ego—after all, she’d been in Hannah’s car with the two of us before—but for some reason, it did. I fought the urge to puff out my chest like a caveman as I held open the door for her. Then I slid behind the wheel.

  Avery leaned against her seat, eyes on me. “Where are you taking me? Should I be worried?”

  I started the car. “Not worried. Steak good?”

  “Works for me.”

  I pulled out of the space and headed for the highway. One hand settled on my gearshift—I drove a standard—closer to her without overstepping my bounds. She drew me to her, no denying that. The last person to do so to this degree was Diana. I forced those thoughts from my head. Not going there. Besides, Avery worked at the bakery, so that particular bone of contention wouldn’t exist. “How are you settling in here?”

  “You mean the area or the job?”

  “Both.”

  “Area is taking some adjusting to. The job is fantastic, even if it’s bigger than I’m used to.”

  I glanced at her but couldn’t read her expression in the dim light. “And that’s bad?”

  Avery gripped her knees, inching her skirt higher. “It’s louder and more chaotic. I’m sure I’ll feel better once I get my hearing aid back. But for now, I’m running on half power and hearing aids aren’t like glasses; they don’t correct hearing.”

  “They don’t?”

  “Nope. They make sounds louder and help me communicate, but I’m always at a disadvantage.”

  I wanted to watch her, study her reactions and quirks, check for signs she heard me or not but needed my eyes on the road. “Then let me know if you can’t hear me. I’ll repeat.”

  Avery laughed. “That’s nice but not always true. There’s the power of three. People are willing to repeat themselves twice. Once you get to the third time, it’s make it or break it, because no one wants to continue.”

  A coil tightened deep inside that anyone wouldn’t want to communicate with her or another human. “I’ll continue.”

  “That’s sweet. You’re lying.”

  I shot her a look, caught her eyes. “Try me.”

  She broke eye contact, lowering her chin.

  “I’m serious. Don’t give me that three times crap. Let me know until you understand.”

  “It doesn’t always work that way.”

  I had the sudden urge to pull at my hair. “Why not?”

  She sighed. “Because it makes people feel bad.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  She shifted to face me. “Oh really? That car ride with you and Hannah? In the back seat, with the radio on, the car noise, the road noise, I heard nothing until you parked.”

  I cringed.

  “See, I caught that. You feel bad.”

  “Of course I feel bad. That ride was for your benefit and you missed it. Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “How could I? Was I supposed to wrestle you for the front seat so I had a better chance of hearing?”

  She didn’t mean it to, but the thought of wrestling with Avery, her body flush against mine, pinned to a mat, that skirt rising higher and higher, sent my blood heading south. “You think you can win at wrestling me?”

  “Jake.” Avery laughed. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah. I do. And I know Hannah and myself. We would have done what we could.”

  I glanced her way and the softest expression crossed her face. “Thank you.”

  “I can take you out again, slow it down so you catch what you missed.”

  “Maybe. Let’s see how tonight goes first.”

  “You’re hearing me okay now, right?” I had to know. Had to learn and try not to make that mistake again. A mistake she seemed far too used to.

  “Have I messed up yet?” At my worried expression, she laughed. “Kidding. Yes. I am. My good ear is toward you and I can see your lips.”

  “My lips? You lip-read?”

  “Not quite, but the movements help the sounds register. My brain sometimes needs time to catch up, sorta like a ten-second delay.”

  “Fascinating.”

  “That’ll be a first. Most of the time, it’s an inconvenience.”

  “I limp and have burn scars. I know all about inconvenience. It falls under the heading of inconsiderate.”

  Her gaze touched my skin, and I hadn’t had the foggiest idea why I shared that much. The limp was obvious, no going around it. But the scars, that was often a dealbreaker.

  Much like she obviously felt her ears could be.

  I parked the car and we entered the restaurant. I had made a reservation, so we had no wait and were escorted to our table, where I debated putting my hand on Avery’s back and opted against it. She hadn’t given me permission to touch her, not yet.

  The hostess rattled off the specials and left us to our menus. We were quiet for a few minutes, before Avery let out a sigh and put hers down. “You serious about what you said before?”

  Her cheeks were a light pink. “About…”

  “About letting you know when I miss something?”

  “Of course.”

  She took a deep breath. “That hostess, she dictated the specials to you, at turbo New England speed. I have no clue what she was talking about.”

  Her bottom lip worked its way under her top teeth, and I wanted to soothe that spot.

  I had to wrack my brain, but I remembered the gist of what the hostess had said and repeated it to Avery.

  “Thank you.” She reached for her menu.

  “Anytime.” I placed my hand over hers. “I mean that.”

  Sh
e kept her hand under mine, her warmth traveling up my arm. “I think I actually believe that.”

  I removed my hand and we went back to our menus until the waitress came over. Once our orders were placed, there were no other distractions.

  “Tell me about the leg.” Avery closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. My filter is a bit off.”

  I leaned back and stretched the leg out, not missing I stretched it away from Avery. Best to get this conversation over with. “When I was eight, my father fell asleep with a bottle of gin and a cigar. He dropped the cigar on a newspaper, and it ignited. When he woke up, the flames separated him from the rest of us. He fled. We were still inside. The smoke alarm batteries had worn out, so we had no warning.

  “He got help, somehow, but my room was the first the flames touched. I woke, coughing from the smoke. My door was on fire. I was on the second level. I dropped to the floor, but it was hot. I pretty much panicked at that point. I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t jump. The smoke messed with my head, and I mostly blacked out. I have a memory of my leg being on fire before a fireman got to me and put it out.”

  I stared at the table, not wanting to see the look of pity on Avery’s face, a look I was used to, one reason why I showed my leg to almost no one, dates included.

  She reached out and covered my hand with both of hers. “That’s awful. I can’t even imagine.”

  I forced myself to look at her. No pity on her face, only compassion.

  “Mom and Hannah also had smoke inhalation, but no flames touched them. Dad was fine.” I couldn’t help the bitterness from entering my tone. Dad had gone back to work the next day as if nothing had happened. Meanwhile, Mom, Hannah, and I were in the hospital, and we didn’t know if I’d lose my leg or not. The fire didn’t just take my leg, it took my father. I couldn’t reconcile the man I knew with the man who had caused so much pain, and then simply left.

  “The limp doesn’t stop you too much. You all but chased me on that hike.”

  I turned my hand over to squeeze hers, amazed at the ease with which this conversation went. I’d only had this experience with a handful of people in my life.

  “That’s two surgeries and many years of physical therapy.” And a desire not to let my leg get the best of me.

  She held my hand tighter.

  “I’m glad you’re still here. And sometimes what makes us different, makes us better.” She laughed and let me go. “Or, at least, that’s the pep talk my mom used to give me.”

  “In your case, it’s true.”

  She brushed a piece of hair behind her ear. “You’ve already got me here, no use buttering me up.”

  I wanted to. It became more and more clear to me why Mom hired Avery. There was something unique about her. I had no words and studied her as she studied me. Nothing uncomfortable about the silence. The urge to run my leg, the good one, against hers struck me, but I kept still.

  First date.

  Our food arrived, breaking the spell, and we both dived in.

  “Oh my,” Avery moaned, a forkful of mashed potatoes in her mouth. “This is good.”

  I cut up a piece of my steak. “You’re dangerous eating food.”

  She dabbed her lips with her napkin. “Why is that?”

  “The sounds you make.”

  She blushed. “I like food.”

  “I see that. They’re the same sounds Mom and Hannah accuse me of making every time I eat one of your cupcakes.”

  Her cheeks darkened. “Bad sounds?”

  “Depends on your definition. Fills my head with non-PG ideas.”

  Avery snorted and waved a fork at me. “Might I remind you this is the first time we’ve been out?”

  I raised my hands. “Have I done anything besides one small, suggestive line?”

  “No.”

  “Okay then.” I popped a piece of steak in my mouth.

  “Thank you,” Avery said softly.

  “For what?”

  She glanced around. “For this. Taking me out. Helping me get used to the area. I’ve been alone since I moved here, and this means a lot to me.”

  “You make it sound like my intentions are that of a Boy Scout.”

  Those dark eyes danced. “Oh, I’m pretty sure they aren’t. I can still appreciate it.”

  The meal went by too quickly. I wasn’t ready for it to end when I parked next to her car. I shifted gears and turned to face her. “I had a really nice time.”

  “Me too.” She yawned and picked up her purse. “I should get some rest before I have to get back to work.”

  “Can I take you out again sometime?”

  She turned away from the door to face me. “I’d like that.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  She laughed. “I can’t claim I’ve got plans, but I want to make sure I’m still on my A game for my job.”

  “I’ll take the blame. Mom won’t mind.”

  “Weekend?”

  I did a mental schedule check. “I can manage that.”

  She slid over and pressed a kiss to my cheek. Everything in me screamed to turn my head and catch those warm, plush lips with my own.

  “Good night, Jake. Thank you for dinner.”

  “Good night, Avery. Thank you for the company.”

  She got out of the car and I waited until she started her engine and drove off. Then I waited a few more minutes, thinking of the entire night. Like the few stars breaking through the city sky, Avery was something special.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Jake

  Ten-hour days were a pain in my ass. Or leg, as fate would have it. I made it through my front door, limping strong as my leg threatened to buckle at the slightest pressure. I managed to get to my den before I collapsed onto my recliner. Relief uncoiled my sore muscles, and I raised the leg onto the coffee table to further relax the kinks. I needed to grab a beer, or something, but my limbs requested no moving for at least thirty minutes.

  And the remote control was out of reach.

  Damn.

  I wrestled my phone out of my pocket and thumbed through my text threads, settling on Carter.

  Me: Hey man, how’s it going?

  I rested my phone on my lap and stared off at the far window, at my neighbor’s empty back porch. My phone stayed quiet as I tried to figure out if the light played tricks on me or if the railing had come loose on one side. My angle wasn’t going to give me an answer, much like my lack of response from Carter.

  Moving to get the remote continued to be a no go, so I thumbed through my contacts again, deciding against Hannah and a few other friends. I hadn’t managed to get Avery’s number yet, so I couldn’t contact her. A ping of interest hit when I came to Wrong Number, enough to forget about my sore leg.

  It had been a few days since we’d chatted.

  Me: How’s the new job going?

  Time ticked past as I waited for a response. The railing definitely had become unhinged, I’d have to catch my neighbor at some point and make sure he knew. Boredom and an overworked leg was not a good combination. After five minutes, I had to write Wrong Number off. Sorry, leg, but it was moving time. I had my good one on the ground when my phone went off.

  Wrong Number: Really well. Don’t think I could ask for a better learning experience.

  I settled back in my chair, happier than I had any right to be at the response.

  Me: So you might stay, after all?

  Wrong Number: No. I don’t give up on dreams easily. This is an important learning opportunity along the way. I’m just grateful it will also be a pleasant opportunity.

  Me: Where do you go once all is said and done?

  Wrong Number: Home, to where my family is. Are we up to twenty questions yet?

  Twenty questions, that sounded like a good idea. There was plenty left to learn about this mysterious woman.

  Me: Not yet. Where’s home?

  Wrong Number: That breaches the confidentiality of our texting relationship. But if you were desperate you could look up my area code.
>
  I wasn’t desperate, just curious. Of course the mention of an area code gave me a clue. I had been meaning to text Carter, who originally came from Upstate New York. Wrong Number must be the same.

  Not that I’d tell her that.

  Me: Your secret is safe then. All I know is you share the same area code as my buddy.

  Wrong Number: Sounds ominous.

  Me: You have no idea.

  Wrong Number: I’ll have you know, you aren’t my only new friend as of late.

  Me: Getting cozy with your new coworkers?

  Wrong Number: Something like that.

  Me: You telling me we need to stop “talking”?

  Wrong Number: Not quite, just feeling good that I’m not so alone anymore.

  Me: Good. I’m not ready to let go.

  Perhaps I should have been. But I enjoyed these talks. There was a relaxation in talking to Wrong Number. She only knew what I told her, removed from anything that created tension in my real life.

  I leaned forward and rubbed my aching calf. Avery hadn’t seemed to mind about my leg. But she hadn’t seen it. Neither had Diana. I kept my leg covered after all the negative reactions in the early days after the accident, from my father’s to other kids at school, no way would I deal with that shit again.

  Wrong Number knew nothing, and I liked someone having a fantasy of me with two normal legs.

  Wrong Number: Are you buttering me up? Usually, you just ask me to strip.

  She sent a winking emoji and all my blood ran south. But I suspected that wasn’t what she needed. Not anymore.

  Me: Maybe I can enjoy a normal conversation.

  Wrong Number: There’s nothing normal about us.

  Me: Can’t argue there. Do you need a lesson in self-help?

  Like it or not, I couldn’t turn off this sexual vibe we had going. It was us and it was fun.

  Wrong Number: LOL! I know how. It doesn’t work.

  Me: Anything I can do to help?

  Wrong Number: And how would you help?

  Me: I could send a few more pictures.

  My erection went from half-mast to full just thinking about her, of helping her and being her fantasy.

  Wrong Number: Funny, I already have one part of your body to go off on.