My Wrong Number

“Listen, Indy, you need to just call him up, tell him to get his ass over to your house, and demand that he fuck you.”

I sighed and popped a French fry in my mouth. My best friend had my best interests at heart, but things with Joel hadn’t progressed to the sex stage yet.

Not because I hadn’t wanted it to, but because he hadn’t. At least, that was how it felt. I’d put out the signals, but he wasn’t picking them up.

“I don’t think that will work,” I told Leslie. “We haven’t even exchanged phone numbers yet.”

We were having our usual after-work dinner and drinks on Friday night, and this wasn’t the first time Leslie had brought up my sex life. I usually changed the subject and brushed her off, but tonight was different. I was tired of waiting for Joel to make a move and wanted her opinion.

Leslie set her beer down with such force that I was worried alcohol would spill onto her hand, her blue eyes full of surprise. “Indy, you haven’t even exchanged phone numbers?” she asked incredulously, pushing her strawberry-blonde hair over her shoulder. “You’ve gone on two dates. How do you communicate? And how did I not know this?”

“Three dates,” I corrected. “And we always message each other through the dating app. You know that I don’t give out my number right away for safety reasons.”

“Serial killer.”

“What?” I was confused.

“You either think he’s a serial killer or he thinks you’re a serial killer. That’s why you haven’t swapped numbers.”

“I am not a serial killer.”

Leslie put a finger to her chest. “I know you’re not a serial killer. But does Joel know that?”

“Of course.”

She picked up a fry and pointed it at me. “But you didn’t say he wasn’t a killer. Maybe you secretly think he’ll murder you in your sleep.”

I shook my head. “You need to stop listening to so many true-crime podcasts.”

“Never. But seriously, do you have any subconscious reservations about him?”

I dug deep and really thought about the question before answering, “Well …”

“Well what?” Leslie probed.

“I don’t think he’s a bad guy, but I do worry he might be too much of a good guy.”

She smiled knowingly and pointed at me. “You think he’s going to be a dud in bed.”

“The thought has occurred to me.”

“Personally, bad sex is still sex. And you, my friend, need to get laid. You’ve been crabby. How long has it been?”

“Too long.”

“How long?”

I sighed. “About sixteen months.”

“No wonder you’re such a bitch.”

I picked up a fry and threw it at her. “Just because you get some on the regular doesn’t mean you can call me names.”

Leslie laughed. “Okay, how about bitchy? My sweet, mild-mannered friend has been bitchy for the last few months.”

I rolled my eyes. “You wouldn’t be completely wrong. I have been on edge recently. But I don’t agree about the bad-sex thing. Nothing’s worse than having to sneak off to the bathroom to get yourself off after doing the deed because he got his and I didn’t.”

Leslie made a disgusted face. “Have I ever told you how much I dislike your ex?”

“Constantly,” I said dryly.

“Good. I just wanted to make sure you knew to never get back together with him.”

“He’s already got a new girlfriend. You have nothing to worry about.”

Leslie took a drink of her beer. “So, Mr. Bad Sex is getting some, and you’re not. Criminal, Indy. That is criminal.”

I shrugged. “So, what do I do?”

The server chose that moment to show up.

“You’re young and good-looking,” Leslie said to him.

“Uh … thanks.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not hitting on you. I need a man’s perspective on this.”

The guy relaxed. “Shoot.”

“My friend here met this guy on a dating app. They’ve gone on three dates, but neither of them has gone home with the other. Don’t you think that’s weird? My friend needs to get laid. Do you think the guy is putting her off? What should she do?”

The server whistled while I covered my eyes.

“Thanks for laying it all out there like that, Leslie.”

She held up her hands. “Hey, how is …” She paused to look at his name tag. “How is Graham here supposed to give us his full opinion if he doesn’t know all the details?”

I dropped my hand and looked at Graham. “Sorry for putting you on the spot.”

Graham shrugged. “It breaks up the monotony. And I’d rather have something like this happen at one of my tables than have someone yell at me because their order was wrong.”

“I’m glad my love life—or lack thereof—is here to amuse you,” I told him.

Leslie leaned closer to Graham. “Sorry about my friend. She’s crabby because she hasn’t gotten laid in quite a while.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Hey, I’m just saying, what kind of guy doesn’t want to get laid?”

Graham rubbed his jaw. “He might have his reasons. Maybe he really likes you and wants to take it slow.”

Leslie snorted. “They haven’t even exchanged phone numbers. I think it’s weird they’ve only been messaging through the dating app.”

Graham lifted his chin. “Where’s your phone?”

I pulled my cell from my purse. “Here.”

“Pull up the app and send him a message. Ask him for his phone number. Tell him it’s time you got more personal.”

“I don’t know,” I said hesitantly.

Leslie snatched the phone from my hand and started tapping away.

I realized I could easily take it back but didn’t bother. I was on my second glass of beer, so while I wasn’t buzzed enough to drunk-text, I was loose enough to let my friend do it for me.

Graham moved behind Leslie and watched her type.

“How does that sound?” she asked him.

He nodded. “Good.”

“And send,” Leslie said and handed my phone back to me.

I quickly looked at what she’d written.

Me: Hey. We’ve gone on three dates now, and I like you. What do you say we get off this dating app and you give me your phone number?

A second later, a message popped up.

Joel: Why do you want my phone number?

I read the message out loud. I couldn’t tell if he was flirting back or if he was being evasive.

Leslie snatched my phone back.

“What are you typing?” I asked.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she typed away and handed it back.

Me: How else am I supposed to call you and whisper dirty things in your ear?

I looked up at my best friend. “Really? I can’t believe you sent that.”

She shrugged and took a sip of her drink. “If he doesn’t give it to you after that, he doesn’t like you, or he’s a serial killer.”

Graham moved back in between us. “Serial killer?”

“Yeah,” Leslie said in a duh tone. “He doesn’t want his number traced back to him after he kills Indy.”

“Thanks,” I said.

She shrugged. “If the shoe fits …”

Graham laughed. “You’re weird. But this has been fun.” He looked at me. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Graham walked away, and my phone pinged.

Leslie rubbed her hands together. “Moment of truth.”

Joel: 651-555-3825

“He gave me his number,” I said in surprise. I hadn’t realized how much I’d thought he’d say no until then.

“Maybe he’s not a serial killer after all,” Leslie said.

I looked up from my phone. “That sounds very reassuring.”

She shrugged. “That’s what I’m here for.”