Mr. Wrong Number - Softcover

Painter, Lynn

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0593437268 ISBN 13: 9780593437261

Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group, 2022

Inhaltsangabe

Things get textual when a steamy message from a random wrong number turns into an anonymous relationship in this hilarious rom-com by Lynn Painter.

Bad luck has always followed Olivia Marshall...or maybe she's just the screw-up her family thinks she is. But when a "What are you wearing?" text from a random wrong number turns into the hottest, most entertaining—albeit anonymous—relationship of her life, she thinks things might be on the upswing....

Colin Beck has always considered Olivia his best friend's annoying little sister, but when she moves in with them after one of her worst runs of luck, he realizes she's turned into an altogether different and sexier distraction. He's sure he can keep his distance, until the moment he discovers she's the irresistible Miss Misdial he's been sort of sexting for weeks—and now he has to decide whether to turn the heat up or ghost her before things get messy.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Lynn Painter lives with her husband and pack of wild children in Nebraska, where she is a weekly contributor to the Omaha World-Herald and an avid fan of napping. When working on a new book, she can often be found sound asleep on her office floor. Some might say she should grow up and stop randomly dozing off like she's a toddler, but Lynn considers it part of her writing "process."
 

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

1

Olivia

It started the night after I burned down my building.

I was sitting on top of the fancy granite island in my brother's kitchen, inhaling a bag of his pretzels while systematically knocking back the bottles of Stella that'd been in his fridge. And no, I didn't have a drinking problem. I had a life problem. As in, my life sucked and I needed to fall into a coma variety of sleep if I were going to have any shot at formulating a plan for my future when I woke up.

Jack had agreed (after much begging) to let me stay with him for a month-enough time to get a job and find my own place-as long as I agreed to be on my best behavior and stay out of his roommate's way. He seemed a little too old to have a roommate, if you asked me, but who was I to judge?

Big brother had given me a hug and a key and left me for fifty-cent wing night at Billy's Bar, so I was home alone and bawling to Adele on his Alexa. It was already woe-is-me music, but when she started crooning about a fire starting in her heart, it made me think about the fire that started on my deck, and I totally lost it.

I was full-on ugly crying when my phone buzzed and halted the meltdown. A number I didn't know texted:

So tell me exactly what you're wearing.

A pervy wrong number? I wiped my nose and typed: Your mom's wedding dress and her favorite thong.

No more than five seconds went by before Mr. Wrong Number texted: Um, what?

I texted: Seriously, babe, I thought you'd think it's hot.

Mr. Wrong Number: "Babe"? Wtf?

That actually made me snort out a tiny laugh, the thought of some dude getting cold-showered via text. It was super weird that babe was where he was getting tripped up, as opposed to the monstrosity of an oedipal-lingerie suggestion, but he'd also used the tired what are you wearing line, so who could really say about a guy like that?

I texted: Would you prefer something less mommish?

Mr. Wrong Number: Oh, no-it sounds totally hot. You cool with me rocking cargo shorts, socks with sandals, and your dad's jockstrap?

That made me smile in the midst of my full-on life collapse and resultant crying binge.

Me: I'm so turned on right now. Please tell me you'll whisper dad jokes in my ear while we bonk.

Mr. Wrong Number: Yeah, baby jokes and weather anecdotes come fully loaded. And bonk is the sexiest word in the English language, btw.

Me: Agreed.

Mr. Wrong Number: I texted the wrong number, didn't I?

Me: Yeah, you did.

I hiccuped-the beer was finally kicking in-and decided to give the guy a break. I texted: But go get after it, bud. Land that bonk.



Mr. Wrong Number: This is the weirdest text exchange I've ever had.

Me: Same. Good luck and good night.

Mr. Wrong Number: Thanks for the support, and good night to you, as well.



Once the Stella started making me tired, I decided to shower-bye-bye, smoky hair-and go to bed. I dug through my duffel for clothes, but then I remembered-duh-the fire. All I had were the clothes thatÕd been in the bottom of my gym locker and some rando mismatched separates thatÕd fallen onto the floorboards of my back seat on multiple laundry days. I found a Cookie Monster pajama top, but discovered I didnÕt actually own a single bottom; no pajama bottoms, no jeans, no shorts-the only pants I owned now were the stinky gym shorts currently covering my ass.

Was not owning pants my rock bottom?

Thank God I had clean underwear. I had one pair of neon-yellow boy shorts that said Eat the Rich across the back, and their presence in my life kept me dangling from the balcony that hovered just above Bottom.

I took a thirty-minute shower, tipsily smitten with the pouring-rain showerhead and Jack's roommate's expensive conditioner. I accidentally dropped the slippery plastic bottle, which made the pump top break off and sent the majority of the luxurious cr�me slathering out all over the slick floor of the shower. I knelt down and scooped as much as I could back into the bottle, setting it carefully on the shower shelf and hoping no one would notice.

Spoiler: They always noticed.

But two hours later I was still wide-awake, lying on the floor of my brother's office on his squeaky old air mattress, staring at the ceiling through puffy eyes and replaying over and over again all of the terrible things that'd happened before I fled Chicago.

The layoff. The cheating. The breakup. The fire.

And then I said, "Screw. This."

I got up, went into that shiny kitchen, cracked the seal on a bottle of tequila that had a smiley mustachioed sun on the bottle, and I made myself the world's biggest night-night toddy. I might have a headache in the morning, but at least I'd get some sleep.



ÒLivvie, itÕs Mom. I thought you were coming over today.Ó

I opened my eyes-well, only one would open-and looked at the phone my mother was shouting at me from. Eight thirty? She'd expected me to show up at their house at dawn? God, the woman was like some kind of sadistic, dog-torturing serial killer or something.

Why had I answered again?

"I was. I mean, I am. My alarm was just about to go off."

"Well, I thought you were job hunting today."

Adele started blaring through the apartment again-what the hell-and I yelled, "Alexa, turn off music."

My mother said, "Who are you talking to?"

"No one." The music still blared. "Alexa, turn off Adele!"

"Do you have friends over?"

"Oh, my God. No." My second eye finally opened and I sat up, my entire forehead clenched in a massive ache as the music came to an abrupt halt. "I was talking to Jack's stereo."

She sighed one of her why-is-my-daughter-such-a-nut sighs. "So are you not job hunting, then?"

Someone please kill me. I said through wicked cotton mouth, "I am. The internet makes it okay to start at noon, I swear, Ma."

"I don't even know what you're saying. Are you coming over or not?"

I took a deep breath through my nose and remembered my wardrobe problems. Until I could wash my bottoms, I was hosed. So I said, "Not. Until later. The job is my number one priority, so I'll swing by after I get some apps put in."

And also after I found a pair of pants.

"Is your brother there?"

"I have no idea."

"How can you not know if he's there?"

"Because I'm still in bed, and the door is closed."

"Why would you sleep with the door closed? That spare room will get really stuffy if you don't open it up."

"Oh. My. God." I sighed and rubbed my temple. "I will get out of bed in a minute, and if I see your other-gendered offspring, I will tell him to call you. Okay?"

"Oh, I don't need him to call me. I was just wondering if he's there."

"I have to go."

"Did you deposit that money yet?"

I pressed my lips together and closed my eyes. Leave it to my mother. The only thing worse, at the age of twenty-five, than having to ask your parents for money because you rolled into town on fumes and literally didn't have a dime to your name, was having a mom who wanted to talk about it. I said, "Yes, I did it online last night."

As if I had any choice but to deposit that mortifying parental contribution as fast as humanly possible. Because after the smoke cleared (literally) and it became apparent that my building was no longer standing, I'd had to spend what little money I had on survival items like an oil change, new tires, and a whole lot of gas to get me home to Omaha.

Thank God I still had one final paycheck coming next week.

My mother said, "You did it on the computer?"

I gritted my teeth. "Yes."

"Evie's husband said you should...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2022
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593437268
• ISBN 13: 9780593437261
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 352
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: gpsr@libri.de; gpsr@libri.de; ; Friedensallee 273; Hamburg; 22763; Deutschland