by Vivian Ward
Setting her phone back down beside her, I inch my way across the room and slip under the covers—this time to settle in for the night permanently.
As I lie next to her listening to her snore, I wonder if she fell asleep before it went off or if she’s just not interested in seeing what this phone number had to say. It’s going to drive me insane waiting to see if she’ll open it and reply to it.
Chapter 4
Madison
Fastening my apron around my waist, I prepare to clock in for my morning shift at Culliver’s.
I like working here, it’s a close-knit hardware store where I’ve worked for the past four years. Out of all of my co-workers, I’d say April is my closest friend, but that’s neck-and-neck with our other co-worker, Karen.
The three of us often work together in the gardening department. Our manager, Don, doesn’t like to let April or me work in the hardware section too often because of all the 50 Shades comments that we always make reference to.
He says it’s inappropriate and that we shouldn’t be talking about all of the lady customers who come in to buy rope. But come on, we all know why they’re there.
Mrs. Swenson isn’t buying rope because she’s going camping. She might come in here with her high heels clacking around on the smooth, gray concrete floor but she’s not about to get her dress dirty.
Her knees?
Absolutely.
But nothing else, which is why she turns different hues of pink and red as she stands in line pretending to be distracted by the time. We all know she’s a kinky freak and the minute she’s out the door—or the other dozens of customers like her—we’re all cracking comments.
Don always tries to stand tall to tower over us as though he intimidates us. For some reason, he thinks his size and age scares us, but it doesn’t. At least not like it’s supposed to. He’s as smooth as butter, and all three of us girls practically gawk at him behind his back.
There’s this certain charisma about him—in his eyes and the way he carries himself—that just draws you in like you wouldn’t believe. We always laugh at him because it’s so hard to take him seriously.
How are you supposed to take a charming older man seriously when you’re cutting up about all the women who are flocking to the hardware store faster than lightning to buy rope and zip ties because they want their husbands to treat them like they’re Ana and you’re wishing he’d do the same to you?
Let me tell you, it’s a lot harder than you might think. We see hot men coming into the hardware store all the time in their stiff, dirty overalls or work jeans and their dusty boots, covered in sweat.
There have even been a few that we’ve talked about wringing their soaked shirts out all over our bodies as we sacrifice ourselves to them because they are hot. It’s even pure torture to work here in the summer when construction crews are having their busiest season.
So, Don keeps us in the back of the store, but I prefer it that way. I like working with the plants and being away from the boss so I can sneak in an extra few minutes on my breaks to read. He runs a pretty tight ship and doesn’t allow any slacking; though, I’ve been tempted to test him a few times to see if he’d give me a good spanking.
“Hey Maddy,” Karen says as I clock in and take my pen from my apron to start taking inventory so we can order more supplies.
“Hiya, babe. Did you get to go out with that guy you were telling us about? What was his name?” I ask her.
“Ugh,” she sighs. “You must be referring to Landon The Loser.”
She has the worst luck with men.
“Uh-oh. What happened, babe?”
Finding a seat on the shelf in between the large planters and the large bags of soil, she plops down and sulks.
“Where do I start?” she asks, talking to no one in particular. “First of all, he didn’t even come pick me up; said I had to meet him at the restaurant. So fine, I go. Right? And then we get there, we order our food, make a bit of small talk—and I literally mean SMALL talk—and then we split the bill. Can you believe that? He didn’t even pay for my dinner after making me drive the gas out of my car for our date.”
Yep, she’s a magnet. Poor thing.
“Geez, I’m sorry. Why did he say you had to meet him there?”
“I don’t know. Something about his baby’s momma had to work late, so he didn’t have time to pick me up. If you want to know the truth, I think he is WITH his baby’s momma and is pretending to be single.”
My eyes instantly dart to her because I’ve seen her in this position once before. She was dating this guy for about seven months when she found out that he was in a relationship. Turns out, his girlfriend was pregnant, and he wasn’t getting any, so he started cheating.
Karen and this guy were out getting Chinese food one night when he had to go because his sister called him to let him know the girlfriend was in labor. He left Karen in the restaurant, and she never heard another word from him after that.
“Where do you find these guys?” I ask her, taking note that we need to order more plant soil.
“I found Landon The Loser on Craigslist,” she shrugs her shoulders.
“What? Are you crazy? Why are you looking for men on Craigslist? Don’t you know that’s where all of the weirdos are?”
“I figured nothing was working out on the dating sites so why not give it a shot.”
She is a hot mess.
As I continue taking inventory and think about the strangers that she meets, it reminds me of the text that I received on my phone last night.
I never did open it because I’d just gotten to a really good part where this couple went camping and had a menage. There was no way that I was going to stop reading that scene to tell someone that they had the wrong number.
Karen and I have to take opposite lunch breaks today because it’s April’s day off which is making my time pass ever so slowly.
Today for lunch I packed a turkey sandwich with cheese and all of the trimmings on the side so that my bread didn’t get soggy, but I scarfed it all down because I was starving so now I have 10 minutes left with nothing to do.
I would read, but I had to put my tablet on the charger because the battery was almost dead and I want to finish my story tonight as soon as I get home.
Pulling out my phone to check my notifications on Facebook, I remember the text that I received from the wrong number last night and am curious what it said because I saw the first few words about something sucking.
Opening my texts, I click on the message and begin reading.
Unknown Number: Doesn’t it suck when you have no one to talk to? I wish I had someone who could understand me and be there for me like I am for everyone else.
I don’t know why but reading it makes me think of Drew, and it makes me sad. I know exactly what this person feels like because I think the same thing almost every day.
When Drew and I first got together, he always kept up his appearance. He styled his hair—spiked it with gel or mousse, even—and put on his best smelling cologne. He’s always worn rich, clean scents that make me want to lick and suck every inch of his body.
He also worked out regularly and was solid muscle. I’m not talking about a little bit of muscle tone. He was strong as an ox and defined to the chiseled letter.
Since all he does is sit around in the basement watching his precious TV, he quit working out, so the only exercise he gets is at his job where he’s a brick layer at the masonry company.
Don’t get me wrong, he’s no Humpty Dumpty—not even close to it. He’s still very muscular, but he’s put on a bit of a stomach. It’s hardly noticeable, but he’s just let himself go and I notice it even though I probably shouldn’t.
Staring at the message, I want to reply, but I’m not even sure what to say. What if it’s some kid? Or what if it’s someone who’s suicidal and I say the wrong thing, and they take their life?
That’s all I need. I can see the headlines in the newspaper now.
“John Doe texts the wrong number by mistake and commits suicide after receiving an unwelcoming response.”
My luck would be they’d bold my name and increase the font size so that Madison Brooks practically jumps off the page.
But what if it’s someone who just needs a friend to talk to? Maybe they purposely texted the wrong phone number as a way to reach out to someone outside of their situation.
It could be a single mom who is having a rough time or a college girl who feels pressured by her parents or boyfriend.
I won’t be able to stop thinking about this person unless I respond. Even if I never hear back from them, they will at least know that someone cared enough to reach out to them. If I were pitiful enough to text a stranger for help, I’d hope they could at least acknowledge me.
Plus, I can completely identify with what they’re saying. Maybe I could even gain a new friend out of it in some sort of weird, screwed up way.
Unknown Number: Doesn’t it suck when you have no one to talk to? I wish I had someone who could understand me and be there for me like I am for everyone else.
M: I think you might have the wrong number, but I know what you mean. I don’t know what you’re going through, but I care. Have a good day.
There, maybe now it will help brighten that person’s day to know that I took the time to write back. At the very least, they know the message didn’t go to the person they intended it to go to so maybe they can talk to whom ever it was they were reaching out to.
Chapter 5
Drew
Getting up for work this morning was rough.
I tossed and turned all night, wondering if Maddy was going to text back or not. It was driving me crazy, but I got my answer as soon as I was going to lunch.
All morning I’d been pissed off at Gene, one of the guys I work with because he’d been moving a bit slow and taking extended breaks. We don’t get along too well because he’s a slacker.
I’m a hustler and work hard to get everything done. I’d rather bust ass to get everything finished early on in the day so we can spend the afternoon jacking around, but Gene would rather jack around all day and drag the job out longer than necessary.
Our boss, Kirk, doesn’t say too much about it but it might have something to do with the fact that I’m always riding Gene’s ass to get to work and come back from break. He probably loves it because it’s less work for him to do, and it makes me look like a complete jerk.
But today it was a blessing in disguise because normally, I would’ve been back from break by the time Maddy texted me back but now I’ll have time to read it and think about a response if she said anything meaningful to it.
Unknown Number: Doesn’t it suck when you have no one to talk to? I wish I had someone who could understand me and be there for me like I am for everyone else.
M: I think you might have the wrong number, but I know what you mean. I don’t know what you’re going through, but I care. Have a good day.
That’s exactly what I was looking for. I knew she wouldn’t be able to turn down a person who needed help. She’s too sweet for that.
That’s one of the biggest reasons I married her.
I fell for her fast and hard. She has this innocence about her that I just love. It’s why I bought her the teddy bear that she now sleeps with every night, but it seems like there’s a part of her that I don’t know; a part of her that I haven’t connected with. I can’t explain it, but I can feel it.
There was something about her that was so loving, nurturing, and caring. When I went to the mall the day that I bought it, I’d initially gone there to buy a new shirt for our first date the next day.
My roommate Dave was with me, and as we were walking through the mall, I saw the Primarily Purple store and thought it was so crazy because she’d literally just told me her favorite color the night before while we were talking on the phone.
Naturally, I had to go check it out to see if I couldn’t buy her something—a small gift; just a little token that said, “Hey, I thought about you” and give us something to talk about during our date.
I knew that I liked her before I even met her, but I was always so shy when it came to meeting people in person back then. It’s the main reason why I was single.
I’m over it now and can pretty much talk to everybody, but I think it’s because of Maddy. I’ve always been such an introvert, but not her.
She never meets a stranger, and everyone is her friend. I’m positive that there’s not a person she couldn’t hold a conversation with because she’s so people-oriented. I was jealous of her for it for a long time, but eventually, I got over it.
Now I can talk to people—not as much as her though—and not feel so awkward about it. She said that the biggest tip she could give me was to find some sort of commonality with people and use it to build a relationship.
I must admit, she was on to something when she gave me that advice because it works, but I’m still not as social as she is.
I had no clue that the teddy bear I bought her—that ugly green thing—would become her best friend. When we moved in together, I was surprised to see it sitting on the bed the first night we were in our own place.
“What’s that?” I asked her, pointing to the bear.
“Dublin!” she said as though I’d asked the dumbest question on earth.
“Dub-who? How do you still have that bear? Is that the name you gave him?”
“No,” she laughed, picking him off the bed, squeezing him in her arms.
She looked so damn cute doing it, too. Her wispy hair floated around her shoulders as she giggled and her pink silk pajamas were begging to be ripped off of her round, bubbly ass.
“That’s the name on the tag. Don’t you know anything?”
“Apparently, not,” I said, sighing as I pulled her into my arms.
Her hair smelled like sweet lavender and vanilla—it still does to this day. I don’t think she’s ever changed her brand of shampoo and the smell drives me wild.
Even last night as I watched her sleep, I stole whiffs of her hair here and there. She always smells so amazing. Sometimes I catch myself clenching my fists as I remind myself to respect her and her boundaries because if it were up to me, I’d pin her down on the mattress and take what’s mine but that’s not really my style; I don’t really get rough with Maddy.
I’d never force her into doing anything that she didn’t want to do. I’m too much of a gentleman for that and would feel like an asshole if I forced myself onto her.
Looking at my screen, I decide to write her back and see if I can get her to respond to me again. Maybe if we can get some dialogue opening up between the two of us, we can get this show on the road so I can learn how to fix things between us.
I’m tired of sitting in the basement all the time while she lounges on the bed, reading her autobiographies and memoirs or whatever it is that she reads.
I’m so glad that she responded, though. Now I’ve just got to keep tugging at her heartstrings until she starts opening up to me—if this works.
M: I think you might have the wrong number but I know what you mean. I don’t know what you’re going through but I care. Have a good day.
Unknown Number: No, I don’t have the wrong number. I can’t talk to anyone I know about my problems.