R.L. Kenderson
Wrong Number
Copyright © 2020 by R.L. Kenderson
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This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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First edition
ISBN: 978-1-950918-06-5
Editing by Jovana Shirley, www.unforeseenediting.com/
Cover art by Cover Designer: R.L. Cover Designs, www.rlkenderson.com/rlcoverdesigns
Cover art by Photographer: Reggie Deanching, www.rplusmphoto.com
Cover art by Cover Model: Michael Scanlon
This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy
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To our beta reader Leslie Michelle Hall.
She was taken from this world far too soon.
1973–2019
Thank you for all your hard work. We will miss your feedback and support.
We know you would have liked this story.
Contents
Wrong Number Blurb
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Epilogue
Five Dates Only Sample
Object of My Desire Sample
Also by R.L. Kenderson
About the Authors
Wrong Number Blurb
Texting the wrong number never felt so right.
It started with a not-so-innocent text that I’d meant to send to the guy I was casually dating. Things had been moving slowly, and I’d decided it was time to spice things up.
Me: I need you to come over. I want to feel you inside me.
Him: Who is this?
Me: Indy. Who’s this?
Him: Wrong number.
Me: Oh crap. I’m sorry.
Him: I’m not. What’s your address?
Now, I have to decide whether I want to block him and text the guy I meant to in the first place. Or do something outrageously bold and tell him to come over.
Me: . . .
One
Indy
“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.”
Two
Indy
Despite Leslie’s urgings, I did not go home after dinner and text Joel to come over. I didn’t want to appear desperate, and I thought I secretly wanted to make him squirm.
But by Saturday night, when he hadn’t messaged me on the dating app to ask why I hadn’t texted him yet, I broke down and pulled up my phone.
I was comfortable enough with myself to admit that I liked alpha males and guys who went after what they wanted, and it was becoming apparent that Joel was more of a beta male. And while it made him less attractive in my eyes, the alpha male thing hadn’t worked out for me so far. I needed to change things up and try something new.
That was why I was lying on my couch with my thumb hovering over the Send button.
“Just do it, Indy,” I told myself out loud. “You have nothing to lose.”
I closed my eyes and hit the button.
Me: I need you to come over. I want to feel you inside me.
I reread my text and cringed. Leslie had told me that I needed to be forward and not hold back, but now, I wondered if my text was over the top.
I guessed I was going to find out.
Joel: Who is this?
Me: Indy.
After a moment, I started having doubts. I could be texting the wrong person.
Me: Who’s this? I’m looking for Gentleman7487.
I purposely used Joel’s username, so he would know it was me.
Joel: Wrong number.
Fuck me. So, it wasn’t Joel I was texting. I hated that I was right.
Me: Oh crap. I’m sorry. I must have gotten the number wrong.
I opened the dating app and double-checked. It was the number he’d given me. I started typing a message to Joel to tell him he’d given me the wrong digits when a message popped up.
Not Joel: I’m not. What’s your address?
I switched to my text messages, abandoning my message to Joel.
Me: I can’t tell you that. We don’t even know each other.
Not Joel: I know enough to know that you need to be fucked well and good.
I swallowed and grew wet between my legs.
Damn my attraction to dirty-talkers.
Me: That might be true. But how do I know that you won’t murder me after?
Not Joel: I guess you don’t. But I can promise you I’ve never murdered anyone. The extent of my killing has gone no further than spiders.
Me: I respect that. I hate spiders.
Not Joel: So, what do you say? Am I coming over or not?
Me: How do we know we’ll be attracted to each other?
Not Joel: We don’t. I guess we’ll find out when we meet.
Me: Just so you know, if I say yes, I’m screenshotting everything and sending it to my best friend in case I go missing.
Not Joel: Good idea. Women can never be too safe. But just so you know, the only thing you’ll be missing after I’m done with you is your ability to walk.
Me: I need you to answer four questions before I say yes.
I swallowed. I couldn’t believe I was actually considering this.
Not Joel: Hit me.
Me: 1. Are you between the ages of 25 and 40?
I wasn’t having sex with someone who was illegal, so I wanted a safe distance from anyone under eighteen. Also, at thirty-one, I didn’t want anyone more than ten years younger than me. And my parents were in their early fifties. I wasn’t going to have sex with anyone closer to their age than mine.
Me: 2. What kind of car do you drive?
This was another safety measure. And maybe it would give me more insight to the stranger I was seriously thinking
of inviting over for sex.
Me: 3. What is your name?
That was an obvious question. I wanted to stop calling him Not Joel in my head.
Me: 4. Can you send a pic of yourself?
This was the big one. If he sent me a dick pic, I was out. Also, if he sent me a toothless grin, I was out. #imshallowandiknowit. This was someone I’d potentially sleep with. I felt I was allowed a little shallowness. Lastly, I wanted something to confirm his age.
I hit Send and waited to see what he’d say or if he’d blow me off.
Not Joel: 1. Yes, I’m 38.
2. I drive a three-year-old BMW X3.
3. You can call me Cal. And you are again?
I read the first three, feeling pretty satisfied. He wasn’t too old and thankfully not too young. I preferred older men anyway. He drove a BMW, which could mean he was a pompous ass, but the fact that it was an SUV rather than a sports car and three years old made me feel like he might be more down-to-earth. The name Cal was kind of sexy. I figured it was short for Calvin, which was less sexy, but I wasn’t going to ask.
And that was when I knew I was going to go through with this as long as question four was answered in the way I wanted. I didn’t want him to confirm his name was in fact Calvin and then have it turn me off. I already had it bad for this guy. Not every man could come up with some dirty texts that stayed on the right side of sexy versus corny.
I bit my lip and mentally crossed my fingers that he wouldn’t send me a dick pic, and when the picture came through, I was rewarded. Very handsomely.
He was lying on a couch, and I could see a television on in the background. The show playing on the screen was less than five years old, so I knew he hadn’t sent me something from twenty years ago. This guy was just racking up the points.
The picture had been taken in low light, but there was enough of a glow to see he wore jeans and had a very impressive six-pack. I could also see the bottom of his face. He looked to be his age with dark stubble and a sexy-as-sin mouth.
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