Wrong Number

By Mila Hart

Seth

Being given a fake number was a hit to my ego, but hearing Jasmine’s voice on the other end of the line almost made me forget about it. Her confidence and humor had me daydreaming about someone I’d never met.

When the text came through from her and I realized she had been thinking about me, too, my world changed.

Jasmine

Sexy-voice Seth was how I programmed in the contact for the unknown caller because I couldn’t get his voice out of my head. I reached out—for what, I wasn’t sure. I had one hard and fast rule, meet in person before getting to know someone. So Seth was never an option.

But fate had other ideas, and so did my best friend.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mila Hart
• Release date: Apr 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005132033

Mila Hart

It all started with two whores...MILA HART writes cheeky, erotic quickies.We have a ton of amazingly sexy stories coming your way.STAY TUNED...

Book preview

one

Seth

Seriously, Jake? I haven’t seen or spoken to Stacey in months. Where have you been? You’d think that since we’d been best friends for longer than we had knowns girls existed, he would at least keep up with who I was dating, but clearly, that was expecting too much.

Jake set down his glass on the bar top as he shook his head. Seth, I don’t even know the name of the chick who rode my cock last night. You can’t seriously expect me to know who’s bobbing on yours?

I barely refrained from rolling my eyes and shoving him off the barstool he was perched on. We may be friends, but we had conflicting views when it came to the opposite sex. He was never going to settle down, and I, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to get married and have kids—white-picket-fence type shit. The whole package—Disney would want to make a movie off my life if things went the way I planned. Jake knew I wanted more, but I wouldn’t dare speak about just how badly I wanted it.

Whenever I broke up with a girl—or she dumped me—I always told him some bullshit about why the chick wasn’t working for me, but really, in the end, it was always because I couldn’t see a future with them or I wanted more than they did. For me, it was a waste of time to date someone I knew I wouldn’t marry. Jake, however, would stick around as long as he didn’t want to strangle her—outside of the bedroom—and use her for all he could until moving on to the next honey in line.

You’re such a dick. Are you ever going to grow up? I bet you by the time you’re fifty, you have at least half a dozen illegitimate children out there in the world. You better move up in the firm, or you’re fucked when they all come knocking for back child support. I held in my laughter because although I was joking, I had a point, and when women figured out how much money he made, they would come take a crack at his bank account.

Jake never wrapped it up and had a different chick in his bed every night—sometimes more than one—and he didn’t give a shit about fidelity, much less monogamy. It seemed exhausting. My best friend ordered another drink and scoffed at my accusations. You’ll never understand what it’s like to be me. He was absolutely right on that front.

And for that, I will forever be grateful.

My drink sloshed over the edge as he punched me in the shoulder. Fuck you, man. Being me is the best thing ever. I’ve got an amazing job, a sweet ride, and my penthouse is killer. What more could a guy ask for?

Love. I wasn’t about to risk sounding like a pussy and saying that out loud, but love was more important to me than any list of material things Jake could spout off. It was followed closely by intimacy, honesty, companionship, and comfort. I’d watched my parents together my whole life and had vowed to find the same type of relationship. They were committed to each other and the life they had chosen. Even during the downtimes, my parents always made their relationship their top priority. They still dated, for God’s sake. It was cute in a sickeningly romantic sort of way, but it worked—and I wanted that…all of it. I knew the divorce rates—Jake liked to remind me of them every time I brought up marriage—but that’s why I knew I had to find the one, not just anyone. So far, she—the one—had been elusive, but I wasn’t giving up.

Jake nudged me. What’s up?

Nothing. Why? I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about; he seemed to think I could read his mind.

He turned to glance across the bar and then back at me. You’ve been staring off over there for a solid minute. What the fuck are you looking at? Jake shifted several ways to see what he was missing. There’s not even a hot piece of ass over there. What’s got your attention?

Shut the fuck up. So what do you have planned for tonight? I changed the subject back to him, which always worked. I loved the guy like a brother, but he was self-centered and had no issues talking about himself at length, regardless of whether or not anyone was listening.

He shrugged and tipped back his drink. Probably hop on one of my apps and invite someone over.

I still couldn’t believe that women these days would just go to a random guy’s house without so much as a single conversation on the phone or in a public place—it was like they had a death wish. I was aware he had a nice place so pulling up, they would know that, but he could still be a serial killer in a penthouse, yet they showed up for a booty call, no questions asked. He was a good-looking guy with a fat bank account and a great career. Pulling women in was never an issue. And he had no desire to keep them, so he didn’t give a shit how he treated them beyond making them scream his name and getting him off, although the latter was definitely more important than the former.

What about you? Going home to yank it? He burst out laughing at his lame joke.

Laugh it up, dick. No, I’m not. I glared at him and wondered why he spent so much time thinking about whether I was masturbating or not. I’ve actually been talking to someone online. Her name is Jasmine. We haven’t met yet, but I’m sure we will soon.

He didn’t say a word. Just nodded and downed the rest of his drink. I was a little shocked that he didn’t have some smart-ass comment, but I breathed a sigh of relief when he let it go. It was unusual for Jake not to rib me for being such a pussy about chicks or telling me I wasn’t getting any pussy because I was a pussy. However, I thanked God for the brief reprieve.

Jasmine and I had been talking for about three weeks. I wasn’t a pro at online dating, but I liked to get to know the girl before meeting her. I had no desire to race out to meet every woman who nudged me or swiped right in some stupid app. I didn’t have a ton of extra time in my life, and I wanted to spend it with a purpose. So I figured I could learn a lot about someone from just talking, and since I was looking for more than just sex, meeting online seemed to be a good idea to weed out the ones who weren’t marriage material.

Jake and I finished our drinks and went our separate ways as we did every week. Both of us were attorneys, but he worked for a family law firm where I focused on estate planning. Dealing with divorce and custody battles day in and day out truly cemented his decision never to tie the knot. He’d seen more than I ever cared to dream about, and while I was hoping for a Disney film deal about my forever romance, Jake could have entertained the likes of Michael Connelly or James Patterson for book deals galore. Since we both worked long hours, we didn’t get to see each other as much as we used to. Now, we meet for drinks every week to unwind from the stressful week and occasionally talk shop, whether that was women or work. Truth be told, I preferred talking about our careers since we didn’t see eye to eye in the relationship department, and it wasn’t cool for me to be a romantic at heart.

Once we finished the obligatory weekly meeting, I typically stuck around to make sure Jake got into an Uber before I walked home. I didn’t trust him not to be a moron and get behind the wheel, thinking the three or four drinks he’d had weren’t that much.

As I stepped through my front door, I loosened my tied, shirked my suit jacket, and set my briefcase down. Then, a notification popped up like the girl who currently occupied my thoughts somehow knew I was finally alone. I smiled, thinking about Jasmine. I toed off my shoes and then made my way toward my bedroom.

My phone was burning a hole in my pocket, but I needed to make her wait a bit so I didn’t come off as needy—I hated playing these games. But as much as I hated the game, I’d become a player of them all, trying to master the nuances of my generation and what the expectations were for people my age. I certainly didn’t have it all figured out, but I knew that answering immediately like I had my phone in my hand, waiting for her text, was not the route to go. I flipped on my bedside lamp before removing my tie and unbuttoning my dress shirt. I loved my job, but my least favorite part was the stuffy clothes. They were binding as hell, so unforgiving, and when the stress got really bad, a tie felt more like a noose and a sports coat was akin to a straightjacket. I lived for my weekends with sweatpants or jeans and a T-shirt and no requirement to shave my face for two days. I wanted a shower, but instead, I slipped into my joggers and hopped onto the bed with my cell in hand.

I turned on the screen, and my stomach dropped. It wasn’t a text from Jasmine as I’d hoped. Instead, the notification read You’ve got a new match. I hadn’t swiped on anyone in weeks, not since I’d started talking to Jasmine, so I wasn’t expecting a new possibility. I wasn’t the guy who could manage multiple women, even if it was just texting. I gave whoever I was talking to my full attention, and since I didn’t have tons of extra time, that meant this was a single file line with a heavy emphasis on the single without a line. I ignored it and decided on a shower instead.

I was usually the one to initiate conversation with Jasmine, so tonight, I was trying to wait her out and see if she would reach out to me.