Page 11 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Player

Her reply comes less than a minute later.

Bad day at the office?

I chuckle. If only she knew. I rub the back of my neck.

Maybe it’s time she does. After all, she’s told me about her marketing job. She’s told me her name. She’s even told me about the time she took the wrong bus home from school and ended up selling Shwarma at the mall. As a third grader

It’s not much of an office.

Do you watch any football?

THREE

JO

Mondays should come with a warning label. Or free alcohol. Maybe both.

I stare at the spreadsheet on my computer screen for what has to be the tenth time this morning. The analytics refuse to cooperate.

“You okay?”

I glance up to find my cubicle neighbor, Paige, balancing a coffee in one hand and a stack of client files in the other.

“You’ve been glaring at that spreadsheet for five straight minutes.”

I wrinkle my nose. “The math isn’t math-ing.”

“Boo! Vent sesh later?”

I nod, and she disappears into the conference room before I can rope her into helping me survive another Monday.

My phone vibrates against my desk. I glance around to make sure nobody’s paying attention before I flip it over.

Cal. I finally learned his first name. I smile before I even open the message.

A month ago, I barely knew this man existed. Now my entire mood depends on whether or not my phone buzzes. Which it does now.

How much football do you watch?

I blink. Football? That’s random.

Enough to know touchdowns are good.

That’s...not very much.

You’re catching on.

A few seconds pass. Then...

Hypothetically...

What if I told you I play quarterback?

I grin. Oh. He’s joking.

Hypothetically, I’d ask if we’re talking NFL or your company league.

NFL.