Page 17 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Player

The silence starts almost immediately.

I’m suddenly hyper-aware she’s sitting less than two feet away. And she’s looking at me.

Really looking at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch her studying my face.

I grip the steering wheel. “Is something wrong?”

“What?”

“You keep staring at me.”

Heat rushes into her cheeks. “I was trying to figure something out.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

She smiles sheepishly. “I’m trying to reconcile the guy who sends me book recommendations with the guy who looks like he wants to fight sports reporters.”

I laugh. “You figured it out yet?”

“Not even a little.”

Before either of us can say another word, Monica leans forward.

“Wonderful. Since you’ve both acknowledged the awkwardness, let’s move on.”

Jo jumps slightly. “I completely forgot you were back there.”

“It happens.”

Monica taps her tablet. “First on today’s schedule is your hotel check-in.”

She swipes. “Then a dress fitting at one-thirty. Hair at three. Makeup at four-thirty. We’ll have you at the gala by six-fifteen.”

Jo blinks. “...I’m sorry. Did you say fitting?”

“Three designers have pulled dresses for you.”

“Three?”

Monica shrugs. “I had to narrow it down.”

Jo slowly turns toward me. “You didn’t tell me about any of this.”

“I didn’t know.”

She laughs. “You didn’t know?”

“I knew there’d be a gala. I didn’t know about...” I gesture vaguely toward Monica. “...all this.”

“He’s telling the truth.” Monica nods. “I stopped informing him of the details because he never remembers them.”

“I remember some things.”

“You forgot your own commercial shoot last Tuesday.”

“That happened once.”