Chapter 1
Lizzy
“GuesswhatIjustdid? I accidentally sent a text message to a parent instead of you. A message about how much I hate dating and all men are assholes. Yes, I used the curse word. To. A. Parent.”
I send the voice message to my best friend and keep my phone in hand while I grab the laundry from the sofa and take it to my room.
My hands are shaking from the major mess-up. If I had a magic wand, I’d use it to go back in time and invent the possibility to unsend text messages.
“Ow!” I drop everything and rub my shin.
Staring at the foot of my bed with offensive anger, I curse the day I bought a bed frame with a footboard. As much as I love decorating, I overestimated the space in my bedroom and now, I risk bruising my legs whenever I’m not careful.
I breathe out slowly, squealing at the pain pulsing through my leg, and rest my foot on the mattress to stare at the bump that’s already formed. I massage the area around the growing bruise.
A punctuating knock interrupts my observation, and I freeze.
Who in the world is here?
A second knock echoes around my apartment with much more force. Grabbing my phone in case I need to call someone for help, I tiptoe to the front door and peek through the peephole to see if I can pretend I’m not home.
“What in the…”
I swing open the door and stare at the man’s face. A man very much dressed as a deputy sheriff.
“Uh…”
“Hello, ma’am, we received a call from your home. Is everything okay?”
“I didn’t call you.” I shake my head.
“I believe you did.” He points to my phone.
“I think I’d know if I called 911.” I cross my arms. “Are you actually a stripper? Because there isn’t a bachelorette party here.”
He coughs, shaking his head.
It’s a valid question. The man’s arms are defined and his chest is broad. He could probably flex and have his clothes shred from his body.
Maybe not quite like that, but he’s built.
“I’m not a stripper. I’m here on duty. You can confirm in your phone’s call log. If it was a prank call, you’ll have to come with me to the station.” His jaw ticks.
“Prank call? What am I, fifteen? No, I didn’t prank call 911.” I check my phone with shaky hands.
I can see it now…
First grade teacher goes from respectable professional to criminal.
Scanning my call log, I see it. I must’ve mistakenly called while I was carrying my laundry.
“Oh, no.” I shake my head. “I didn’t mean to call. My phone was in my hand, and I must’ve accidentally dialed it.” I offer an apologetic smile, but Mr. Hot Deputy doesn’t budge.
“What happened to your leg?”
I look down at the bruise and back at him.
“I hit it with the foot of my bed frame.”