“The fuck? Who would do that?”
I shrugged. “Who would write a man’s name on the stall? You tell me.”
“No. Who the hell would call a number that was written on a bathroom stall. You must be pretty damn bored—or desperate.”
Oh. He wasn’t exactly wrong on the bored part.
“Well, I took a chance. Figured I’d give you a ring, see what all the fuss is about. Clearly there’s nothing to the rumor of a promised good time. All one gets by dialing this number is a person with a stick up his ass.”
“Exactly how much salt have you had tonight?”
“Enough.”
“I can tell.”
“Look…I’m sorry. This was a mistake. You’re totally right. I’m bored—bored with life. I dialed this number on impulse, to challenge myself. Thought maybe I’d find a little excitement on the other end of the line. My friends and I made a vow to be spontaneous. Rule number one of our summer fun pact is that if an opportunity for fun arises: take it without analyzing it. I’ve had a rough year, got out of a sucky five-year relationship and just thought maybe the number was a sign I should have a little fun. Calling you was a mistake. Anyway, I’m rambling now. I—”
His tone softened a little. “What’s your name?”
I sighed. “Lola.”
“That sounds just as fake as Mark.”
“Actually, it’s not. It’s my real name. My mother’s favorite song was “Copacabana” by Barry Manilow. She’s a fanilow. My friends call me Lo.”
“Lo. As in Fan-i-low.”
“I suppose.”
He burst into laughter. I looked down at my shoes, listening to him laugh at my expense until he spoke again.
“This conversation is ridiculous,” he groaned.
This guy, whoever he is, thinks I belong in an insane asylum, and he very well may be right.
I was just about to hang up on him when he said, “I’m Silas.”
“That’s your real name?”
“Sure. What do I have to hide from a drunken voice named Lola…who’s bored and probably won’t remember this tomorrow?”
“I’m not that drunk. My inhibitions are a little off, but unfortunately I’ll remember this.”
“What are you doing hiding out in the bathroom at Salty’s, anyway?”
“Looking for a good time?”
“We established that.”
I giggled.
He laughed again. He had a nice laugh, a deep, sexy one. And now I was officially nuts if I was getting turned on by a voice.
“I’m renting a house here for the summer with my friends,” I admitted.
“So…you said you got out of a bad relationship?” he asked. “What was bad about it?”
How do I even begin to answer that?
“The lack of sexual chemistry, the lack of respect for me…too many things to name, and I regret wasting my time. The only good thing about being in a relationship, even a bad one, is not being alone. That was probably why it took me so long to end it. I was afraid of being alone.”
“You feel lonely? Is that why you called my number?”
My voice was shaky as I answered with brutal honesty, “Yeah. Maybe a little.”
His raspy voice lowered, “Are you alone in the bathroom right now, Lola?”
I nodded. “Mmm-hmm.”
Something in his voice changed. “You want a good time, huh?”
Where is this going?
My voice turned breathy. “Yes.”
“What are you wearing?” he asked, his tone suddenly needy.
My heart raced as I leaned against the stall, needing to look down at myself to even remember. “A short, white dress.”
“Underwear?”
I snapped out of my haze for a moment. “Are you seriously trying to have phone sex with me right now?”
He cackled. “How have you not hung up on me yet? I was actually just seeing what I could get away with. Wasn’t expecting you to practically come when I asked you if you were alone.”
Oh my God. What a jackass.
“I didn’t…practically come. I was just…never mind. ”
There was a long moment of silence, whereby all I could hear was my own heavy breathing.
His voice lowered again. “So what kind of underwear, Lola?”
Clearing my throat, I answered, “Nude lace. But I’m not falling for your trap anymore. I don’t know whether you’re serious about phone sex or just making fun of me now.”
He chuckled. “Alright, alright. Tell you what. You want actual phone sex? Call me tomorrow night at this number when you’re sober. If you’re still down for it, we can do it for real.”
The idea of that—phone sex with this deep, raspy voice—awakened the muscles between my legs despite the fact that I said, “No, that won’t be happening.”
“Yeah. Okay. Well, you have my number.”
“Why would I call a guy who’s been nothing but rude to me, for phone sex?”
“Because you’re bored and lonely, remember?”
“Who are you, really?”
“I told you. I’m Silas.”
“You live on Fire Island?”
“Yes. In the summer.”
“Give me a tidbit about you—the real you.”
After a few seconds, he answered, “I have a full sleeve tattoo on my arm. You have my name and a main identifying feature now. There’s your glass slipper. But, baby, believe me, I’m the furthest thing from Cinder-fucking-rella.”
Lola
“UGH.” I WALKED out front onto the porch with my morning coffee and sat down next to Summer. “We got another email.”
“From the landlord?”
“Yup. We weren’t even playing the music that loud last night, were we?”
Summer chuckled. “Ummm. We weren’t. But you were. Half of the town of Saltaire probably heard you.”
“Me?” Last night was a bit hazy. “I don’t even know how to turn on the house stereo.”
“I know.” She smirked and sipped her coffee. “You were using your phone…to have a dance party in the street, remember?”
Oh shit. A fuzzy recollection of last night started to come back to me. I remembered standing in the street, bent over laughing, holding my shoes in my hands. But I couldn’t for the life of me remember the singing part.
“What does the email say?”
“It’s bizarre. The guy either thinks he’s Dr. Seuss, or he was drunk when he wrote it.”
“What do you mean?”
I held up one finger while I scrolled to the email app on my phone.
