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Mr. Wrong Number: Nope. Just lying in bed, wide-awake. Me: Please don’t go creeper on me now. Mr. Wrong Number: What? I’m not a creep. I’m just lying in bed, naked, practicing my rope-tying skills while listening to Robin Thicke.
“If you want to skip dinner, y’know, since I’m a mess now, I totally get it. We can drive through somewhere and just head home.” I shook my head and reached for her hand again. I was suddenly in this weird place where I always wanted a hand on her. I said, “You’re stunning, Marshall. Let’s go.”
He grinned. “Let’s just say I’ve figured him out. He claimed you were batshit crazy with a truckload of issues, but I should’ve known he was lying to keep me out of his territory.” “You do realize that referring to any woman as someone’s territory is offensive, don’t you, Nick?”
“Wow. After everything, you still really think that little of me?” I was surprised her words could make me feel so much shittier than I already did, but I guess I’d never known just how much of an asshole she thought I was. “Um, I guess that about covers everything. Later, then, Marshall.”