Mr. Wrong Number (Mr. Wrong Number, #1)

by Lynn Painter

I walked over to the tiny laundry room, where he was leaning down into the fridge and presenting me with—wow—just the finest ass. I mean, his posterior looked as if he was forever doing squats and lunges; perhaps that was his sole method of mobility. Maybe Colin lunged everywhere he went.

It was like that line in You’ve Got Mail. “All this nothing has meant more to me than so many somethings.”