Wrong Number [EXCERPT]

Chapter Six

Carson headed into the house as the sun rose over the horizon, closing the front door as quietly as he could behind him. Realistically, he knew that the girls slept like logs, and he could probably take a wooden spoon to every pot and pan in the kitchen and they wouldn't wake up.

But in this quiet hour, the stillness of the house, it just felt like he shouldn't disturb anything.

A throaty purr underscored the silence as he hung up his coat and Seamus, Lily's fat tabby, rubbed up against his leg. He smiled down at the squash-nosed boy and knelt to scratch behind his ears. The cat's eyes closed in euphoria as he leaned into the affection.

"Life's little pleasures, eh buddy?" Carson murmured and pushed to his feet.

As he made his way to the kitchen, his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he prayed that it wasn't anyone from the ER asking questions. He just wanted to enjoy a green tea and go to sleep for a few hours.

Jane: Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I'll stop texting you.

He drew his lower lip between his teeth, chewing it for a moment. He didn't know what to say. He hadn't known what to say to her in the middle of the night, either, and thankfully had been called away to check on a five-month-old baby who'd been brought in with a fever. He'd busied himself talking to the parents about teething, while playing with the sweet little guy, and tried to push mystery girl out of his head.

But now, in the dim morning light of the kitchen, there were no distractions. He filled the kettle and dumped some kibbles into Seamus' food bowl, but that took very little brain power.

Buzz. He sighed.

Jane: You should block my number.

He knew he should. He knew he should block the number, erase his conversations with her, and put her out of his head. He'd already crossed the line with this random girl by confessing his wife's affair, and it shouldn't have even gone that far.

And now he had a drunk girl, probably barely into her twenties, texting him about her fantasies in the middle of the night? It felt wrong. It was wrong.

Carson packed the infuser full before sticking it into his chipped white mug. It was the only intact one left from a set he and Gina had received as a wedding present.

He knew what he should do. So why wasn't he doing it already? He didn't know this girl. They'd been chatting for two days. He didn't owe her anything. And she most certainly didn't owe him anything.

Part of him felt badly for her, that she didn't seem to have anyone else to talk to. But that wasn't his responsibility. His responsibility was to his family. To his patients. Not to a depressed random girl. One who had her own husband, no less. She wasn't one of his patients, and he wasn't even that kind of doctor.

He stared at his phone as if he could will it to do what he knew he should do.

As if on cue, it buzzed.

Jane: Did you do it? Did you block my number?

As the kettle began to hiss and warm up, he picked up his phone. Some part of him had hoped that he didn't have to block her number, and that she would just stop texting him. But it seemed that she was determined to continue texting into the void.

Only it wasn't a void. And it wasn't nice to let her think so. It wasn't moral. As if any of this was moral.

No, I didn't, he sent, then added, Sorry I let you think that.

Little dots appeared, then disappeared. Then appeared, then disappeared. As the kettle began to burble, this dance happened on his messenger screen, the bubbles in the water just like the bubble on the screen. Anticipation built in him just as heat built in the kettle—but anticipation for what? He wasn't sure if he was anxious or excited.