“Hey, it’s me. I’m calling from a different number because I met a wonderful woman named Ivy. I think you two would hit it off. She’s awesome and has the best shirt. Love you! Oh, and no, I’m still not naming my child after you.”

Shit. She’s at it again. My best friend is dying for me to meet “someone nice.” Never expected her to give my cell phone number to some stranger, though. Pregnancy is having a wild effect on her.

I hit the call button for Blue, and Knox immediately picks up, his voice hushed.

“Hey, man. She’s asleep on the couch, and I didn’t have the heart to wake her up to move her to the bed.”

“Sorry. Just got her voicemail message.”

He chuckles. “Hold on. Let me head to my office.”

A short moment later, there’s a brief click, and I imagine he’s closed the door to the room. “She found this woman at the frozen yogurt place.” He exhales slowly, the end morphing into a laugh. “You should’ve seen it. She faked premature labor pains to get this woman—Ivy—to hand over her phone.”

I drop down on my couch. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Knox fills me in on how things went down, and I throw my arm over my eyes.

“So this is a taste of what it would be like to have a sister.”

Knox laughs. “Sorry, man.” There’s a pause. “If it’s any consolation, she was pretty. Seemed low-key. Not high-maintenance.”

“What was the deal with her shirt?”

“It said, I want a man with a massive, throbbing vocabulary, who can provide numerous wordgasms.”

Laughter bursts free. “That’s awesome.”

“Yeah, so…” Knox hesitates. “You planning to contact her?”

I blow out a long breath, warring with indecisiveness. “I don’t know.”

“Well, keep us posted.”

“Will do. Give Blue my best.”

After we say our goodbyes, I stare down at my phone for a moment before scrolling through the missed call from Ivy’s phone. It’s doubtful she’d want to hear from me—a guy she’d been strong-armed to give her number to—so I feel like the best choice is to be respectful. I decide to send her a simple text message.

Me: Hi. I just wanted to apologize for my friend. Blue means well, but I’m sorry if she forced you into giving up your number.

I don’t expect a response, so I toss my phone onto the cushion beside me. To my surprise, the screen lights up and vibrates with an incoming message moments later.

904-624-3178: Ah, yes. That was honestly the oddest experience I’ve ever had. I went to get froyo and had to witness a woman practically going into early labor while trying to give me your number.

904-624-3178: And Blue? You mean EJ/Emma Jane? How many nicknames does this woman actually have? LOL

I drag a hand over my jaw, chuckling softly.

Me: I can only imagine. And Blue is my nickname for her. When we met, she had a blue streak in her hair, and the name stuck.

904-624-3178: Gotcha. So can I be brutally honest with you?

I stare at my phone for a beat, wondering what’s coming next.

Me: Of course.

904-624-3178: Okay, well, I’m not looking for anything like a relationship. I just want to be up front about that.

Interesting. A woman who’s forthcoming about her lack of interest in relationships.

904-624-3178: Do you live with a bunch of cats? In an underground bunker?

A laugh escapes me.

Me: Not even close. I live alone with my dog in a house on Neptune Beach.

904-624-3178: Beach bum? Surfer?

Me: Sometimes. And I wish. I’m not that coordinated.

904-624-3178: Hmm, interesting. Hunchback?

Me: Are you asking me if I’m a hunchback?

904-624-3178: Yes.

Me: Definitely not.

904-624-3178: Serial killer?

Me: Hell no.

Me: Why do you get to ask all the questions? ;)

904-624-3178: LOL. Ask away.

Me: Do you have a job?

904-624-3178: Yes. And I love my job.

Me: Same here.

There’s a pause as I anticipate her asking me what kind of job I have, while I’m internally cringing at the moment she finds out what I do and realizes how much money I make.

But she surprises me.

904-624-3178: My job is secretive in order to protect my clients’ privacy, so I can’t talk much about it.

Me: Understandable.

My thumb hovers over the screen, and I hate the uncertainty that rolls through me. Finally, I mutter, “Fuck it,” and type out my message.

Me: Any chance you’d like to offer a reprieve to my big, awkward thumbs and let me call you?

Eight seconds pass with agonizing slowness and just when I think she’s gone ahead and blocked my number, my phone lights up with an incoming call.

“Hello, Ivy.”

“Hey, stranger.” Her voice has a tinge of huskiness to it.

“So”—I shift to stretch out on my couch, resting my head on the pillow—“let’s get the routine stuff out of the way. Are you a smoker?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Recreational drug use?” This is important since I hold my health in high regard and have zero desire to lose my job or be fined for that kind of shit.

There’s an odd undertone in Ivy’s voice when she responds. “Never have and never will.”

Perfect answer. “So…I heard about this shirt of yours. Massive vocabularies do it for you, huh?”

She laughs softly. “They do.”

“Well, I have a confession. I have this Word of the Day app on my phone. I save the ones I find most interesting and try to use them.”

Ivy’s gasp startles me. “Are you serious?”

I let out a small laugh tinged with embarrassment. “Yeah, I know it’s nerdy, but that’s me.”

Silence greets my response. So much that I actually bring the phone away from my ear to check to see whether she’s disconnected. But nope. She’s still there.

“Ivy?”

“I—” She clears her throat. “I have that app, too.”

The biggest smile forms on my face. “Seriously?”

“Yes.” Her voice has a tinge of surprise to it. “Today’s word was—”

“Charlatan,” we say in unison.

My phone vibrates with a reminder I set for myself. Glancing down at it, I accept and silence it.

“I hate to cut this short, but I have to be up early and head to Gainesville tomorrow for work.”

“Oh, of course.”

I hesitate. Dammit, I hate that I’m so rusty with this shit. “I’d, uh, like to chat again if you have time.”

Surprise edges into her tone when she answers, and I can’t quite grasp if it’s a good thing or not. “I’d actually like that.”