Wrong Number

It was a wrong number that started it all.

"Hello, is this Paul's phone?" he boomed through the minuscule speaker.

"No," she sighed back.

"My bad."
click

Thank god it was just a wrong number.  She didn't understand what had possessed her to answer the phone in the first place.  It was one of her steadfast rules; never answer an unknown number.  People who weren't saved in her phone would just have to leave messages, and if they really mattered anyway she had their number.

She never thought she would think a voice sexy in only 7 words.

That unknown number rang again a few days later.

"Not Paul," her voice sang into the speaker.

"Oh, yeah, I know," he replied.  "I just, um, well, I know this is going to sound stupid, but and I know you can't feel a connection over a two second phone call, but there's just something.  Could I buy you a drink?"

"Um," it was her turn to stutter.  This stuff didn't happen to girls like her.  She wasn't in the movies, and she wasn't even outgoing.  The silence hung dead in the air.

"Yeah, stupid, my bad," he finished quickly.
click

The voices started warring around her head.  Some people called them the angel and devil on your shoulder.  Other people thought them different phases of a conscience mind.  To her, they were the embodiment of her disappointments.

'You're never going to have any fun.'  'You're never going to meet anyone by sitting at home.'  'What can it hurt?'  'The worst that can happen is a bad date.'

She dialed the unfamiliar number.

"Not Paul!"

"Yeah, I, um, thought about what you said, and sure I'd love to get a drink."

"Great," his excitement bounced through the invisible connection.  "I know the perfect place."

She gave him her address and he arrived promptly.  Well built, tall, sharp jaw; he was very nice and courteous.  She had to admit, it was a nice evening he just wasn't her type.  He enjoyed watching sports when she would rather spend a Saturday at the art museum.  He liked to go fishing on Sunday mornings when she was always at church.  An all around nice guy, just not for her.

They said goodnight and parted ways.

Her phone rang.

It was him.

She answered sleepily.  His voice echoed like her hallway did.  He sounded close, way too close.  As he blathered on about how beautiful she was and how he wanted her and how he didn't even know a guy named Paul, her blood rushed even while she started shivering.

She could hear his footsteps now.

She hung up the phone.

Never again would she answer an unknown call.

This fictional story came from the prompt It was a wrong number that started it from the Writing Workshop found through BloggyMoms community groups.  The prompts come from Stephanie, and I know you don't want to miss the next one!  Sign up today!

Constructive criticism is always welcome.