Shrugging, I reached for my phone from my table. I took a drink and nodded when I saw the new message icon. I continued sipping as I unlocked my phone and opened the message.

Then spat my wine everywhere.

Fran and Immy both did a double-take, staring at me for a moment before Immy burst out laughing. “What the hell was that for?”

I coughed away the bubbles that formed in my throat and glanced at the screen again. “They said, ‘Interesting. I like doggy. What’s yours?’”

They shared a look before they both squealed like teenagers. “This is way more exciting than our responses!” Immy almost screamed, scaring the life out of Lucifer who’d just come trotting in after eating.

It mewled and ran right back out of the living room, knocking a ball with a bell in and sending it jingling across the floor.

“Okay, I’m not replying to that.” I sat up straight and held out the phone. “This could be a fifty-year-old man living in his mom’s basement for all I know. It could be an underage teenager!”

They both paused.

Clearly, I was the only one exercising a brain cell tonight.

“Ask,” Fran said simply.

“Oh, yeah, because nobody is going to lie,” I replied dryly. “You’re both ridiculous. I sent the first text; I’m not carrying on.”

“Do it, or we will,” Immy threatened.

“I’ll kick you,” I shot back.

“You have the lower body strength of a newborn donkey,” my cousin replied. “I’m not worried about that. Just reply and ask.”

“I don’t wanna.” Okay, so that was whining.

“Just do it,” Fran said, swilling her wine around her glass. “For all you know, there’s a hot as hell guy at the end of the line and you won’t have to deal with Jen’s dates anymore.”

“I’m not going on her dates.” I huffed out a breath and hit ‘reply.’ “Fine. I’ll reply, but I’m not answering until I know I’m not halfway to seducing a randy teenager.”

ME: Before I answer that, I’m obligated to ask who you are. Bear in mind, I’m a divorced mother of three.

Immy choked on her wine when I read it out loud. “Divorced mother of three? Dear God, Han!”

“What was I going to say? That I was a married mother of three?”

“She has a point,” Fran offered. “That would be suspicious.”

“And randomly texting a stranger to ask their favorite sex position isn’t?”

“Another good point.”

My phone blinked with a new message, and I read it out loud as I read it myself.

NUMBER NEIGHBOR: Interesting that you wanted my answer before you knew how old I was.

“Another good point,” Fran repeated. “This one’s smart.”

Unlike me—and my friends.

I really needed new ones. Was there a store where you could trade them in like you could old video games? I’d take the money for these jerks.

ME: My friends made me do it.

NUMBER NEIGHBOR: Ah, that old chestnut.

ME: They really did. They’re jerks.