Wrong Number: A Forbidden Love Age-Gap Romance Read online

  Wrong Number

  A FORBIDDEN LOVE ROMANCE

  IRIS TROVAO

  EMILYSHURRICANE.COM

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Stories

  For a giant backlist, bonus scenes and exclusive content, and early access to upcoming stories, check out patreon.com/emilyshurricane!

  Copyright © 2022 by Iris Trovao

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Editing: L.P. Tvorik, Emerald Baynton

  Cover Design: P. Stormcrow

  Blurb Doctor: Alexandria Lee

  Foreword

  This book has been through a lot of different stages and formats and edits and sizes. It started as a two-thousand word entry into Wattpad’s Forbidden Love contest.

  I wanted to try something totally new, so I crafted a little story told entirely in text messages. Though Jolie and Carson got their happy ending in that micro tale, they never really left me, and years later still percolated in my brain. Not to mention a handful of fans that wondered what happened to them after.

  So I started what was supposed to be a short novella. And it grew. And grew. Thirty pages in, I submitted it to Radish just for shits and giggles, and lo and behold, they accepted it! So then I had to finish. And while my outline was only for about thirty chapters, it continued to grow as I let the characters be total fucking messes.

  Sixty-one chapters and an epilogue later, I had a hundred-thousand word beast of a novel. And after hanging around the serial circuit for a year, it was time to do a few rounds of editing and give Jolie and Carson their much-deserved full package.

  This labour of love is the result of all much time and work and blood, sweat, and tears, and wouldn’t even exist if it weren’t for all of the wonderful readers who encouraged me and pushed me and cried along with me. I appreciate every single one of you! Especially Minx, who was the one to kick my ass and give me the push I needed to get this beast ready for big wide publishing.

  And if this is your first time with Jolie and Carson, well…I’m sorry in advance for the heartache and tears. I will collect them in a mug to sip while I’m writing my next angst-fest. ;)

  Much love,

  Emily S Hurricane <3

  (Writing as Iris Trovao)

  Chapter One

  Jolie: Hey bitch, you’re late!

  Jolie brushed her slick bangs from her face, muttering obscenities as she tapped out the message to Alicia. She shoved her phone in her pocket, wiping it against the inside to dry the damn touch screen off.

  Of course it’s pissing down rain the night she’s late… she thought bitterly, fingering the pack of cigarettes in her pocket as she stared up at the slush falling from the sky.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” a man slurred from behind her.

  She wrinkled her nose as his putrid breath somehow cut through the sleet and punched her in the face. “No fucking thank you,” she said, and took a large step back. She nearly stepped off of the curb into a giant puddle, but caught herself just in time.

  “Come on, come back to my place.” The guy’s words came out a garbled mess, but the intent was clear as he pursed his lips, as if to come in for a kiss.

  Jolie darted around to the other side of a nearby hydro pole with an annoyed grunt, hoping if she just hid he’d forget she was there and go away.

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

  “About time,” she huffed as she pulled it out, attempting to shield the screen with her arm.

  Alicia: Late? Who is this?

  Jolie grunted, wiping frantically at her screen to try to type, but it wouldn’t register her thumbs. The wasted guy pawed at the hydro pole, and she quickly hit the voice-to-text button and lifted the phone to her ear.

  “You’re fucking hilarious,” she said loudly, stepping away into his full view so he could see her talking on the phone. “You’d better not be too far away, some drunk asshole keeps trying to make out with me.”

  “Ah, screw you,” he mumbled, and pushed away from the pole, staggering off towards the main part of downtown, leaving long dragged footprints in the slush.

  Jolie let out a sigh of relief. “Send,” she said into her phone, and waited for the telltale little blip that confirmed her message had gone through. She hoped the voice-to-text hadn’t garbled up her message too much—at least it would be more legible than trying to type on a wet screen.

  She shivered. When she’d first emerged from the bar, she’d welcomed the chill air on her hot skin, but at this point she was tired and cold, and just wanted her bed. Alicia had had some bullshit self-help seminar that night, but had promised she would give her a lift home after since she’d ditched out on girls’ night.

  Of course, Alicia had argued that it was Jolie ditching, since girls’ night could have easily been at the seminar. But Jolie wouldn’t have touched that garbage with a ten-foot pole. Self-help? Was it even self-help if somebody else was telling you how to fix your life? Especially when it wasn’t really how to fix your life, it was more like how to spend more money on more stupid self-help books.

  Her phone buzzed again, and she rubbed it furiously in her pocket, which was quickly becoming damp through. She’d had to pick a shitty pea-coat that was built for temperature and not water protection. She smeared the moisture away just enough so she could read the text.

  Alicia: You seriously have the wrong number.

  “Argh!” Jolie stamped her foot, her ankle boot splashing chunky slush everywhere. The cold had her half-sober by now, which was just a damn waste of all the work she’d put into getting drunk in the first place. She hit the voice-to-text again. “This is the number you gave me for your new phone! Stop fucking around! Send!”

  The replies came almost immediately.


  Alicia: You must have gotten a digit wrong, because I don’t know who you are.

  Alicia: Is there someone else you can call to pick you up?

  “Oh, this is great,” Jolie muttered. She closed her eyes, tilting her head back, willing her rage to settle. It was already an hour past when Alicia had said she’d be there. If the seminar had run late, she could have texted or called.

  It was entirely possible that she’d just forgotten. They had talked about it three days prior, and maybe it slipped her mind, to make room for self-help mumbo jumbo.

  The truth was that no, she didn’t have anybody else to call. Nobody that would actually come, anyway.

  Her phone buzzed again.

  Alicia: Hello?

  Alicia: I really don’t want to leave you with a drunk asshole.

  She pursed her lips. This wasn’t the kind of prank that her best friend would pull. If she’d planned to do something like this, she would have been ten minutes late and would have pulled up laughing shortly after. Not wait a whole hour in this sleet, dragging out the text messages with proper sentence structure.

  The reality of a fifty dollar cab ride home washed over her, and she hit the voice-to-text button one more time. “You’re really not Alicia? Send.” Just to make sure. Just in case.

  Buzz.

  Alicia: Definitely not Alicia.

  “Motherfucker,” Jolie muttered to herself, and turned on her heel, trudging through the thickening slush towards downtown in hopes of stealing a cab.

  Buzz.

  She glanced at the screen.

  Alicia: Sorry.

  Jolie peeled herself out of bed, eyes still heavy. The sheets were rumpled next to her and flannel pyjamas complete with a pair of ratty boxers dotted the floor, leading the way to the ensuite. She grunted and picked them up on her way to pee, dropping them in the laundry hamper she’d placed right next to the bathroom door.

  Hint, hint, she thought bitterly as she plonked herself down on the toilet, releasing her bursting bladder like Niagara Falls. She rubbed her forehead. Coffee. A coffee IV would be the way to go that morning.

  She shuffled back into the bedroom, pulling on a pair of yoga pants and a loose t-shirt, scooping up her phone from the nightstand. She’d wrapped it in paper towel the night before, hoping that none of the rainfall had managed to get in through the case.

  Thankfully, it was working, and her brow furrowed at a message from Alicia from 4:55am.

  Alicia: Hi, sorry to bother you. Just wondering if you made it home okay?

  No, not Alicia, whoever Jolie had been talking to last night. She quickly opened up the contact to erase it, but instead decided on replacing the name. She chuckled to herself, typing back a response.

  Were you up until 5am worrying? She hit send and headed down to the kitchen.

  Her phone buzzed on the counter as she filled the kettle.

  Tweedledick: I was already up, early morning shift.

  Jolie typed as she dumped fresh Sumatra dark roast beans into the grinder and flicked it on.

  I took a cab, didn’t get assaulted by drunk asshole. Thanks for asking, she sent back.

  She pulled the plunger out of the stainless steel french press, tonguing her cheek in annoyance at the spent grounds still inside. She dumped them into the green bin beneath the sink, banging it against the side with more force than was necessary.

  Tweedledick: No problem. I couldn’t help but feel a bit responsible since it seemed I was the only person you could get a hold of.

  Jolie scoffed, and before thinking, typed out, Isn’t that fucking depressing, and hit send. She stared at the screen for a moment, wet french press in her other hand. She marvelled at the fact that she was so pathetic she was airing her self-loathing at some random stranger. It was probably some night-shift factory dog, a greasy old dirtbag that would be sending pictures of his gnarly cock any minute now.

  Three little dots appeared as they began typing back, but then disappeared. Reappeared. Disappeared. No response.

  “I sure know how to kill a conversation,” Jolie muttered as she set down her phone and filled the french press with fresh grounds. “But at least I didn’t get a dick pic.”

  Chapter Two

  Carson stared at his phone screen, thumb hovering over the letters, unsure of what to say. He didn’t know this girl, and he’d done his duty checking to make sure she’d made it home unscathed. Did he really want to dive down this rabbit hole? She seemed like she could use someone to talk to. The question was, was it really his responsibility to be that person?

  “Doctor Wessex, your daughter is on line two,” Patricia said, leaning in the doorway of his small office. “Do you want me to tell her you’re on your way? You really should have been gone by now.”

  He scrubbed his hands down his face and stifled a yawn. “Yes, would you mind? I texted her, but I forgot that her phone is still at the repair shop.”

  “A seventeen-year-old without her cell phone!” Patricia gasped, putting a hand to her chest in mock outrage. “The humanity!”

  He chuckled, shoving his own into the pocket of his lab coat. “Yes, her life is infinitely more difficult than everyone else’s.”

  “I’ll let her know,” Patricia replied with a little salute. “Seriously though, go home. Doctor Pretentious is already here and if you get caught in conversation you’ll be stuck here until your next shift.”

  Carson shook his head at the mischief twinkling in her eyes. “You really shouldn’t call him that,” he scolded, but he was already planning his escape route to make it out unseen. The day shift emergency doctor, Jim Bowers, was so high on himself he was painful to talk to.

  “He’s in room four, scurry out now!” Patricia waved her hand above her head and disappeared into the hallway. Barely a second later, she popped back with a little smirk. “Also, Happy Valentine’s Day.”

  Carson groaned, and she tittered as she headed off down the hallway. As he slipped into his jacket, he unlocked his phone one more time, staring at the girl’s message. Instead of answering it, he opened his browser and searched up a local florist.

  He scrolled through a few arrangements, deciding on a simple bouquet of a dozen crimson roses. After entering all of his credit card information and the delivery address, it prompted him to add a message to the card.

  Happy Valentine’s Day, he typed out, and pursed his lips for a moment. He never quite knew what to say to her, these days. He sighed, and signed it, Your Loving Husband.

  “I wouldn’t worry too much, Mrs. Harper, your son will be just fine.” Carson offered the distraught mother a smile. “I’ll send the nurse in with something to settle his stomach so that he can sleep, and you just make sure he gets lots of rest and fluids at home. Of course, if his situation changes or you’re concerned, please don’t hesitate to give us a call, okay?”

  Mrs. Harper nodded, sitting down next to the bed holding her pale son. “Thank you,” she said hoarsely. “And thank you, for seeing me. I imagine nobody wants to be working on Valentine’s Day.”

  Instead of rolling his eyes, Carson gave her a soft smile. That poker face that doctors and nurses had to master when speaking to patients.

  “I’d imagine it’s better than having a sick child on Valentine’s Day,” he said gently, and took his leave. He set his clipboard at the nurse’s station and slid it over to Patricia.

  “Gotcha, Doc,” she said after a cursory glance. “Now go have dinner already, yeah? You probably won’t get a chance if you leave it too long.”

  He nodded, checking his phone. He blinked when he realized he had a text message from someone not in his contact list. Was it the girl from last night? His chest swelled with a mix of concern and curiosity.

  He reluctantly stuffed the device back into his pocket and headed off to the cafeteria before someone flagged him down for something.

  Carson chose a corner table, even though the cafeteria was fairly deserted at this time of the evening. Before checking the mystery message,
he shot off a quick text to his daughter to remind her to let him know when she got home from her date.

  Lily: Yes dad THANK you I know!!!

  He shook his head, smiling as if he’d heard the words come out of her mouth. Seventeen-year-olds. He flipped over to the other text, and saw it was, as he’d thought, from the mystery girl.

  Unknown: You know what’s really fucking depressing? Getting stood up on Valentine’s Day.

  He pursed his lips and picked up his spoon, giving the chicken soup a stir as he contemplated his reply. He still wasn’t one hundred percent sure he should engage with this stranger. But then he imagined Lily, sitting in a restaurant, all alone, sad because her date never showed up. The thought made his heart clench, and he typed out, Ouch. You okay?

  He hit send and took a small slurp of the chicken soup.

  Unknown: Aren’t you just a white knight, huh?

  He couldn’t help but smile. The sass. He already had three sassy women in his life…four, if he counted Patricia. What was one more?