Swipe Right, Wrong Number

Chapter 5

Saturday morning greeted me with the quiet hum of my phone vibrating on the nightstand. I groggily reached for it, rubbing my eyes as I opened the screen. A familiar notification flashed at me: Lovewave—New Message.

I blinked, my heart skipping as I realized who it was from. Him.

EthanM89: “Good morning. How’s the weekend treating you so far?”

I sat up, letting out a soft sigh. After yesterday’s team-building exercise, I had tried to push thoughts of Ethan away, but here we were again, back in the strange, anonymous world of text messages. I couldn’t deny it—I was excited to see his name pop up.

Me: “Lazy start to the day. You?”

I hit send, wondering what kind of weekend Ethan was having. Was he the type to spend his Saturday morning at the gym, checking off to-do lists? Or was he lounging around in sweatpants like a normal human being?

His response came quickly.

EthanM89: “Paperworks. Just the important ones. Keeps me ahead of the game. What’s on your agenda today?.”

I bit my lip, unsure whether to admit that my plans were much more laid-back compared to his. It was hard to compete with someone who thrived on always being one step ahead.

Me: “I was thinking about binge-watching some movies, but first, coffee.”

EthanM89: “Coffee’s essential. Though I can’t imagine you not doing something productive.”

I rolled my eyes, amused by his subtle challenge.

Me: “Well, I want to enjoy my weekends”

EthanM89: “What's your favorite show?”

I bit my lip, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction at that. The rest of the day passed in a blur of casual conversation. We talked about favorite TV shows, weekend plans, random trivia that meant nothing but somehow made the hours pass quickly. It was strange how effortless it felt, how easy it was to forget the complications looming just under the surface.

By Sunday night, we had exchanged messages about everything from pizza toppings to pet peeves, and I found myself looking forward to each new notification. It was addictive in a way I hadn’t expected—this anonymous connection, so different in real life.

EthanM89: “I have to admit, I didn’t expect to get this caught up in talking to someone on here. It's been a fun distraction.”

I stared at his message, my pulse quickening. A distraction. That’s what this was, right? Something harmless, something temporary. But even as I told myself that, I couldn’t ignore the growing pull between us.

Me: “Same. Didn’t think I’d actually enjoy this app.”

There was a pause, longer than usual, and for a moment, I wondered if I had said the wrong thing. But then another message popped up.

EthanM89: “Maybe it doesn’t have to stay a distraction.”

My breath caught. Was he suggesting... what I thought he was?

I hesitated, typing and deleting my response more than once. Before I could settle on what to say, my phone buzzed again, this time with a work-related email. I groaned, glancing at the time. It was already late, and Monday was creeping up fast. I set my phone down and pulled the blanket over my head, trying not to overthink everything.

Monday morning arrived, and despite the crisp professionalism I dressed myself in, there was a heavy undercurrent of anticipation buzzing just beneath the surface. My stomach was in knots, not just from the usual pressure of work, but because of him—Ethan.

As I walked into the office, I caught a glimpse of him at his desk, hunched over some reports. He looked up for the briefest second, our eyes meeting across the room. That familiar flicker of tension was there again, crackling in the space between us, unspoken but palpable.

I took a deep breath, reminding myself to stay calm. Today had to be like any other day at work. No distractions. No thoughts about our anonymous chats.

But when I reached my desk, my phone buzzed with a new message. I glanced at it quickly, my heart leaping into my throat.

Ethan: “Good luck surviving Monday.”

I smiled despite myself.

Me: “Same to you. Let’s hope it’s not too brutal.”

For the rest of the morning, we exchanged casual messages, a playful distraction from the usual monotony of the office. Every time my phone buzzed with a notification, I felt that familiar thrill. But with each message, the line between professional and personal blurred a little more.

By lunchtime, I could feel the tension starting to build, not just in my messages but in the stolen glances Ethan and I exchanged throughout the day. Every time we crossed paths, there was a weight in the air, a silent acknowledgement of everything we weren’t saying out loud.

As the day wore on, I tried to focus on my work, but it was impossible to ignore the pull I felt every time I saw him—whether it was in meetings, passing by in the hallway, or simply catching a glimpse of him from across the room.

By mid-afternoon, I was starting to feel the strain. I was about to grab a coffee when Ethan appeared at the entrance to my office.

"Ms. Valehart, do you have a moment?"

My heart leapt into my throat at the sound of his voice. I looked up, trying to keep my expression neutral.

"Of course," I said, forcing a smile as I stood.

Ethan stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. The click of the door felt loud in the small space, and suddenly, the air between us felt thick—charged with a tension that had been building for days.

"I wanted to go over a few things before the next project meeting," he said, his tone casual but his eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.

I nodded, my pulse quickening. "Sure, what do you need?"

He stepped closer, his voice low as he explained the upcoming tasks. But as he spoke, I found it harder and harder to concentrate. My gaze kept flickering to his lips, my mind drifting back to our messages, to the subtle intimacy we’d been sharing.

At one point, Ethan paused, his gaze lingering on mine. There was a brief silence, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

"Emma," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Are we going to keep pretending?"

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to navigate the feelings swirling between us. But the way he was looking at me, the way his voice had softened, made it impossible to deny what was happening.

"I don’t know," I whispered back, my voice shaky.

Another pause, and then he stepped closer, his hand brushing against mine in the subtlest of touches. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through me, and I could feel my resolve slipping.

"I think we’re past pretending," he murmured, his eyes dark with something I couldn’t quite name.