Who the hell is texting me?
Who the hell is texting me?
As I waited for the reply, I leaned down and slipped off my shoes. Fantastic heels, but damn, they hurt my feet. My phone beeped again, and I read.
Some people call me Wallbanger.
I hated myself a little for the way my now-naked toes curled. Stupid toes.
Wallbanger, huh? Wait a minute—How did you get my number?
I knew it was either Mimi or Sophia. Damn girls. They were really pushing it lately.
I can’t reveal my sources. So did you have a good time tonight?
Okay, I can play this game.
In fact I did. On my way home now. How is the Emerald Isle? Lonely yet?
It’s beautiful actually, just having breakfast. And I am never lonely.
I believe that. Did you buy my sweater?
Working on it, want to get just the right one.
Yes, please give me a good one.
Not going to respond to that one. . . . How’s that pussy of yours?
Really not going to respond to that one. Is there something you wanted?
This not responding thing is getting harder. . . .
I know what you mean. It’s hard not to touch that one.
Okay, officially ending this round. The innuendos are too thick to see straight.
Oh, I don’t know, it’s better when it’s thick. . . .
Wow. I’m enjoying this truce more than I expected.
I have to admit it’s good for me too.
Are you home yet?
Yep, just pulled up in front of our building.
Okay, I’ll wait until you’re inside.
Bet you can’t wait to get inside.
You’re a demon, you know that?
I have been told. Okay, inside. Just kicked your door, BTW.
Thanks.
Just being a good neighbor.
Good night, Caroline.
Good morning, Simon.
I laughed as I turned the key in my lock and went inside. I sank into my couch, still laughing. Clive quickly jumped on my lap, and I petted his silky fur as he purred his welcome home. My phone beeped once more.
Did you really kick my door?
Shut up. Go eat your breakfast.
I laughed again as I silenced my phone for the night and lay back on the couch. Clive perched on my chest as I relaxed for a bit, thoughts of that damn wall banger in my head. It was shocking how clearly I could picture him: soft faded jeans, hiking boots à la Jake Ryan from Sixteen Candles, off-white Irish cable-knit turtleneck sweater, hair all in disarray. Standing on a rocky coast somewhere, ocean in the background. A little tan, slightly weathered, hands in pockets. And that grin . . .
chapter nine
Text between Caroline and Simon:
You had a package delivered. I signed for it and it’s at my place.
Thanks. I’ll pick it up when I’m back. How are you?
Good, just working. How are the Irish?
Lucky. How’s that insane cat?
Lucky. I caught him trying to climb the walls. He’s still looking for Purina. Misses her.
I don’t think a romance is in the cards for those two.
Probably not. . . . He won’t be over it anytime soon tho. Might have to bump up his catnip ration.
Don’t overmedicate. No one likes a pussy that can’t hold a conversation.
I’m actually a little scared of you.
LOL. Don’t be scared. Wait until I offer you candy for that.
If I catch you in a trench coat I’m running the other way! When are you coming home BTW?
Missing me a little?
No, I wanted to rehang some pictures on the wall behind my headboard and I’m wondering how much time I have.
Be home in 2 weeks. If you can wait that long, I’ll help you. It’s the least I can do.
The very least, and I’ll wait. You provide the hammer, I’ll provide the cocktails.
Curious about my hammer, are you?
Going across the hall right now to kick your door.
Text between Mimi and Caroline:
Girl, guess what? Sophia’s grandparents’ house is available next month. We’re on our way to Tahoe, baby!
Sweet! That’ll be nice. I’ve been dying to get away with my girls.
We were thinking of inviting the boys. . . . Is that cool with you?
That’s fine. The four of you will have a great time.
Idiot, obviously you’re still invited.
Aw thx! I’d love to go along on a romantic weekend with 2 couples. FANTASTIC!
Don’t be an asshole. You’re totally still coming. You won’t be a 5th wheel. It’ll be so fun! Did you know Ryan plays guitar? He’s gonna bring it, and we can sing along!
What is this . . . camp? No thx!
Text between Mimi and Neil:
Hey, Big Man, what are you doing middle of next month?
Hey, Shortie. No plans yet. What’s up?
Sophia’s grandparents are gonna let us have the Tahoe house. You in? Ask Ryan. . . .
Hells yes! I’m there. I’ll ask the nerd if he’s in.
Trying to talk Caroline in to coming along too.
Great! The more the merrier. We still meeting for drinks with Sophia and Ryan tonight?
Yep, see you then.
You got it, kiddo.
Text between Simon and Neil:
Quit fucking asking me about Lucky Charms.
That little guy cracks me up every time! Hey, when are you home? We’re headed up to Tahoe for a weekend next month.
I’ll be home next week. Who’s going?
Sophia and Mimi, me and Ryan. Maybe Caroline. That girl’s pretty cool.
Yeah, she’s pretty cool when she’s not cockblocking. Tahoe, huh?
Yep, Sophia’s grandparents have a house there.
Nice.
Text between Simon and Caroline:
You going to Tahoe?
How the hell did you hear about that already?
Word gets around. . . . Neil is pretty excited.
Oh, I’m sure he is. Sophia in a hot tub—isn’t too hard to figure out.
Wait, I thought he was dating Mimi.
Oh, he is, but he is def thinking about Sophia in a hot tub, trust me.
What the hell?
Strange things afoot in San Francisco. They’re each dating the wrong person.
What?
It’s shocking. Mimi can’t stop talking about Ryan, who’s usually staring like a sad puppy dog at her. And Sophia is so busy mooning over Neil’s giant man hands she can’t see that he’s staring right back at her. Pretty funny.
Why don’t they swap?
Says the guy with the harem. . . . It’s not always that easy.
Wait until I get home, I’ll take care of it.
Okay, Mr. Fix It. Before or after you hang my pictures?
Don’t worry, Nightie Girl. I’m all about getting into your bedroom.
Sigh
Did you really just type the word sigh?
Sigh . . .
Are you going to Tahoe?
Not if I can help it. Although it would almost be worth it to watch the chaos when they finally figure this out.
Indeed.
Text between Caroline and Sophia:
What’s this I hear about you not coming to Tahoe?
Ugh! What’s the big deal?
Easy, Trigger. What crawled up your ass?
I just don’t know why it’s essential that I accompany all of you on a romantic weekend. I’m perfectly happy to go next time. Going out with you guys here is one thing. Tagging along to Tahoe? I don’t think so.
It won’t be like that. I promise.
I already have to hear Simon banging on the walls when he’s home. I don’t need to hear Ryan drilling you in the next room, or Mimi getting manhandled.
Do you think he’s manhandling her?
What?
Neil. Do you think he’s manhandling
her?
Is he what?
Oh, you know what I mean. . . .
Are you actually asking me if our dear friend Mimi is having sex with her new boy toy?
Yes! I’m asking!
As it happens, no. They’re not manhandling yet. Wait, why are you asking? You’ve slept with Ryan, right? Right????
Gotta go.
Text between Sophia and Ryan:
Is it weird that we only ever go out on double dates with Mimi and Neil?
What?
Is it weird?
I don’t know. Is it?
Yes. Tonight you’re coming over, alone, and we’re watching a movie.
Yes, ma’am.
And BTW, ask your buddy Simon to come to Tahoe.
Any specific reason I’m doing this?
Yep.
Care to share?
Nope. Bring popcorn.
Text between Ryan and Simon:
Are you sick of green yet?
I’m ready to come home, yes. My flight gets in late tomorrow night. Or tonight. Shit, I don’t know.
Sophia asked me to officially ask you if you want to come along to Tahoe. You in?
Tahoe, huh?
Yep. I think Caroline is going.
I thought she wasn’t going.
Have you been talking to the cockblocker?
Some. She’s pretty cool. The truce seems to be holding.
Hmmm. So, Tahoe?
Let me think about it. Windsurfing this weekend?
Yep.
Text between Simon and Caroline:
So I got invited to the Tahoe thing. Are you going?
You got invited? Ugh . . .
I take it you’re still not sold on the idea?
I don’t know. I love going up there, and the house is pretty fantastic. Are you going?
Are you going?
I asked you first.
So what?
Child. Yes, I suppose I will end up going.
Great! I love it up there.
Oh, you’re going now?
Might as well. Sounds like fun.
Hmm, we’ll see. Home tomorrow, yes?
Yep, late flight in and then sleeping for at least a day.
Let me know when you’re up. I’ve got that package for you.
Will do.
And I’m baking zucchini bread tonight. I’ll save some for you. You probably have no groceries at all, right?
You make zucchini bread?
Yep.
Sigh . . .
I woke up suddenly and heard music coming from next door. Duke Ellington. I looked at the clock. It was after two in the morning. Clive poked his head out from under the covers and hissed.
“Oh, shut up. Don’t be jealous,” I hissed back.
He glared at me, showing me his bum as he turned and wiggled his way back under the covers, headfirst.
I snuggled in deeper myself, smiling as I listened to the music.
Simon was home.
The next morning I woke up so happy it was Saturday. I was caught up on everything: no laundry to do, no errands to run. Just a day to enjoy and relax. Fantastic.
I decided to start with a nice long bath, and then I’d decide what to do with my day. I was thinking of a run at Golden Gate Park that afternoon. Fall in San Francisco is so pretty when the weather holds. I just might take a book and spend the entire afternoon there.
I started the bath, and Clive came in to keep me company. He weaved in and out of my legs as I dropped my pj’s on the floor and meowed as he explored the top of the tub. He loved to balance on the edge while I took a bath. He’d never fallen in, although sometimes he would dip his tail. Silly cat—one of these days he was gonna dip more than his tail.
I tested the water. It was just beginning to make its way up the side of the giant tub when I decided I needed a little coffee before I settled in. I padded out to the kitchen—naked as the day is long—to make myself a cup. I yawned as I measured the beans for the grinder.
I tossed a few spoonfuls into the filter and went to get water. As soon as I turned on the faucet, the screeching began.
First I heard Clive meow like never before. Then I heard splashing. I started to smile, thinking he’d finally fallen in, when the water from the sink shot straight in my face.
I blinked furiously, confused until I realized water was shooting out the top of the faucet, spraying the entire kitchen. “Shit!” I screamed, trying to turn it off. No luck.
I ran to the bathroom, still swearing, and found Clive hiding behind the toilet, soaking wet, and the tub faucet spraying wildly all over the bathroom. “What the—?” I cried, trying again to turn off the water. Then I began to panic. It was like the entire apartment had gone haywire at the same moment. There was water spraying everywhere, and Clive was still screeching at the top of his lungs.
I was naked, sopping wet, and freaking out.
“Motherfuckingcocksuckershitdamndamn!” I screamed and grabbed a towel. I tried to think, tried to calm down. There must be a shutoff valve somewhere. I’d redesigned houses, for Christ’s sake. Think, Caroline!
About this time I heard the banging coming from somewhere else in the apartment. Of course I thought it was the bedroom first—naturally. But no, it was the front door.
Wrapping the towel around myself and still cursing enough to make a sailor blush, I stomped across the floor, fortunately not slipping in the collecting water, and angrily swung the door open.
It was Simon.
“Are you out of your goddamned mind? What’s with all the screaming?”
I practically didn’t notice the green plaid boxers, the sleep hair, or the speed-bump abs. Practically.
Survival mode kicked in, and I grabbed him by the elbow as he was rubbing his eye and dragged him forcibly into the apartment. “Where the hell is the shutoff valve in these apartments?” I shrieked.
He looked around at the chaos: water spraying from the kitchen, water on the floor from the bathroom, and me in my Camp Snoopy towel, which was the first one I grabbed.
Even in a crisis Simon took 2.5 seconds to look at my nearly naked body. Okay, I might have taken 3.2 to look at his.
Then we both snapped into action. He ran into the bathroom like a man on a mission, and I could hear him knocking around. Clive hissed and ran out, straight into the kitchen. Realizing it was just as wet in there, he leaped across the room in an acrobatic fit and landed high atop the fridge. I started to run to the bathroom to help and collided with Simon as he ran to the kitchen. Undeterred, he slid across the floor and opened the doors under the sink. He began throwing my cleaning supplies all over the floor, and I assumed he was trying to get at the shutoff valve. I tried not to notice the way the back of his boxers clung to his buns. I tried so very hard. He was covered in water as well now, and just then his feet slipped out from under him, crashing him to the floor.
“Ow,” he said from under the sink, his legs now splayed out across my wet kitchen floor. Then he rolled over. He was soaking wet and a tad bit glorious.
“Get over here and help me. I can’t get this one turned off,” he requested over the rushing water and the cat meowing.
Remembering that I was only wearing a towel, I gingerly knelt next to him and tried to avoid looking at his body—his wet, long, lean body that was dangerously close to my own. One more random jet of water straight into my eyeball was enough to pull me from my stupor, and I renewed my focus.
“What do you want me to do?” I yelled.
“Do you have a wrench?”
“Yes!”
“Can you go get it?”
“Sure!”
“Why are you yelling?”
“I don’t know!” I sat there, trying to see underneath the sink.
“Well, go get it, for God’s sake!”
“Right. Right!” I yelled and ran for the hall closet.
When I came back, I slipped a little on the wet tile and slid into his side.
“Here!” I yelled and th
rust the wrench under the sink.
I watched him work, his face hidden. His arms strained, and I saw how strong he really was. I watched in amazement as his stomach hardened and revealed six little packs. Oops, make that eight. And then the V showed up. Hello, V. . . .
He grunted and groaned and as he strained to turn off the valve, his entire body caught up in the struggle. I watched as he fought the Battle of the Valve and was finally triumphant. I also kept a close eye on those green plaid boxers, which when wet, clung to him like a second skin. Skin that was wet, and probably warm, and—
“Got it!”
“Hurray!” I clapped as the water finally stopped. He let out one last groan, which sounded oddly familiar, and relaxed. I watched as he slid out from under the sink.
He lay next to me on the floor, soaked and in his boxers.
I sat next to him, soaked and in a towel.
Clive sat on top of the fridge, soaked and angry.
Clive continued to yell-meow, and Simon and I continued to stare at each other, breathing heavily—Simon because of his battle and I . . . because of his battle. Clive finally jumped down from the fridge to the counter and skidded across in the puddle. He hit my radio, bounced off, and fell to the floor. Loud Marvin Gaye poured into the wet kitchen as Clive shook himself and ran for the living room.
“Let’s get it on. . . .” Marvin sang it like he meant it, and Simon and I looked at each other, our faces stained crimson red.
“Are you kidding me?” I said.
“Is this for real?” he said, and we both started to laugh—at the chaos, at the ridiculousness, at the sheer insanity of what had just happened and the fact that we were now lying half-naked in my kitchen, covered in water, listening to a song that encouraged us to, in fact, “get it on,” and laughing our asses off.
I finally straightened up, wiping tears from my eyes. He sat up next to me, still holding his stomach.
“This is like a bad episode of Three’s Company.” He chuckled.
“No kidding. I hope someone called Mr. Furley.” I giggled, drawing my towel tighter around me.
“Shall we get this cleaned up?” he asked, standing.
I noticed that his boxers, and anything that might be contained inside, were now at eye level. Settle, Caroline.
“Yes, I suppose we should.” I laughed again as he held out his hand to help me up. I couldn’t gain any traction, so I hung on to his hands, my feet slipping all over the floor.
“This is never going to work,” he muttered and swooped me up. He carried me into the living room and set me down. “Watch it there. Snoopy is drooping a little,” he noted, gesturing to the part covering the girls.
The Cocktail Collection Page 10
