Wallbanger (19 page)

He grinned as he grabbed his sweatshirt off the floor next to the couch. “Well, next time, let me cook for you. I make a fantastic—huh, that’s weird,” he interrupted himself, grimacing.

“What’s weird?” I asked, watching as he unfolded his sweatshirt.

“This feels damp. Actually, it’s more than damp, it’s…wet?” he asked, looking at me, confused. I looked from the sweatshirt to Clive, who sat innocently on the back of the couch.

“Oh no,” I whispered, the blood draining from my face. “Clive, you little shit!” I glared at him.

He jumped off the couch and darted quickly between my legs, headed for the bedroom. He’d learned I couldn’t reach him behind the dresser, and that’s where he hid when he’d done a bad, bad thing. He hadn’t done this in a long time.

“Simon, you might want to leave that here. I’ll wash it, dry clean it—whatever. I am so, so sorry,” I apologized, horrifically embarrassed.

“Oh, did he? Oh man, he did, didn’t he?” His face wrinkled as I took the sweatshirt from him.

“Yes, yes, he did. I’m so sorry, Simon. He has this thing about marking his territory. When any guy leaves clothes on the floor—oh, God—he eventually pees on them. I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry. I’m so—”

“Caroline, it’s okay. I mean, it’s gross, but it’s okay. I’ve had worse things happen to me. It’s all good, I promise.” He started to put his hand on my shoulder, but seemed to think better of it, probably when he realized the last thing he’d touched.

“I’m so sorry, I—” I began again as he started for the door.

“Stop it. If you say sorry one more time I’m gonna go find something of yours and pee on it, I swear.”

“Okay, that’s just gross.” I finally laughed. “But we had such a nice night, and it ended in pee!” I wailed, opening the door for him.

“It
was
a nice night, even with the pee. There’ll be others. Don’t worry, Nightie Girl.” He winked and crossed the hall.

“Play me something good tonight, huh?” I asked, watching him go.

“You got it. Sleep tight,” he said, and we closed the doors at the same time.

I leaned back against the door, hugging the sweatshirt in my arms. I’m sure I had the goofiest grin on my face, as I remembered the feeling of his fingertips. And then I remembered I was hugging a pee-stained sweatshirt.

“Clive, you asshole!” I yelled and ran for my bedroom.

Fingers, hands, warm skin pressed against mine in an effort to get closer. I felt his warm breath, his voice like wet sex in my ear. “Mmm, Caroline, how can you feel this good?”

I moaned and rolled over, twisting legs with legs and arms with arms, pushing my tongue into his waiting mouth. I sucked on his bottom lip, tasting mint and heat and the promise of what was to come when he pushed into my body for the first time. I moaned as he groaned, and in a flash I was pinned beneath him.

Lips moved from my mouth to my neck, licking and sucking and finding the spot—that spot underneath my jaw that made my insides explode and my eyes cross. A dark laugh against my collarbone, and I knew I was done for.

I rolled on top of him, feeling the loss of his weight but the gain of my legs on either side of him, feeling him twitch and throb exactly where I needed him to be. He pushed my hair from my face, gazing up at me with those eyes—the eyes that could make me forget my name but scream his own.

“Simon!” I cried, feeling his hands grab my hips and push me against him.

I sat straight up in bed, my heart racing as the last dreamy images left my brain. I thought I heard a low chuckle from other side of the wall, where the strains of Miles Davis came through.

I lay back down, skin tingling as I tried to find a cool spot on my pillow. I thought about what was on the other side of that wall, inches away. I was in trouble.

Later that morning I sat at my desk getting ready to meet a new client—one who’d specifically requested to work with me. Still a new designer, much of my work came from referrals, and whoever had referred this guy to me I owed big time. All new interiors for some fancy apartment—it was practically a gut remodel, a dream project. Whenever I prepped for a new client I pulled pictures from other projects I’d designed and had sketchbooks ready, but today I did it with particular intensity. If I let my mind wander for a second, Brain immediately returned to the dream I’d had last night. I blushed every time I thought of what I’d let Dream Simon do to me, and what Dream Caroline had done to him as well…

Dream Caroline and Dream Simon were some naughty kids.

“Ahem,” I heard from behind me. I turned to find Ashley in the doorway. “Caroline, Mr. Brown is here.”

“Excellent, I’ll be right out.” I nodded, standing and smoothing my skirt. My hands pressed my cheeks, hoping they were not too red.

“And he is cute, cute, cute!” she murmured as she walked beside me down the hall.

“Oh, really? Must be my lucky day.” I laughed, rounding the corner to greet him.

He certainly was cute, and I would know. He was my ex-boyfriend.

“Oh, my God! What are the chances?” Jillian exclaimed at lunch, two hours later.

“Well, considering my entire life now seems ruled by odd coincidences, I figure it’s right on track.” I broke off a piece of flatbread and chewed determinedly.

“But I mean, come on! What are the chances, really?” she wondered again, pouring us another glass of Pellegrino.

“Oh, there’s nothing chance about this. This guy doesn’t leave things to chance. He knew exactly what he was doing when he approached you at that benefit last month.”

“No,” she breathed.

“Yep. He told me. He saw me, and when he found out I worked for you? Bam! He needs an interior designer.” I smiled, thinking of how he’d always arranged things exactly the way he wanted them. Well, almost everything.

“Don’t worry, Caroline. I’ll move him over to another designer, or I’ll even take him myself. You don’t have to work with him,” she said, patting my hand.

“Oh, hell no! I already told him yes. I’m totally doing this.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep. No problem. It wasn’t that we had a bad breakup. In fact, as far as breakups go, it was mild. He didn’t want to accept the fact that I was leaving him, but eventually he came around. He didn’t think I had the balls to do it, and boy, was he surprised.” I played with my napkin.

I’d dated James most of my senior year at Berkeley. He was already in law school, steadily moving through it on his way to a future of perfection. My goodness, he was beautiful—strong and handsome, and very charming. We met at the library one night, had coffee a few times, and it grew into a solid relationship.

The sex? Unreal.

He was my first serious boyfriend, and I knew he wanted to marry me at some point. He had very specific ideas about what he wanted from his life, and that definitely included me as his wife. And he was everything I’d ever
thought
I wanted in a husband. Engagement was inevitable. But then I began to notice things, small at first, but over time they revealed the big picture. We went where he wanted to for dinner. I never got to pick. I overheard him telling someone that he figured my “decorating” phase wouldn’t last long, but it’d be nice to have a wife who could make a pretty home. The sex was still great, but I was irritated with him more and more, and I stopped going along to get along.

When I began to realize he was no longer what I wanted for
my
future, things got a little strained. We fought constantly, and when I decided to end the relationship, he tried to convince me I was making the wrong choice. I knew better, and he finally accepted that I was really done—and not just pitching a “feminine fit,” as he liked to call them. We didn’t keep in contact, but he’d been a major part of my life for a long time, and I cherished the memories we had together. I cherished what he’d taught me about myself.

Just because we didn’t work out as a couple didn’t mean we couldn’t work together, right?

“You sure about this? You really want to work with him?” Jillian asked one more time, but I could tell she was ready to let it go.

I thought about it again, replaying the flash of memory I’d had when I saw him standing in the lobby. Sandy blond hair, piercing eyes, charming smile: I’d been hit with a wave of nostalgia and grinned as he crossed to me.

“Hey there, stranger,” he’d said, offering me his hand.

“James!” I gasped, but recovered quickly. “You look great!” We hugged—to gawking Ashley’s surprise.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I told Jillian. “It’ll be good for me. Call it a growth experience. Plus, I don’t want to give up the commission. We’ll see what happens tonight.”

At that she looked up from her menu. “Tonight?”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you? We’re going for drinks to get caught up.”

I stood in front of the mirror, fluffing my hair and checking my teeth for wayward lipstick. The rest of the workday had gone quickly, and I now found myself at home getting ready for tonight. We’d agreed to just drinks, very casual, although I was leaving the option open for dinner. But skinny jeans, black turtleneck, and cropped gray leather jacket was as fancy as I was gonna get.

The time I’d spent this morning with James at the office was pleasant, and when he’d asked me to go for drinks to catch up, I agreed instantly. I was anxious to learn what he’d been up to, as well as make sure we’d be able to work together. He’d been a huge part of my life at one time, and the idea of being able to work with someone I’d once been so close to felt good to me. It felt mature. Closure? Not sure what to call it, but it seemed like the natural thing to do.