Wallbanger (20 page)

He was picking me up at seven, and I planned to meet him outside. Parking on my street was ridiculous. A glance at the clock told me it was time to get going, so I gave a quick kiss goodbye to Clive, who’d been on his best behavior since the pee incident, and let myself into the hallway.

And straight into Simon, who was in front of my door.

“Okay, you are officially my stalker! There’s no more zucchini bread, mister. I hope you made that loaf last because there is no more for you,” I warned, pressing him back from my front door with my pointer finger.

“I know, I know. I’m actually here on official business.” He laughed, throwing up his arms in defeat.

“Walk with me?” I asked, nodding toward the stairs.

“I’m headed out as well. Going to rent a movie,” he explained as we started down.

“People still rent movies?” I joked, rounding the corner.

“Yes, people still rent movies. Just for that you’re gonna have to watch whatever I pick out,” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Tonight?”

“Sure, why not. I was coming over to see if you wanted to hang out. I owe you for dinner from the other night, and I got an urge to watch something spooky…” He launched into
The Twilight Zone
theme.

I couldn’t help but laugh at his claw hands and crossed eyes. “Last time someone asked me to rent a movie it was code for ‘let’s make out on the couch.’ Am I safe with you?”

“Please! We’ve got that truce, remember? I am all about the truce. So, tonight?”

“I wish I could, but I have plans tonight. Tomorrow night?” We rounded the last stair and entered the entryway.

“Tomorrow I can do. Come on over after work. But I get to pick the movie, and I’m making you dinner. Least I can do for my little cockblocker.” He smirked, and I punched him in the arm.

“Please stop calling me that. Otherwise I won’t bring dessert,” I said, lowering my voice and batting my eyelashes like a fool.

“Dessert?” he asked, holding the door open as I walked out into the night.

“Mmm-hmm. I picked up some apples yesterday while I was out, and I’ve been craving pie all week. How does that sound?” I asked, scanning the street for James.

“Apple pie? Homemade apple pie? Christ, woman, are you trying to kill me? Mmm…” He smacked his lips and looked at me hungrily.

“Why, sir, you look like you’ve seen something you’d like to eat,” I offered in my best Scarlett.

“You show up with apple pie tomorrow night, and I may not let you leave,” he breathed, his cheeks rosy and his messy hair blowing in the cool air.

“That would be terrible,” I whispered.
Wow.
“Okay, so, go get your movie,” I said, playfully shoving the six feet of hot in front of me.
Remember the harem!
I shouted inside my head.

“Caroline?” a concerned voice came from behind me, and I turned to see James walking toward us.

“Hey, James,” I called out, stepping away from Simon with a giggle.

“You ready to go?” he asked, looking at Simon carefully. Simon straightened to his full height and looked back, just as carefully.

“Yep, ready to go. Simon, this is James. James, Simon.” They leaned in to shake hands, and I could see that they both exerted a little extra force, neither seeming to want to be the one to let go first. I rolled my eyes. Yes, boys. You can both write your names in the snow. The question is, who would make bigger letters?

“Nice to meet you, James. It was James, right? I’m Simon. Simon Parker.”

“That’s correct. James. James Brown.”

I saw the beginnings of a laugh on Simon’s face.

“Okay, James, we should get going. Simon, I’ll talk to you later,” I interrupted, ending the handshake of the century.

James turned toward where his car was double-parked, and Simon looked at me.

“Brown? James Brown?” he mouthed, and I squelched my own laugh.

“Shush,” I mouthed back, smiling at James when he turned back to me.

“Nice to meet you, Simon. See you around,” James called, steering me to the car with his hand on the small of my back. I didn’t think twice about it, as that’s how we always used to walk together, but Simon’s eyes widened a little at the sight.

Hmm…

James opened the door for me, then headed around to his side. Simon was still standing in front of our building when we drove away. I rubbed my hands together in front of the heater and grinned at James as he steered through the traffic.

“So, where are we headed?”

We made ourselves comfortable in the swanky bar he’d selected. It seemed very James: chic and sophisticated, and laced with hidden sexuality. The deep red leather banquettes, thinly cushioned and cool, ensconced us as we settled in and began the process of getting to know each other after so many years apart.

As we waited for a server to come by, I studied his face. He still looked the same: closely cropped sandy blond hair, intense eyes, and a lean frame folded in on itself like a cat’s. Age had only improved his good looks, and his carefully torn jeans and black cashmere sweater clung to a body I could see was in great shape. James had been a rock climber, relentless in his pursuit of the sport. He viewed each boulder, each mountain as an obstacle to overcome, something to be conquered.

I’d gone climbing with him a few times toward the end of our relationship, even though I grew up skittish about heights. But watching him climb, seeing the sinewy muscles stretch and manipulate his body into positions that seemed unnatural, was a heady experience, and I’d pounced on him those evenings in the tent like a woman possessed.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, interrupting my musings.

“I was thinking about how much you used to climb. Is that something you still do?”

“It is, but I don’t get as much free time as I used to. They keep me pretty busy at the firm. I try and get out to Big Basin as often as I can,” he added, smiling as our waitress approached.

“What can I get you two?” she asked, placing napkins in front of us. “She’ll have a dry vodka martini, three olives, and for me bring three fingers of Macallan,” he answered. The waitress nodded and left to fill our order.

I studied him as he sat back, then turned his gaze to me.

“Oh, Caroline, I’m sorry. Is that still your drink?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “As it happens, yes. But what if I didn’t want that tonight?” I answered primly.

“My mistake. Of course, what did you want to drink?” He waved the waitress back over.

“I’ll have a dry vodka martini with three olives, please,” I told her with a wink.

She looked confused.

James laughed loudly, and she walked away, shaking her head.

“Touché, Caroline. Touché,” he said, studying me again.

“So, tell me what you’ve been up to the last few years.” I put my elbows on the table and chin in hands.

“Hmm, how to encapsulate years in a few sentences? Finished law school, signed on with the firm here in the city, and worked like a dog for two years. I’ve been able to ease up a bit, only around sixty-five hours a week now, and it’s nice seeing daylight again, I admit.” He grinned, and I couldn’t help but smile back. “And of course working as much as I do leaves me very little time for a social life, so it was just blind luck that I saw you at the benefit last month,” he finished, leaning forward on his elbows as well. Jillian attended many social events around town, and I accompanied her on occasion. Good for business. I should’ve known I’d eventually run into James at one of those shindigs.

“So you saw me, but you didn’t come talk to me. And now here you are, weeks later, asking me to work on your condo. Why is that, exactly?” I accepted my drink as it arrived and took a long pull.

“I wanted to talk to you, believe me. But I couldn’t. So much time had passed. Then I realized you worked for Jillian, who a friend had recommended to me, and I thought, ‘how perfect.’” He inclined his glass toward mine for a clink.

I paused for a moment, then clinked him. “So you’re serious about working with me? This isn’t some kind of ploy to get me into bed, is it?”

He looked at me evenly. “Still direct as ever, I see. But no, this is professional. I didn’t like the way we left things, admittedly, but I accepted your decision. And now here we are. I
needed
a decorator. You
are
a decorator. Works out well, don’t you think?”

“Designer,” I said quietly.

“What’s that?”

“Designer,” I said, louder this time. “I’m an interior designer, not a decorator. There’s a difference, Mr. Attorney Man.” I took another sip.

“Of course, of course,” he replied, signaling for the waitress.

Surprised, I looked down to find my glass empty.

“Care for another?” he asked, and I nodded.

As we small talked for the next hour, we also began to discuss what he needed in his new home. Jillian had been right. He was pretty much asking me to design his entire place, from area rugs to lighting fixtures and everything in between. It would be a huge commission, and he’d even agreed to let me photograph it for a local design magazine Jillian had been wanting me to submit to. James came from a wealthy family—the Browns of Philadelphia, don’t you know—and I knew they must be footing the bill for most of this. Young lawyers didn’t make enough to afford the kind of place he had, let alone in one of the most expensive cities in America. But trust funds live on, and he had a large one. One of the perks of dating him in college had been that we could actually afford real dates, not just cheap takeout all the time. I’d enjoyed that aspect of being with him. Not gonna lie.

And I would enjoy that aspect of this project. A basically unlimited budget? I couldn’t wait to get started.

In the end, it was a nice evening. As with all old flames, there was a feeling of knowing, a nostalgia you can only share with someone who has known you intimately—especially at that age when you’re still forming. It was great to see him again. James has a very strong personality, intense and confident, and I was reminded why I’d been attracted to him in the first place. We laughed and told stories about things we’d done as a couple, and I was relieved to find that his charm remained. We could get along quite well in a social setting. There was none of the awkwardness that
could
have accompanied this.

As the evening wound down and he drove me home, he got around to the question I knew he’d been dying to ask. He pulled the car to a stop in front of my building and turned to me.

“So, are you seeing anyone?” he asked quietly.

“No, I’m not. And that’s hardly a question a client would ask me,” I teased and looked toward my building. I could see Clive sitting in the front window in his usual post, and I smiled. It was nice to have someone waiting for me. I couldn’t stop myself from glancing next door to see if there was a light on in Simon’s apartment, and I also couldn’t stop my tummy from doing a little flippity-flop when I saw his shadow on the wall and the blue light of his television.

“Well, as your client, I’ll refrain from asking those kinds of questions in the future, Ms. Reynolds,” He chuckled.

I turned back to face him. “It’s okay, James. We passed designer/client relationship a long time ago.” I felt triumphant as I saw a blush carve a chink in his careful façade.

“I think this is gonna be fun.” He winked, and it was my turn to laugh.

“Okay, you can call me tomorrow at the office, and we’ll get started. I’m gonna fleece you blind, buddy, Get ready to work that credit card,” I taunted as I stepped out of the car.

“Oh hell, I’m counting on it.” He winked and waved goodbye.

He waited until I was inside, so I tossed another wave his way as the door closed. I was glad to see I could handle myself with him. Upstairs, as I turned the key in my lock I thought I heard something. I looked over my shoulder, and there was nothing there. Clive called to me from inside, so I smiled and stepped in, scooping him up and whispering softly in his ear as he gave me a tiny cat hug with his big paws around my neck.