Wallbanger (35 page)

“Is there anything else?” I asked. I could hear Ina working on her shortbread in the other room, and I didn’t want to miss any KitchenAid porn.

“No, nothing else,” she replied, still making no move.

“Okay, then, have a good night,” I said, almost making it a question as I started to close the door. Just as I did, she stepped forward enough so I was forced to catch the door before it hit her.

“Yes?” I asked, my irritation beginning to show through. This Limey was stopping me from seeing the completion of the pecan squares I’d been waiting for all episode.

“I just, well, I’m really glad to have met you,” she answered, her eyes finally softening and a hint of a smile breaking through her façade. “And you really
are
quite lovely,” she added. I stared back at her. Her voice sounded oddly familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.

“Um, okay, thank you?” I answered as she started for the stairwell. Her heel caught just slightly, and she stumbled a little. As I closed the door, she began to giggle as she worked her shoe loose. That’s when I realized who’d just visited.

My eyes widened, I’m sure to the size of dahlias, and I hurled the door back open. I gaped at her, and her face broke open into the widest cheeky grin. She winked as I blushed. I’d been present for some of this lady’s greatest moments.

She wiggled her fingers at me and disappeared down the stairs. Clive brought me back from my stupor by nipping me on the calf, and I closed the door.

I sat on my couch, pecan squares all but forgotten as my brain processed everything.

The Giggler had said I was lovely.

She basically told me Simon had
told
her I was lovely.

Simon thought I was lovely.

Was the Giggler out of the harem?

Was there even a harem left?

What did this mean?

Would I only think in questions now?

And if so, who is Eric Cartman’s father?

Text between Simon and Caroline:

What are you doing?

What are YOU doing?

I asked you first.

You sure did.

Waiting…

Me too
…

Jesus you’re stubborn. I’m driving back from LA. Happy now?

Yes, thank you. I’m baking pumpkin bread.

It’s a good thing I’m at a gas station right now and not driving or I would have a hard time keeping the car on the road…

Right, the baking gets you worked up, doesn’t it?

You have no idea.

So I probably shouldn’t tell you I smell like
cinnamon and ginger right now?

Caroline.

My raisins are soaking in brandy this very minute.

That’s it…

I peered out the window again, scanning the street below, and still no sign of the Rover. The fog was quite thick, and although I didn’t want to be a nag, I was becoming a little concerned that he wasn’t home yet. Here I sat, with cooling loaves, and no Simon had shown up to inhale them. I picked up my phone to text him, but then called instead. I didn’t want him texting while he was on the road. It rang a few times, and then he picked up.

“Hi there, my favorite baker,” he purred, and my knees clanked together. He was like the best Kegel exercise ever—instant clench.

“Are you close?”

“Pardon me?” He laughed.

“Close to home. Are you close to home?” I asked, rolling my eyes and unclenching.

“Yes, why?”

“There seems to be a lot of fog tonight. I mean, more than usual…Be careful, okay?”

“That’s very sweet of you to be looking out for me.”

“Shut up, mister. I always look out for my friends,” I scolded, beginning to get ready for bed. I was a multi-tasker from way back. I could do my taxes while getting waxed and not bat an eye. I could certainly get undressed while talking to Simon.
Ahem.

“Friends? Is that what we are?” he asked.

“What the hell else would we be?” I shot back, pulling off my shorts and grabbing a pair of thick woolen socks. The floor was chilly tonight.

“Hmmm,” he muttered as I took off my T-shirt and slipped into a button-down to sleep in.

“Well, while you’re hmmming, I have to tell you about a visit I had earlier this week from a friend of yours.”

“A friend of
mine?
This sounds intriguing.”

“Yep, Julie Andrews accent, buttoned-up Brit? Ring any bells? She dropped off a box for you.”

His laughter rang out immediately. “Julie Andrews accent—that’s brilliant! That must have been Lizzie. You met Lizzie!” He laughed like this was the funniest thing ever.

“Lizzie Schmizzie. She’ll always be the Giggler to me.” I smirked, sitting on the edge of my bed and applying some lotion.

“Why do you call her the Giggler?” he asked, playing innocent, and I could tell he was on the verge of absolute hysterics.

“You really need me to tell you? Come on, even you can’t be that thick—never mind, walked right into that one.” I cut him off before he could regale me with how thick he was, indeed. I’d been pressed up against that very thick in a hot tub, so I was familiar. Kegel. And, thank you, another Kegel.

“I like messing with you, Nightie Girl. It gives me a chuckle.”

“First
spiffy
, now a
chuckle?
I worry about you, Simon.” I returned to the living room to turn off lights and get the place ready for bed. This included freshening Clive’s water bowl and hiding a few Pounce treats around the apartment. He enjoyed playing Big Game Hunter while I slept sometimes, with the Pounce, of course, playing the part of the Big Game. Some nights the pillows were unfortunately involved, as well as any hair ties, loose shoelaces, and pretty much anything else that seemed appealing around two a.m. Some mornings my place looked like
Wild Kingdom
had been filmed overnight.

“Well, no worries. I’ll pick it up when I get back. So, did you two have a nice chat?”

“We chatted briefly, yes. But no dirty secrets were shared. Although with the thin walls, I’m already a bit familiar. How is the lonely haremette? Missing her sisters?” I flipped off the lights and padded through the kitchen to fetch the Big Game. I was dying to ask him if he’d actually broken up with the Giggler. Did he, did he not?

“She may be a bit lonely, yes,” he said, in what I thought sounded like a careful way.
Hmm
…

“Lonely because…” I led, pausing in my Pounce-scattering.

“Lonely because, well, let’s just say, for the first time in a very long time, I am…well…I am…you see…” he stuttered and stalled, dancing around the issue.

“Go on, out with it,” I instructed, barely breathing.

“Without…female companionship. Or as you would say, harem free.” His words came out in a quiet whoosh, and my legs began a little shimmy shake. This made the Pounce shimmy-shake in their container, alerting Clive that his hunt had begun early.

“Harem free, huh?” I breathed back, visions of Sugar Simons dancing in my head. Single Sugar Simons, Single Sugar Simons in Spain…

“Yeah,” he whispered, and we were both silent for what seemed like months, although in actuality it was only enough time for Clive to claim his first victim: the Pounce hidden in my tennis shoe by the front door. I walked over to congratulate him on his catch.

“She said something curious,” I mentioned, breaking the spell.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” he asked.

“She told me that I was, and I quote, ‘quite lovely.’”

“Did she now?” He laughed, easing back into comfortable.

“Yes, and the thing of it is, she said it like she was agreeing with something someone else had already said. Now, I’m not a girl who fishes for compliments, but it would seem, Simon, that you were talking sweet about me.” I smiled, knowing my face was breaking into a pink glow. I’d started for the bedroom when I heard a soft knocking at the door. I walked back to unlock and open the door without looking through the peephole. I had a strong feeling I knew who was on the other side.

There he stood, phone cradled to his ear, holding his duffel bag and smiling a big, toothy grin.

“I told her you were lovely, but the truth is, you’re more than lovely,” he said, bowing his head toward mine and bringing his face to within inches of my own.

“More?” I asked, barely drawing breath. I know my grin matched his.

“You’re exquisite,” he said.

And with that, I invited him in. While wearing only my button-down. From far away, the O cheered…

An hour later, we sat together at the kitchen table, a decimated loaf in front of us. In between his frantic pawing, I’d managed a bite or two. The rest now lived in Simon’s tummy, which he proudly thumped like a melon. We’d talked and eaten, gotten caught up, watched Clive as he finished his hunt, and now relaxed as the coffee brewed. Simon’s bag rested by the front door still—he hadn’t even gone to his apartment yet. I was still in my button-down, feet curled beneath the chair as I stared at him. We were so comfortable, and yet that low-level hum, that electricity always sparking and snarking between us, continued.

“Fantastic touch by the way—the raisins? Loved them.” He smirked at me, poking one more in his mouth.

“You’re terrible.” I shook my head, stretching up out of my chair and collecting the plates and the few crumbs that hadn’t been inhaled. I could sense him watching me as I moved about the kitchen. I grabbed the pot of coffee and raised my eyebrows at him. He nodded. I stood next to his chair to fill his mug, and I caught him peeking at my legs below my shirt.

“See something you like?” I leaned across him to the sugar bowl.

“Yep,” he answered, leaning toward me to take it.

“Sugar?”

“Yep.”

“Cream?”

“Yep.”

“That all you can say?”

“Nope.”

“Gimme something, then. Anything.” I giggled, walking back around to my side of the table. Once again he watched me as I arranged myself in the chair.