I WOKE UP A FEW HOURS LATER, startled by the warmth of the body next to me, which was decidedly bigger than the cat usually nestled against my side. I rolled carefully onto my back and away from Simon so I could see him. I could see him just fine as the lamps, along with all my other lights, continued to blaze away into the night, fighting back the evils of that awful movie.
I rubbed my eyes and inspected my bedmate. He lay on his back, arms curled as though I was still in them, and I thought of how good it felt to nook with Simon.
But I shouldn’t be nooking with Simon. Brain knew better. Nerves were in agreement. That was definitely a very, very slippery slope. And though the images of climbing a slippery Simon that immediately came to mind were far from innocent, I pushed them aside. I looked away and noticed the terribly wonderful afghan tangled between his legs—and mine, for that matter.
It had been his mom’s. Heart broke each time I thought of his sweet, timid voice sharing that little nugget with me. He didn’t know I’d talked to Jillian about his past, that I knew his parents were no longer alive. The idea that he still clung to his mother’s afghan was inexorably sweet, and once again my heart broke open.
I was close with my parents. They still lived in the same house where I’d grown up, in a small town in southern California. They were great parents, and I saw them as often as I could, which is to say holidays and an occasional weekend. A typical twenty-something, I enjoyed my independence. But my parents were there when I needed them, always there. The idea that I would someday have to walk this earth without their anchor and misguided guidance made me wince, to say nothing of losing both of them at only eighteen.
I was glad Simon seemed to have good friends and such a powerful advocate as Benjamin watching out for him. But as close as friends and lovers could be, there was something about belonging to someone completely that gave you roots—roots you sometimes needed when the world battled against you.
Simon stirred slightly in his sleep, and I watched him again. He murmured something that I couldn’t quite pick out, but it sounded a little like “meatballs.” I smiled and allowed my fingers to slip into his hair, feeling the soft silk tousled on my pillow.
God, he gave good meatball.
As I stroked his hair, my mind wandered to a place where meatballs flowed endlessly and there was pie for days. I giggled to myself as sleepiness began to return, and I nestled back down into the nook. As I felt the comfort that only warm boy arms could provide, a little alarm went off in my head, warning me not to get too close. I had to be careful.
Clearly we were both divinely attracted to each other, and in another space and time, the sex would have been ringing out across the land and around the clock. But he had his harem, and I had my hiatus, not to mention that I did not have my O. So friends we would remain.
Friends who meatball. Friends who nook. Friends who were headed to Tahoe very soon.
I pictured Simon soaking in a hot tub with Lake Tahoe spread out in all its glory behind him. Which sight was actually more glorious remained to be seen. I settled back to sleep, rousing only slightly when Simon snuggled me a little closer.
And even though it was barely above a whisper, I heard it. He sighed my name.
I smiled as I slipped back to sleep.
The next morning I felt a persistent poking at my left shoulder. I brushed it away, but it continued.
“Clive, stop it, you asshole,” I moaned, hiding my head under the covers. I knew he wouldn’t stop until I fed him. Ruled by his stomach, that one. Then I heard a distinctly human laugh—quiet and definitely not Clive.
My eyes sprang open, and the night before came back to me in a rush: the horror, the pie, the nook. I reached backward with my right foot, sliding it along the bed until I felt it stop against something warm and hairy. Although I was now more sure than ever it wasn’t Clive, I poked with my toe, inching my way higher until I heard another chuckle.
“Wallbanger?” I whispered, not wanting to flip over. True to form, I was spread-eagled diagonally across the entire bed, head on one side, feet practically on the other.
“The one and only,” a delicious voice whispered in my ear.
My toes and Lower Caroline curled. “Shit.” I rolled onto my back to take in the damage. He was huddled in the one corner my body had allowed him. My bed-sharing habits had not improved at all.
“You sure can fill a bed,” he noted, smiling at me from under the little bit of afghan I’d left him. “If we’re going to do this again there’ll have to be some ground rules.”
“This won’t be happening again. This was in response to a terrible movie you inflicted on both of us. No more nooking,” I stated firmly, wondering how dreadful my morning breath was. I cupped my hand in front of my face, breathed, and gave a quick sniff.
“Roses?” he asked.
“Obviously.” I smirked.
I looked at him, exquisitely rumpled and in my bed. He smiled that smile, and I sighed. I allowed myself a moment to indulge in a fantasy where I was then quickly flipped and ravaged to within an inch of my life, but I wisely got control of my inner whore.
“What if you get scared tonight?” he asked as I sat up and stretched.
“I won’t,” I threw back over my shoulder.
“What if I get scared?”
“Grow up, pretty boy. Let’s make coffee, and then I have to get to work.” I whacked him with my pillow.
He slid out from under the afghan, taking care to fold it, and carried it with him into the kitchen where he set it gently on the table. I smiled, thinking of him saying my name in the night. What I wouldn’t give to know what was running through his mind.
We moved about the kitchen with quiet economy, grinding beans, measuring coffee, pouring water. I put the sugar and cream on the counter while he peeled and sliced a banana. I poured granola, he milked and banana-ed the bowls for us. Within a few minutes we were seated next to each other on barstools, eating breakfast as though we’d been doing so for years. Our simple ease intrigued me. And worried me.
“Plans for the day?” I asked, digging into my bowl.
“I need to stop by the Chronicle office.”
“Are you working on something for the paper?” I asked, surprised at the level of interest even I could hear in my voice. Would he be in town for a while? Why did I care? Oh boy.
“I’m spending a few days on a piece about quick getaways in the Bay Area—weekend drives kind of thing,” he answered through a mouthful of banana.
“When are you going to do that?” I asked, examining the raisins in my bowl and trying not to look too interested in his answer.
“Next week. I leave on Tuesday,” he replied and my stomach was instantly queasy. Next week we were supposed to go to Tahoe. Why the hell did my stomach care so much that he wouldn’t be going?
“I see,” I added, again fascinated by the raisins.
“But I’ll be back before Tahoe. I was planning on just driving straight there when I finish my shoot,” he said, looking at me over the rim of his coffee mug.
“Oh, well, that’s good,” I answered quietly, my stomach now bouncing all around.
“When are you headed up, anyway?” he asked, seeming to now be studying his own bowl.
“The girls are driving up with Neil and Ryan on Thursday, but I have to stay in the city to work until at least noon on Friday. I’m gonna rent a car and drive up that afternoon.”
“Don’t rent a car. I’ll swing through to pick you up,” he offered, and I nodded without a word.
That settled, we finished our breakfast and watched Clive chase a stray piece of fluff around the table over and over again. We didn’t talk much, but whenever we met each other’s eyes, we both grinned.
Text between Mimi and Sophia:
Did you know Caroline is working with James?
James who?
James Brown, obviously. Who else?
NO! What the hell?
Remember she mentioned she had a new client? She neglected to mention who he was.
I’m gonna kick her ass when I see her next. She better not cancel on Tahoe. Did Ryan tell you he was bringing his guitar?
Yep, he told me you wanted to have some kind of fucked-up singalong.
He did? Haha. I just thought it would be fun.
Text between Neil and Mimi:
Hey, Tiny, are we still bowling with Sophia and Ryan tonight?
Yep, and you better bring your A game. Sophia and I are pretty severe.
Sophia knows how to bowl? Wow.
Why is that wow?
I just wouldn’t have expected her to bowl is all. See you tonight.
Text between Neil and Simon:
You still planning on heading up with us this weekend?
Yep, but I’m coming a little late, have a shoot
When are you coming up?
Fri night sometime, stopping thru the city on my way
Why the hell are you going back into the city? You’re doing that shoot in Carmel, right?
I just need to pick up some shit for the weekend.
Dude, pack your shit and get your ass to Tahoe.
I will, but I’m picking up Caroline.
I see.
You see nothing.
I see everything.
You sure about that, Big Boy? What about Sophia?
Sophia? Why is everyone asking me about Sophia?
See you in Tahoe.
Text between Mimi and Caroline:
You have some splainin’ to do, Lucy…
Oh no, I hate it when you go Ricardo on me.
What the hell did I do?
Explain to me why you didn’t tell me about your new client.
Caroline, don’t ignore my text! CAROLINE!!
Oh, settle down. This is exactly why I did NOT tell you.
Caroline Reynolds, this is news that obviously
I should have known about!
Look, I can handle it okay?? He’s my client, nothing more. He’s going to spend an obscene amount of money
on this project.
I frankly don’t care how much he’s spending.
I don’t want you working with him.
Listen to yourself! I will take on whatever new client
I damn well please! I have this under control.
We’ll see…Did I hear a rumor that you’re driving
up to Tahoe with Wallbanger?
Wow, subject change. Yes, I am.
Good. Take the long way.
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
Mimi?? You there??
Damn you, Mimi…HELLO??
Text between Caroline and Simon:
Wallbanger…come in Wallbanger
Wallbanger isn’t here, only the exorcist
Not even a little bit funny.
What’s up?
What time are you picking me up tom?
I should be back in the city by noon.
If you can knock off work we can beat rush hour.
Already told Jillian I’m taking a half day.
Where are you right now?
In Carmel, on a cliff overlooking the ocean
Boy, are you a closet romantic…
I’m a photographer. We go where the money shot is.
Oh man, we’re not discussing money shots.
Besides, I thought you were the romantic one
I told you, I’m a practical romantic.
Well then practically speaking, even you would appreciate this sight—waves crashing, sun setting, it’s nice
Are you alone?
Yep
Bet you wish you weren’t.
You have no idea
Pfft…you old softie
There’s nothing soft about me, Caroline.
And we’re back…
Caroline?
Yep
See you tomorrow
Yep
Text between Caroline and Sophia:
Can you give me the address again to the house
so I can plug it into the GPS tom?
No
No?
Not until you tell me WHY YOU’RE HIDING JAMES BROWN.
Jesus, it’s like having 2 more mothers…
This isn’t about sitting up straight or eating more vegetables, but we do need to have a conversation about your posture.
Unbelievable.
Seriously, Caroline, we just worry.
Seriously, Sophia, I know. Address please?
Let me think about it.
Not gonna ask you again…
Yes you will. You want to see Simon in that hot tub. Don’t lie.
I hate you…
Text between Simon and Caroline:
You done with work?
Yep, at home waiting for you.
Now that’s a nice visual…
Prepare yourself, I’m taking bread out of the oven.
Don’t tease me, woman…zucchini?
Cranberry orange. Mmmm…
No woman has ever done breakfast bread foreplay
the way you do.
Ha! When are you coming?
Can’t. Drive. Straight.
Can we have one conversation where you’re not twelve?
Sorry, I’ll be there in 30
Perfect, that will give me time to frost my buns.
Pardon me?
Oh, I didn’t tell you? I also made cinnamon rolls.
Be there in 25.
“I’m not listening to this.”
“Like hell. It’s my car. Driver picks music.”
“Actually, you’re wrong about that. The passenger always picks music. It’s what you get when you give up driving privileges.”
“Caroline, you don’t even own a car, so how could you ever have driving privileges?”
“Exactly, so we listen to what I pick,” I chided, sitting back after changing the radio station for the hundredth time. I hit the iPod and scrolled until I found something that I thought would please us both.
“Good song,” he admitted, and we hummed along.
The trip had been great so far. When I first met him—heard him—I never would have predicted it, but Simon was quickly turning into one of my favorite people. I’d been wrong about him.
I glanced at him: humming along to the song, drumming his thumbs along the steering wheel. As he was concentrating on the road, I took the opportunity to catalogue some of his more swoon-worthy features.
Jaw? Strong.
Hair? Dark and messy.
Stubble? About two days’ worth and nice.
Lips? Lickable, but lonely looking. Maybe I could check them out, do my own little tongue inspection…
I sat on my hands to stop myself from launching over the console. He continued to hum and drum.
“What’s going on over there, Nightie Girl? You look a little flushed. Need some more air?” He started for the air conditioner.
“Nope, I’m good,” I answered, my voice sounding ridiculous.
He looked at me strangely, but resumed his hum drum. “I think it’s time we broke out that cranberry-orange bread. Hit me,” he said a moment later as I was indulging in a fantasy about how exactly I could maneuver myself into his lap while still maintaining a good highway speed.
“I’m on it!” I hollered, diving into the backseat and surprising us both. I had my legs in the air and my bottom on display as I clasped my upside-down face in my hands behind the seat. I could feel how red my cheeks were, and I gave myself a little slap to snap me back into this world.
“That is one sweet ass, my friend.” He sighed, leaning his head on it as though it were a pillow.
“Hey. Ass Man. Pay attention to the road and not my heiney, or no bread for you.” I gave his head a bump with my bum and sent myself flailing as he took a turn.
“Caroline, you need to control yourself back there, or I’m pulling over.”
“Oh, zip it. Here’s your damn bread,” I snapped, crawling back into my chair in a graceless way and throwing the bread at him.
“What the hell? Don’t throw this. What if you’d bruised it?” he cried, gently stroking the foil-wrapped loaf.
“I worry about you, Simon. I really do.” I laughed, watching him struggle to open the end of the wrapper. “You want me to cut you a piece—okay, or you could just do that.” I frowned as he took a giant bite out of the end.
“Thif if mine, righ?” he asked, spraying crumbs.
“How do you function in normal society?” I asked, shaking my head as he took another monster bite. He just smiled and continued, eating the entire loaf in less than five minutes.
“You’re gonna be so sick tonight. That’s meant to be eaten piece by piece, not ingested whole,” I said. His only response was to burp loudly and pat his tummy.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re one twisted man, Simon.” I chuckled.
“You’re still intrigued though, aren’t you?” He grinned, turning the blue eyes loose on me.
My panties actually disintegrated. “Oddly, yes,” I admitted, feeling my face flame again.
“I know.” He smirked, and we drove on.
“Okay, the turn should be coming up just around this corner—I remember that house!” I cried, bouncing in my seat. It had been a while since I was up here, and I’d forgotten how beautiful it was. I loved Tahoe in the summertime—all the water sports and everything—but in autumn? Autumn was beautiful.
“Thank God. I need to pee,” Simon groaned, as he’d been doing for the past twenty or so miles.
“That’s your own fault for drinking that Big Gulp,” I admonished, still bouncing away.
“Wow, is that it?” he asked as we turned into the drive. Lanterns lit the way to a sprawling, two-story cedar house with a giant stone fireplace up the left side. Cars were already in the driveway, and I could hear the music spilling out from the back deck.
“Sounds like our friends have already got their party on,” Simon observed. Squealing and laughter joined the music coming from the back side of the house.
“Oh, I don’t doubt it. My guess is they’ve been drinking since dinner and are half-naked in the hot tub by now.” I walked around back to grab my bag.
“We’ll just have to catch up, now won’t we?”He winked, pulling a bottle of Galliano from his bag. “I thought we could make some Wallbangers.”
“Now isn’t that interesting. I was thinking the same thing,” I countered, pulling an identical bottle from my duffle.
“I knew you were dying to get me inside you, Caroline.” He chuckled and grabbed my bag as we headed to the door.
“Please, you would make up a drink and call it a Pink Nightie just to have me in your mouth—and don’t even try to lie,” I taunted, nudging him with my shoulder.
He stopped midway up the walk and looked at me fiercely. “Is that an invitation? Cuz I’m a hell of a bartender,” he stated, the eyes glowing in the darkness.
“I’ve no doubt,” I breathed, the space between us now crackling with tension that was becoming ridiculously hard to ignore. I took a deep breath, and noticed he did as well.
“Come on, let’s get sauced and start this weekend.” He chuckled, nudging me with his shoulder and breaking the spell.
“Sauce away,” I muttered, walking up the path behind him.
Finding the front door open, Simon stashed our bags, and we made our way through the house to the back deck. There the lake spread out before us, just barely lit by the tiki torches dotting the dock and pathways that led to the shore. The entire back of the house was flanked with brick patios and decks, and that’s where we found our friends.
“Caroline!” Mimi screeched from the hot tub, where she and Ryan were splashing each other. Ah, we’d made it to Drunky Loud already.
“Mimi!” I squealed back, looking around for Sophia. She and Neil were perched on the stone bench by the firepit, roasting marshmallows. They both waved merrily, and Neil gestured obscenely with his stick.
“Making them see the error of their ways might be easier than we thought, fellow matchmaker,” I whispered to Simon, who was already mixing a cocktail at the patio bar.
“You think its gonna be that easy?” he whispered back, giving his friends the international guy head nod that said, “What’s up, man?”
“Hell, yes. They’re almost already there without our help. All we have to do is show them what’s right in front of them.”
He handed me a cocktail. “So, how am I?” he asked, winking.
“Is this a Wallbanger?”
“It is.”
I took a sip, swirling the taste around my mouth and over my tongue.
“You’re as good as I knew you’d be,” I whispered, taking a dangerously large swallow.
“To things staring you right in the face,” he added, clinking my glass and taking his own large gulp.
“To things staring you right in the face,” I echoed, our eyes locking over the rims.
Damn Banger Voodoo.
