The Cocktail Collection Read online

  “Hell, no. Mama’s got a date after we feed you.” She grinned, handing me a bag.

  “Mei Fun?”

  “Someone’s gonna have some fun tonight, that’s for sure.” She winked, sauntering past me. “Don’t eat all the wontons, you little shit!”

  Mimi yelled something back to her, but it was muffled by something in her mouth. My money was on the wonton. I locked the front door, shaking my head as I followed my two friends into my office.

  Ten minutes later we were all sprawled across the floor cross-legged, with plates piled high with delicious food. Noodles, panfried shrimp, crispy pot stickers, spicy sautéed vegetables; it was a feast. Chopsticks were passed and we dug in.

  “This sure as hell beats the burrito I was going to eat.” I sighed, my mouth full of delicately seasoned noodles.

  “Since we knew you were gonna be here late, we thought the least we could do is bring you dinner,” Mimi responded, offering me an egg roll.

  Sophia intercepted it, wielding it like a megaphone. “Oh, please, it was so I could tell you all about my new boy toy. You’re impossible to get ahold of, lady, and I needed to dish!”

  I grabbed my own egg roll and spoke directly into the megaphone end of it. “So dish.”

  Sophia told us all about the new guy she’d met at the gym. Once she decided she was officially moving on and looking for love (read, a date to Jillian’s wedding), she left no stone unturned. And this stone happened to be an insurance salesman. Car, life, you name it, he sold it. Hmmm.

  “And let me just tell you, he is F-I-N-E fine. Tall, dark, and handsome, he is seriously sinful,” she gloated. “I’m gonna have the hottest date there.”

  “Did she just quote a line from Grease?” Mimi asked me.

  “Pretty sure she did. Let’s just hope this guy’s name isn’t Cha Cha,” I replied.

  “His name is Barry, and he’s great,” Sophia insisted.

  “As in Gibb?” I asked.

  “As in White?” Mimi chimed in.

  “As in Derry,” Sophia said through clenched teeth.

  “Wait a minute, hold up. Stop everything. His name is Barry—” I started.

  “—Derry?” Mimi finished.

  We collapsed on the floor howling amid chopsticks and soy packets.

  “Silence, whores, silence. Besides, Reynolds, you dated a guy named James motherfucking Brown,” Sophia snapped back.

  “I sure did. That’s fantastic compared to Barry Derry,” I cried, wiping tears from my eyes. Which was a terrible idea, as I still had hot mustard on my fingertips. “Shit!”

  “Serves you right,” Sophia said, handing me a stack of napkins.

  Mimi was still chortling, muttering something about him being hairy, and I gave her an elbow to the ribs.

  Through my mustard haze I saw that Sophia was putting on a brave face, but this wedding wasn’t going to be easy for her. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Neil either. I had a recurring fantasy where I accosted him by the cake stand and make him choke on fondant. I smiled encouragingly. “I’m sure he’s great, sweetie. We can’t wait to meet him.”

  We were all quiet for a moment.

  Mimi cleared her throat, ready to change the subject. “When is Simon getting back?”

  “Thursday night,” I answered, then remembered my news. “Hey, I forgot to tell you! Guess who’s house-sitting over in Sausalito?”

  They both shrieked; we all loved Jillian’s house. Especially the hillevator.

  “That’s gonna be so much fun. What did Simon say?” Mimi asked.

  “Simon says it’ll be boring out there, but Caroline says too bad. That house is a fucking rock star—who wouldn’t want to stay out there? Plus it’s so close to the Claremont, it’ll be nice to have a home base over there. And I don’t think we’re going to spend every night there, just some.”

  “Look at you two, playing house. Isn’t that sweet,” Sophia remarked, earning a glare from Mimi. “All I’m saying is what you guys have now is great. Together but not. Separate but equal. It gets all fucked up when you start buying furniture together.”

  “Says the girl who moved in with Neil not even six months into the relationship,” Mimi pointed out.

  “Says the girl who is no longer with Neil,” Sophia responded, waving her chopsticks in the air.

  “But that’s not why you broke up. Living together had nothing to do with it. You two had the best time living together—don’t try and tell me you didn’t.”

  “Sure, we had a great time. But it was too soon. Separate but equal—all I’m saying,” she said, picking a bamboo shoot from her cleavage.

  This was getting into sticky territory. And I don’t just mean the cleavage.

  “Okay, well, thanks for the advice, kids, but Simon and I aren’t moving in together. We’re house-sitting. And taking advantage of a killer house in which we will have the sexy times. So there,” I finished.

  The stack of paperwork on my desk was calling my name and I sighed, nabbed one more shrimp, then started closing up containers. The girls followed suit, making me keep the leftovers so I’d have something for lunch tomorrow. “You guys didn’t have to do this, but I’m glad you did.”

  “I know how hard you’ve been working; just thought you might need a break,” Mimi said as we walked toward the front door.

  “Don’t make it seem like this was your idea. I’m the one who suggested we bring her dinner,” Sophia said. “You wanted to go get street tacos when she canceled.”

  “No way! I’m the one who said that we should—” Mimi started, but I beat her to the punch.

  I knew where this was going and I shoved them out the door, laughing. “Ladies, I love you both. Now get the hell out of here.”

  They tossed back good-byes as they went on their way. I headed back up to my office, rolling my shoulders a bit and fighting the egg roll sleeps that were now threatening to take over. Then I flipped on every light in the place and turned on Pearl Jam. Loud.

  Simon and I weren’t moving in together. Pffft.

  • • •

  Twenty minutes later I got a text from Mimi:

  Did Simon tell you Neil’s bringing someone?

  He did. What did Ryan say?

  He won’t say anything, just that he’s bringing a date.

  That’s all that Simon will say too. She better not be pretty.

  Of course she’ll be pretty.

  I know. This could be bad, you know . . .

  Count on it. Besides, it’s already bad—the guy’s name is Barry Derry, for God’s sake.

  Scary . . .

  Quiet.

  • • •

  Simon should have been back Thursday night, but his flight into New York was delayed, making him miss his connection to San Francisco. He was rebooked on a flight Friday morning, but he’d be cutting the wedding rehearsal close indeed. He’d texted me to let me know he was on his way to the airport, and then he’d texted me for the address of the church. Then another text needing the address of the restaurant the rehearsal dinner was being held in.

  Jillian was stopping by the office this morning to finish up a few things. I’d tried to talk her out of working the day before her wedding, but she’d insisted she only needed a few minutes to tie up a few loose ends. Then she’d leave for the bridal luncheon, which I was missing to head a last-minute meeting with Mr. Camden.

  I was in my office frantically printing out the reports I needed for my meeting when Jillian breezed by. “I’m out of here, Caroline. See you tonight?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Think Simon will make it back in time? Benjamin can have someone else stand in tonight, if we need to.”

  “He’ll be here. Last I heard from him, he was sitting on the plane waiting to take off.”

  At that, my phone beeped again. Simon, wanting to know if he was supposed to make some kind of speech tonight. Boys. I typed back no, said good-bye to Jillian, and grabbed the last of the reports off the printer, just as t
he receptionist called over the intercom to let me know that the Camden team was here and being shown into the conference room.

  As Monica came to help me take everything in, my phone beeped again.

  I handed it to her. “Can you take this while I’m in the meeting? And if Simon needs his shoes tied or his shirt buttoned or anything else, please tell him to— Never mind. Just tell him I’m busy, and I’ll see him when he gets in tonight.” I tried to smile, smoothing my shirt so I didn’t appear frazzled. Sometimes it really was perception equals reality.

  I am calm.

  I am calm.

  I am calm.

  “No problem, I’ll take care of it. Everything else you need is already in the conference room; just let me know if you need anything else.”

  As we walked toward the meeting, my phone beeped again. Stifling a growl, I looked over at her. She looked at the text and frowned.

  “Shoes tied? Shirt buttoned?” I asked, nodding a greeting to Camden’s team through the window in the conference room door.

  “Um, not exactly. He wants to know if you can pick up his tux at lunch today?”

  I am calm.

  I am calm.

  I am calm.

  chapter six

  I sat in the back of the cab, drumming my knee and trying not to look at my watch again. I’d make the rehearsal, but I hated cutting it so close. By the time I’d finished up everything I needed to at work to make sure I could truly take the weekend off, it was only an hour before the rehearsal began and I still hadn’t changed. Luckily I’d brought my dress to the office and quickly changed there.

  Could I pick up his tux at lunch, ha! I didn’t even eat lunch, but no matter. Monica the wonder intern was nice enough to run the errand, bringing the tux back to the office with a smile. She was the best. Simon, I’d deal with later.

  I made it to the rehearsal with a few moments to spare, and as I made my way in I got a text from Simon. He was on the way. I cringed when I thought about how exhausted he was going to be after flying halfway around the world. But it wasn’t his fault his flight was delayed, and I made a mental note to go easy on him about the tux.

  Greeting some of the other bridesmaids and mingling with Jillian’s family, I made my way inside the church to where she and Benjamin were chatting with the minister. Damn, that man was stunning.

  Dark suit, tanned skin, that little bit of salt starting to edge out the pepper at his temples, and those eyes that were full of fun. This was the guy you wanted your guy to become one day. He winked as he greeted me, knowing full well that when he went full charm we all turned to mush.

  “Hi, Benjamin,” I said, already on my way to Mushtown.

  “Caroline, you’re looking lovely tonight.” He tucked me into his side with a grin, and I could feel the blood rise to my cheeks. Now I was a blushing mush. “So where is that idiot best man of mine?”

  “Here! Idiot is here!” I heard, and in rushed Simon. Hair still damp from the shower, clad in his own dark suit and tie, he hurried to my side. “Hey, old man, let go of my girl.”

  Shaking Benjamin’s hand, he dropped a kiss on Jillian’s cheek, then turned to me, taking me in. He reached out, hands spanning my waist, and pulled me into him. His gaze met mine, my hands resting on his chest. His face was sun kissed from the days spent on the ocean, with the tiniest of freckles here and there. Fucking gorgeous man. And the best part? The way he looked at me. Like I was the prettiest girl in the room.

  “Hey, babe.”

  The man was a poet.

  “Hey.”

  I was too.

  He leaned down, eyes staying with mine until a second after his lips touched mine. His kiss was soft, featherlight. His mouth brushed against mine once, then twice, then by the third time, more than his lips got involved. His tongue darted out to gently nudge at the seam of my lips, and when they parted for him, it flicked out to taste me.

  Were we in a church? I was clueless, because in that moment all I felt, all I knew was Simon. His hands restless on my waist, the planes of his strong body anywhere it was pressed against mine, the scent of his shampoo and the ever-loving Downy filling my nostrils, and his mouth bearing down on mine.

  I heard coughing, and as he broke our kiss to rest his forehead against mine, I saw Jillian arching her eyebrow at us.

  “Simon,” I whispered, within our bubble.

  “Yes?”

  “I missed you too,” I said, giving him one more quick kiss.

  Grinning, he spun me so I was next to him, and we turned back to Jillian and Benjamin. And the small crowd that was watching us.

  “What? I missed my girl.” He tucked me farther into his side and I smiled up at him. “Now, what are we rehearsing?” he asked.

  • • •

  The rehearsal went well, the dinner even better. Jillian and Benjamin had picked a beautiful restaurant, renting a private room with a rooftop terrace. Wine and champagne flowed, families mixed and mingled; it was a festive mood. Serving heavy appetizers instead of a formal sit-down encouraged everyone to get to know each other as they moved from table to table.

  Simon and I stuck close to each other most of the evening, when I wasn’t assisting Jillian with last-minute details. While there were several other bridesmaids and a maid of honor, Jillian trusted me implicitly to be her eyes and ears on All Things Wedding. Which is why I was the one with the sewing kit and the hemorrhoid cream in my purse.

  For puffy eyes.

  In between meeting second cousins and business partners on both sides, Simon managed to steal me away for secret kisses and whispered dirty talk in every nook and cranny of that restaurant.

  “What’s got into you?” I asked, breathless after a fevered kiss on the terrace. I’d come out to get some air when I was cornered against the glass railing by a handsy Wallbanger.

  “Into you, now that’s sounds like a wonderful idea,” he murmured, turning me so I was facing the city. Caging me in with his arms, he pressed his body into mine. I leaned my head back onto his shoulder as he teased me with wet kisses up and down my neck.

  I sighed, letting my hands reach back and tangle into his hair. “Behave yourself, mister.”

  “Not a chance.” He thrust gently but insistently into my backside. My eyes popped open, as my insides went on instant clench. “I missed you. How long do we need to stay here?”

  “Um, I don’t think we should leave until Jillian and Benjamin are ready. I think that’d be—wow!” My head dropped back farther as he swept one hand up from my waist to just below my breasts.

  “Shouldn’t or can’t?”

  I struggled to think, to stay focused.

  “Uh, well, maybe we could, mmm—” I was powerless, his hands getting more sure as they began to nudge my skirt higher on my thighs. “Okay, now I think we should leave. This is crazy.”

  “Atta girl.” He had me saying good-byes in less than a minute, into the elevator in three minutes, and had me in the back of a cab five minutes after that.

  And when I say had me, boy, did he try.

  • • •

  After successfully fending off Simon’s attempts to get under my skirt in the cab, and then under my skirt while walking up our apartment stairs in front of him, I gave up all ownership of what was below my belly button when he bent me over the back of the sofa inside my apartment and removed my panties. With his teeth.

  With his mother-loving teeth! I can’t even!

  I’d read this particular scene in many romance novels; I’d never experienced it in real life. I always wondered how exactly that would happen. Did he take a big bite of the part over your hip? Use one canine to peel it off from the front? Sexy novels only mentioned teeth, so would lips be cheating? And speaking of cheating, if he used his hands to assist, but the teeth were the primary method for panty removal, would that be legal?

  Romance novels, schmomance novels, here’s how Wallbanger does it.

  Hands went inside my skirt from either side as soon as we clear
ed the front door. As he guided me backward through the darkened apartment, his mouth was on my neck and his hands inside my bra, when the back of my thighs met the sofa.

  Which I then had the honor of feeling with my eyeballs when I hit the pillows face-first, after he’d spun me and pushed me over the arm with my bum in the air. Think I even noticed that I had a forehead full of sofa? Hell no, I had a Wallbanger kneeling between my legs.

  Wet kisses were smacked along the back of my legs as my skirt was lifted and placed out of his way. I felt his hands nudging my knees apart, felt his warm breath on the inside of my thighs as his fingers dipped inside the lace of my panties. Had I dressed up for my man? Oh hell, yes.

  White. Lacey. Sweet. Guaranteed to make him pant. Which he was doing now, heavily. He kissed me through the silk, his tongue pointed and strong even through the barrier. I cried out, having been ready for that mouth ever since he pushed me up against the railing in the restaurant.

  With his hands wrapped around my waist, he pressed down on the small of my back, angling me toward his face. Growling—and I swear that’s the only way I can describe the guttural noises coming from the back of his throat—he grasped the top of my panties in his teeth and tugged. Down my thighs and toward my knees, and that’s as far as they went, because: Simon. Was. Impatient.

  With my ass in the air and my panties at my knees, he groaned.

  “Mmm, there’s that sweet pussy.”

  Not all men can handle the P-word. And boy, is that a mouthful. Ahem. Some say it all the time, some use it in common conversation. But a good P-word is all about placement: when to say it, where to say, how to say it. Dirty talk is an art. Do it too often, it becomes routine. Never do it, and you’re missing something. Simon did it just right. He was like a perfect bowl of smutty porridge: just right. Let’s get back to that mouthful . . .

  I was done for even before his lips hit mine. And I meant that exactly how I said it.

  There are nights when I need it slow. And there are nights when I need it sweet. And then there are nights when I need it fast and filthy.