The Cocktail Collection Page 7

  He returned his eyes to the road, but even from the side, I could see the approving grin. Which, and I hated to admit it, made his jaw look like it had been chiseled out of the hottest piece of granite ever unearthed.

  “I’m sure I can find something,” I sassed, reaching over as he pulled back his arm. His hand grazed against the side of my breast, and we both flinched. “What, you tryin’ to cop a feel there?” I snapped, selecting a song.

  “Did you or did you not just place your tits in the path of my hand?” he sniped back.

  “I think your hand just moved in front of the girls’ trajectory, but don’t sweat it. You’re hardly the first that these celestial beings have brought into their orbit.” I sighed dramatically, looking at him sideways to see if he could tell I was joking. The corner of his mouth rose into a grin, and I allowed myself a small smile as well.

  “Yes, celestial. That’s the word I was going to use—as in, not of this earth. As in, suspended in the heavens. As in, courtesy of Victoria’s Secret.” He grinned, and I pretended to be shocked.

  “Oh my, you know of the Secret? And here I thought we silly girls had you all fooled.” I laughed and settled back into my seat. We’d crossed the bridge and now returned to the city.

  “It takes a lot to fool me, especially when it comes to the opposite sex,” he replied as the music came on. He nodded at my choice. “Too Short? Interesting selection. Not many women would have chosen this,” he mused.

  “What can I say? I’m feeling very Bay Area tonight. And I should tell you now, I am not like most women,” I added, feeling another smile sneak across my face.

  “I’m beginning to get that,” he said.

  We were quiet for a few minutes, then suddenly both started to speak at once.

  “So what do you think about—” I began.

  “Can you believe that they all—” he said.

  “Go ahead.” I chuckled.

  “No, what were you going to say?”

  “I was going to say, so what do you think about our friends tonight?”

  “That’s actually what I was going to say. I couldn’t believe they just up and left us!” He laughed, and I couldn’t help but laugh along with him. He had a great laugh.

  “I know, but my girls know what they want. I couldn’t have painted two better guys for them. They’re exactly what they look for,” I confided, leaning against the window so I could watch him as we navigated the hilly streets.

  “Yeah, Neil has a weakness for Asian girls—and I swear that sounded less pervy in my head. And Ryan loves him some leggy redheads,” he laughed again, glancing over to see if I was okay with his leggy redhead comment.

  I was. She was.

  “Well, I’m sure I’ll hear all about it tomorrow what kind of impression they made on my ladies. I’ll get the full report, don’t you worry.” I sighed. My phone would be ringing off the hook.

  Silence crept back in, and I wondered what to say next.

  “So how do you know Benjamin and Jillian?” he asked, saving me from small-talk fever.

  “I work for Jillian at the firm. I’m an interior designer.”

  “Wait. Hold up, you’re that Caroline?” he asked.

  “I have no idea what that means,” I answered, wondering why he was now staring at me.

  “Damn, it really is a small world,” he exclaimed, shaking his head from side to side as though trying to clear it.

  He was silent as I sat there in limbo.

  “Hey, wanna clear that up a bit? What did you mean, that Caroline?” I finally questioned, slapping his shoulder.

  “It’s just that . . . well . . . huh. Jillian has mentioned you before. Let’s leave it at that,” he said.

  “Hell no, we won’t leave it at that! What did she say?” I pushed, slapping again at his shoulder.

  “Would you cut that out? You’re really rough, you know that?” he said.

  There were simply too many ways I could go with that comment, so I wisely kept quiet.

  “What did she say about me?” I asked quietly, now worried that perhaps she’d said something about my work. My nerves were already shot, and now they were pinging.

  He looked over at me. “No, no, it’s not like that,” he said quickly. “It’s nothing bad. It’s just that, well, Jillian adores you. And she adores me—of course, right?”

  I rolled my eyes, but played along.

  “And well, she might have . . . mentioned a few times . . . that she thought I should meet you,” he dragged out, only to wink at me when I met his eyes.

  “Oh. Ohhhh,” I breathed as I realized what he meant. I blushed. Jillian, that little matchmaking shit. “Does she know about the harem?” I asked.

  “Would you quit it with that? Don’t call them the harem. You make it sound so shady. What if I told you those three women were incredibly important to me? That I care a lot about them. That the relationships I have with them work for us, and no one else needs to understand it—got it?” he said, pulling the Rover to an angry stop at the curb outside our building.

  I was quiet as I studied my hands and watched him rake his through his already messed-up hair.

  “Hey, you know what? You’re right. Who am I to say what’s right or wrong for anyone else. If it works for you, great. Hit it. Mazel tov. I’m just surprised Jillian would want to set you up with me. She knows I’m a pretty traditional girl, that’s all,” I explained.

  He grinned and turned the force of his blue eyes on me.

  “As it happens, she doesn’t know everything about me. I keep my private life private—with the exception of my neighbor with the thin walls and the devastating lingerie,” he said in a low voice that could melt, well, anything.

  My brain was most certainly among those things, seeing as I suddenly felt it oozing out of my ears and on down to my collar.

  “Except for her,” I muttered, thoroughly scrambled.

  He let out a dark laugh and opened his door. He kept his eyes on mine as he strode around the car and opened my door.

  I climbed down, taking the hand he offered me, and almost not noticing that he traced a tiny circle on the inside of my left hand with his right thumb. Almost didn’t notice it, my ass. It made my skin pebble and Lower Caroline sit up straight. Nerves? Shooting like fireworks all over the place.

  We walked inside the building, and he once again opened the door for me. He really was charming, I had to give him that.

  “So how do you know Benjamin and Jillian?” I asked, walking up the stairs ahead of him. I knew for certain he was checking out my legs, and why wouldn’t he? I had great stems, currently flattered by my flouncy little dress.

  “Benjamin’s been a friend of my family’s for years. I’ve known him practically my whole life. He also manages my investments,” Simon answered as we rounded the first floor and started on to the second.

  I looked over my shoulder and confirmed his peeking at my legs. Ha! Caught him. “Oooh, your investments. Have a few savings bonds left over from birthdays there, moneybags?” I teased.

  He chuckled. “Yeah, something like that.”

  We continued up the stairs.

  “It’s curious, don’t you think?” I offered.

  “Curious?” he asked, his voice slipping over me like warm honey.

  “Well, I mean, Benjamin and Jillian both knowing us, us meeting at a party like this, and you being the one who’s been keeping me nocturnally amused all these weeks. Small world, I suppose.” We rounded the top stair, and I got my keys out.

  “San Francisco’s a big city, but it can feel like a small town in some ways,” he offered. “But yes, it’s curious. Intriguing even. Who knew that the nice designer Jillian wanted to set me up with was actually Pink Nightie Girl? Had I known, I might have taken her up on it,” he replied, that damnable grin back on his beautiful face.

  Dammit, why couldn’t he have stayed an asshole?

  “Yes, but Pink Nightie Girl would have said no. After all, thin walls and all. . .
.” I winked, making a fist and thumping on the wall next to my door. I could hear Clive prattling around behind the door, and I needed to get inside before he began to wail.

  “Ah, yes, thin walls. Hmmm. . . . Well, good night, Caroline. Truce is still on, right?” he asked, turning toward his door.

  “Truce is still on, unless you do something to make me mad again.” I laughed, leaning in the doorway.

  “Oh, count on that. And Caroline? Speaking of thin walls?” he said, as he opened his door and looked back at me. He leaned in his own doorway, thumping his fist on the wall.

  “Yes?” I asked, a little too dreamily for my own good.

  The smirk reappeared and he said, “Sweet dreams.”

  He thumped the wall one more time, winked, and went inside.

  Huh. Sweet dreams and thin walls. Sweet dreams and thin walls. . . .

  Mother of pearl. He’d heard me.

  chapter seven

  Poke.

  “Grrr.”

  Poke. Knead, knead. Poke.

  “Enough.”

  Knead, knead, knead. Head butt.

  “I realize you don’t know how to read a calendar, but you should know when it’s Sunday. Seriously, Clive.”

  Hard head butt.

  I rolled over, away from Clive’s head butts and persistent poking, and pulled the covers over my head. Flashes of the night before kept appearing. Simon in Jillian’s kitchen, with the intro heard round the world. His friends calling me Pink Nightie Girl. Benjamin putting two and two together when he learned I was the Pink Nightie Girl. Kissing Simon. Mmm, kissing Simon.

  No, no kissing Simon! I snuggled deeper under the covers.

  Sweet dreams and thin walls. . . . Sheer mortification washed over me as I remembered his parting words. I burrowed farther under the covers. My heart beat faster, thinking about how embarrassed I’d been. Heart, pay no attention to that girl below the covers.

  Last night had been decidedly dream-free, but to make sure no one (Simon) could hear me screaming in passion, I’d slept with the TV on. The revelation that Simon had heard me dreaming of him had thrown me for such a loop that I flipped endlessly through the channels, trying to find something that would not sound like me having my own version of the Simon Wet Dream. I ended up on the all-infomercial channel, which, of course, kept me up later than I’d planned. Everything they sold was fascinating. I had to pry the cell phone out of my own hand at three thirty a.m. when I almost ordered the Slap Chop—to say nothing of the half hour I will never get back after watching Bowser try to sell me the Time Life collection of songs from the fifties.

  All this was in addition to listening to the sounds of Tommy Dorsey coming through the wall. They made me smile. I can’t lie.

  I stretched lazily under the sheet, stifling a giggle as I watched the shadow of Clive stalking me, trying to figure out a way in. He tried every angle as I deflected his advances. Finally, he resumed his poke-poke-knead approach, and I popped my head back up to laugh at him.

  I could handle this thing with Simon. I didn’t have to be totally embarrassed. Sure, my O was gone, maybe for forever. Sure, I’d been having sex dreams about my overly attractive and overly confident neighbor. And sure, said neighbor had heard these dreams and commented on them, getting the last word in an already extremely bizarre evening.

  But I could handle this. Of course I could. I’d just acknowledge it before he could—take the wind out of his sails, as it were. He didn’t always have to have the last word. I could recover from this and keep our ridiculous little truce going.

  I’m totally screwed.

  Just then I heard the alarm go off next door, and I froze. Then I recovered and slipped back under the covers, leaving just my eyes peeping over.

  Wait, why was I hiding? He couldn’t see me.

  I heard him slap at the alarm clock, and his feet hit the floor. Why was he up so early? When all was quiet, you truly could hear through these walls. How the hell did I not realize before that if I could hear him, he could obviously hear me? I felt my face color as I thought of my dreams again, but then I got control. This was further aided by Clive head butting the small of my back in an attempt to physically push me from the bed to give him his breakfast.

  “Okay, okay, let’s get up. God, you’re such a little jerk sometimes, Clive.”

  He fired back a reply over his cat shoulder as he stalked toward the kitchen.

  After getting Mr. Clive fed and running myself through the shower, I headed out to meet the girls for brunch. I was leaving the building while looking at my phone, answering a text from Mimi, when I collided with a wet, hot wall of Simon.

  “Whoa,” I cried as I teetered backward. His arm shot out and caught me just before I went from flustered to flat-out wrong and on my bottom.

  “Where are you running off to this morning?” he asked as I took him in. Sweaty white T-shirt, black running shorts, damp curly hair, iPod, and a grin.

  “You’re sweaty,” I word-vomited.

  “I am sweaty. It happens,” he added, sweeping the back of his hand across his forehead, making his hair stand straight up. I had to physically block the neurons from my brain trying to get to my fingers with instructions to lift and nestle. Lift and nestle.

  He stared down at me, his blue eyes twinkling. He’d make this painful if I didn’t go ahead and out the giant sex elephant in the room.

  “So listen, about last night,” I started.

  “What about last night? The part where you were berating me about my sex life? Or the part where you were sharing my sex life with your friends?” he asked, raising an eyebrow and raising his T-shirt to wipe his face. I drew in a breath that sounded like a wind tunnel as I stared at abs that could almost be speed bumps. Why couldn’t he be a soft, fat neighbor?

  “No, I mean the crack you made about the sweet dreams. And the . . . well . . . the thin walls,” I stammered, avoiding all eye contact. I was suddenly fascinated by my new shade of toenail polish. It was lovely. . . .

  “Ah, yes, the thin walls. Well, they work both ways, you know. And if someone were to, say, have a very interesting dream some night, well, let’s just say it would be quite entertaining,” he whispered. My knees went a little wobbly. Damn him and his voodoo. . . .

  I had to get in control. I backed up a step.

  “Yes, you may have heard something I would have preferred you not hear, but that’s not the way things always go down. So you got me. But you won’t actually ever have me, so let’s move on. You got that? And brunch, by the way,” I finished, concluding my diatribe.

  He looked confused and amused at the same time. “Brunch, by the way?”

  “Brunch. You asked where I was off to this morning, and my answer is brunch.”

  “Ah, got it. And are you meeting your girls who were out with my guys last night?”

  “I am, and I will gladly share the scoop with you if it’s any good,” I laughed, twirling a piece of hair around my finger. Nice. Flirting 101. What the hell?

  “Oh, I’m sure it’s good scoop. Those two look like man-eaters,” he said, rocking back on his heels as he began to stretch a bit.

  “Are we talking Hannibal?”

  “No, more like Hall and Oates.” He laughed, looking up at me as he stretched his hamstrings.

  Christ, hamstrings.

  “Yes, well, they can definitely work a room when they need to,” I said thoughtfully, beginning to back away again.

  “And how about you?” he asked, standing straight.

  “How about me what?”

  “Oh, I bet Pink Nightie Girl can work any room she wants.” He chuckled, his eyes twinkling.

  “Eh, work this,” I fired back, and walked away with a twinkle of my own.

  “Nice,” he added when I shot him a look over my shoulder.

  “Oh, please, like you’re not intrigued,” I called back from about ten feet away.

  “Oh, I’m intrigued,” he shouted as I walked backward, shaking my hips while he appla
uded.

  “Too bad I don’t work well with others! I ain’t no harem girl!” I yelled, practically at the corner.

  “Truce still on?” he yelled.

  “I don’t know, what does Simon say?”

  “Oh, Simon says, hell yes. It’s on!” he shouted back as I rounded the corner.

  I twirled about, actually doing a little pirouette. I smiled big as I bounced along, thinking a truce was a very good thing.

  “Egg-white omelet with tomatoes, mushrooms, spinach, and onions.”

  “Pancakes—four stack, please—with a side of bacon. And I’ll need the bacon very crispy, please, but not blackened.”

  “Two eggs sunny-side up, rye toast with butter on the side, and the fruit salad.”

  After ordering, we settled in for a morning of coffee and gossip.

  “Okay, so tell me what happened after we left last night,” Mimi said, placing her chin in her hands and blinking prettily at me.

  “After you left? You mean after you left me with my jerky neighbor to drive me home? What were you thinking? And telling everyone the he-was-still-hard story? Seriously? I’m writing you both out of my will,” I snapped, swallowing coffee that was too hot and instantly searing off a third of my taste buds. I let my tongue hang out of my mouth to cool.

  “First of all, we told that story because it’s funny, and funny is good,” Sophia began, fishing a piece of ice out of her water glass and handing it to me.

  “Thanh ooo,” I managed, accepting the cube.

  She nodded. “And second, you have nothing to leave me anyway, as I already have the entire set of Barefoot Contessa cookbooks, which you bought me yourself. So write me out of the will. And third, the two of you were being such downers, there was no way we were taking you out with our new boys,” Sophia finished, smiling wickedly.

  “New boys. I love new boys,” Mimi clapped, looking like a Disney cartoon.

  “How was the ride home?” Sophia asked.

  “The ride home. Well, it was interesting.” I sighed, now sucking on the cube with wild abandon.

  “Interesting good?” Mimi squealed.