Cover
title page
Wallbanger
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Alice Clayton
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Omnific Publishing
Dallas
Praise for Wallbanger:
“Wallbanger is an instant classic, with plenty of laugh out loud moments and riveting characters—highly recommended!”
~NYT and USA Today Bestselling Author Jennifer Probst
“Hilarious, romantic, and compulsively readable, Wallbanger delivers the perfect blend of sex, romance, and baked goods.”
~Ruthie Knox, best-selling author of About Last Night
“Alice Clayton strikes again, seducing me with her real woman sex appeal, unparalleled wit and addicting snark; leaving me laughing, blushing, and craving knock all the paintings off the wall sex of my very own.”
~Brittany Gibbons, brittanyherself.com
“Caroline Reynolds. Finally a woman who knows her way around a man and a KitchenAid Mixer. She had us at zucchini bread!”
~Curvy Girl Guide
Copyright Information
Wallbanger, Copyright © 2012 by Alice Clayton
All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
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Omnific Publishing
10000 North Central Expressway, Dallas, TX 75231
www.omnificpublishing.com
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First Omnific eBook edition, November 2012
First Omnific trade paperback edition, November 2012
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The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
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Clayton, Alice.
Wallbanger / Alice Clayton – 1st ed
ISBN: 978-1-623420-03-1
1. San Fransisco—Fiction. 2. Contemporary Romance—Fiction. 3. Interior Design—Fiction. 4. Romantic Humor—Fiction. I. Title
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Cover Design by Micha Stone and Amy Brokaw
Interior Book Design by Coreen Montagna
Dedication
To my mom, for letting me have coconut on my birthday cake
even though no one else likes it.
To my dad, for reading me Garfield comics
until we laughed so hard we were both crying.
Thank you
Chapter One
“OH, GOD.”
Thump.
“Oh, God.”
Thump thump.
What the…
“Oh, God, that’s so good!”
I scrambled up out of sleep, confused as I looked around the strange room. Boxes on the floor. Pictures propped against the wall.
My new bedroom, in my new apartment, I reminded myself, placing both hands on the duvet, grounding myself with the luxurious thread count. Even half asleep, I was aware of my thread count.
“Mmmm…Yeah, baby. Right there. Just like that…Don’t stop, don’t stop!”
Oh boy…
I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and turned to look at the wall behind me, beginning to understand what had woken me up. My hands still stroked the duvet absently, catching the attention of Clive, my wonder cat. Butting his head under my hand, Clive demanded to be soothed. I stroked him as I looked around and oriented myself in my new space.
I’d moved in earlier that day. It was a gorgeous apartment: spacious rooms, wood floors, arched doorways—it even had a fireplace! I had no clue how to actually build a fire, but that was neither here nor there. I was aching to put things on the mantel. As an interior designer, I had a habit of mentally placing things in almost every space, whether it belonged to me or not. It drove my friends a wee bit mad at times, as I was constantly restaging their knickknacks.
I’d spent the day moving in, and after soaking in the incredibly deep, claw-foot tub until well past prune, I settled myself into bed and enjoyed the creaks and squeaks of a new home: light traffic outside, some quiet music, and the comforting click-click of Clive exploring. The click-click came from his hangnail, you see…
My new home, I’d thought contentedly as I slipped into an easy sleep, which is why I was so surprised to be woken at…let’s see…two thirty-seven a.m.
I found myself gazing stupidly at the ceiling, trying to return to a relaxed state, but I was startled again as my headboard moved—banged into the wall was more like it.
Are you kidding me? Then I heard, very distinctly:
“Oh, Simon, that’s so good! Mmm…”
Aw, jeez.
Blinking, I felt more awake now and a little fascinated by what was clearly going on next door. I looked at Clive, he looked at me, and if I wasn’t so tired I’d have been pretty sure he winked. I guess someone should be getting some.
I’d been in a bit of a dry spell for a while. A very long while. Bad, rapid-fire sex and an ill-timed one-night stand had robbed me of my orgasm. She’d been on vacation for six months now. Six long months.
The beginnings of carpal tunnel were threatening to set in as I tried desperately to get myself off. But O was on seemingly permanent hiatus. And I don’t mean Oprah.
I pushed the thoughts of my missing O away and curled up on my side. All seemed quiet now, and I began to drift back to sleep, Clive purring contentedly beside me. Then all hell broke loose.
“Yes! Yes! Oh, God…Oh, God!”
A painting I’d propped on the shelf above my bed fell off and rapped me soundly on the head. That’ll teach me to live in San Francisco and not make sure everything is securely mounted. Speaking of mounted…
Rubbing my head and cursing enough to make Clive blush—if cats could blush—I looked back at the wall behind me again. My headboard was literally banging against it as the ruckus continued next door.
“Mmm…yes, baby, yes, yes, yes!” the loudmouth chanted…and concluded with a contented sigh.
Then I heard, for the love of all that’s holy, spanking. You can’t misinterpret the sound of a good spanking, and someone was receiving one next door.
“Oh, God, Simon. Yes. I’ve been a bad girl. Yes, yes!”
Unreal…More spanking, and then the unmistakable sound of a male voice, groaning and sighing.
I got up, moved the entire bed a few inches away from the wall, and huffed back under the duvet, glaring at the wall the whole time.
I fell asleep that night after swearing I would bang back if I heard one more peep. Or groan. Or spank.
Welcome to the neighborhood.
Chapter Two
THE NEXT MORNING, my first official morning in my new place, found me sipping a cup of coffee and munching a leftover donut from yesterday’s moving-in party.
I wasn’t quite as awake as I’d hoped to begin unpackingpalooza, and I silently cursed last night’s antics next door. The girl was plowed, spanked, she came, she slept. The same for Simon. I assumed his name was Simon, as that was what the girl who liked to be spanked kept calling him. And really, if she was making up a name there were hotter ones than Simon to be screaming out in the throes.
The throes…God, I missed the throes.
“Still nothing, huh, O?” I sighed, looking down. During month four of The Missing O, I’d started to talk to my O as though she were an actual entity. She felt real enough when she was rocking my world back in the day, but sadly, now that O had abandoned me, I wasn’t sure I’d recognize her if she saw her. ’Tis a sad, sad day when a girl doesn’t even know her own orgasm, I thought, looking wistfully out the wind
ow at the San Francisco skyline.
I unfolded my legs and padded to the sink to rinse out my coffee mug. Placing it in the sink to drain, I pushed my light blond hair back into a sloppy ponytail and surveyed the chaos that surrounded me. No matter how well I planned, no matter how well I labeled those boxes, no matter how often I told that idiot moving guy that if it said KITCHEN it did not belong in the BATHROOM, it still was a mess.
“What do you think, Clive? Should we start in here or the living room?” He was curled up on one of the deep windowsills. Admittedly, when I was scouting new places to live, I always looked at the windowsills. Clive was fond of looking out on the world, and it was nice seeing him waiting for me when I came home.
Right now he looked at me, and then seemed to nod toward the living room.
“Okay, living room it is,” I said, realizing I’d only spoken three times since waking up this morning, and every word uttered had been directed at a pussy. Ahem…
About twenty minutes later Clive had started a stare-off with a pigeon and I was sorting DVDs when I heard voices in the hallway. My noisy neighbors! I ran to the door, almost tripping over a box, and pressed an eye to the peephole only to see the doorway across the hall. What a pervert I am, honestly. But I made no attempt to stop peeping.
I couldn’t see very clearly, but I could hear their conversation: the man’s voice low and soothing, followed by unmistakable sighing from his companion.
“Mmm, Simon, last night was fantastic.”
“I thought this morning was fantastic too,” he said, planting what sounded like one helluva kiss on her.
Huh. They must have been in another room this morning. I hadn’t heard a thing. I pressed my eye back to the peephole. Dirty pervert.
“Yes, it was. Call me soon?” she asked, leaning in for another kiss.
“Of course, I’ll call you when I’m back in town,” he promised, swatting her on her bottom as she giggled again and turned away.
It seemed she was on the short side. Bye-bye, Spanx. The angle was wrong for me to see this Simon, and he was back in his apartment before I could get any sort of sense of him. Interesting. So this girl does not live with him.
I hadn’t heard any “I love yous” when she left, but they did seem very comfortable. I chewed absently on my ponytail. They’d have to be, what with the spanking and all.
Pushing thoughts of spanking and Simon from my mind, I went back to my DVDs. Spanking Simon. What a great name for a band…I moved on to the Hs.
An hour later I was just placing Wizard of Oz after Willy Wonka when I heard a knock. There was scuffling in the hallway as I approached the door, and I stifled a grin.
“Don’t drop it, you idiot,” a sultry voice chided.
“Oh, shut up. Don’t be so damn bossy,” a second voice snapped back.
Rolling my eyes, I opened the door to find my two best friends, Sophia and Mimi, holding a large box. “No fighting, ladies. You’re both pretty.” I laughed, raising an eyebrow at them.
“Ha ha. Funny,” Mimi answered, staggering inside.
“What the hell is that? I can’t believe you guys carried it up four flights of stairs!” My girls did not do manual labor when they could get someone else to do it.
“Believe me, we waited outside in the cab for someone to walk by, but no luck. So we schlepped it ourselves. Happy housewarming!” Sophia said. They set it down, and Sophia fell into the easy chair by the fireplace.
“Yeah, quit moving so much. We’re tired of buying you stuff.” Mimi laughed, lying down on the couch and placing her arms over her face dramatically.
I poked at the box with my toe and asked, “So what is it? And I never said you had to buy me anything. The Jack LaLanne Juicer was not necessary last year, truly.”
“Don’t be ungrateful. Just open it,” Sophia instructed, pointing at the box with her middle finger, which she then turned upright and displayed in my general direction.
I sighed and sat on the floor in front of it. I knew it was from Williams Sonoma, as it had the telltale ribbon with the tiny pineapple tied to it. The box was heavy, whatever it was.
“Oh, no. What did you two do?” I asked, catching a wink from Mimi to Sophia. Pulling at the ribbon and opening the box, I was pleased as punch with what I found. “You guys, this is too much!”
“We know how much you miss your old one,” Mimi laughed, smiling at me.
Years before, I’d been given an old KitchenAid mixer from a great aunt who passed away. It was over forty years old, but still worked great. Those things were built to last, by God, and it had lasted until just a few months ago, when it finally bit it in a big way. It smoked and went wonky one afternoon while mixing a batch of zucchini bread, and as much as I hated to do it, I tossed it out.
Now as I stared into the box, a shiny, new, stainless steel KitchenAid stand mixer staring back at me, visions of cookies and pies began dancing in my head.
“You guys, it’s beautiful,” I breathed, gazing with delight at my new baby. I lifted it out gently to admire. Running my hands over it, splaying my fingers to feel the smooth lines, I delighted in the cold metal against my skin. I sighed gently and actually hugged it.
“Do you two want to be alone?” Sophia asked.
“No, it’s okay. I want you to be here to witness our love. Besides, this is the only mechanical instrument that will likely bring me any pleasure in the near future. Thanks, guys. It’s too expensive, but I really appreciate it,” I said.
Clive came over, sniffed the mixer, and promptly jumped into the empty box.
“Just promise to bring us yummy treats, and it’s all worth it, dear.” Mimi sat up, looking at me expectantly.
“What?” I asked warily.
“Caroline, can I please start on your drawers now?” she asked, stutter-stepping her way toward the bedroom.
“Can you start doing what to my drawers?” I answered, pulling my drawstring a little tighter around my waist.
“Your kitchen! I’m dying to start placing everything!” she exclaimed, running in place now.
“Oh, hell yes. Have at it! Merry Christmas, freakshow,” I called as Mimi ran triumphantly into the other room.
Mimi was a professional organizer. She’d driven us crazy when we were all at Berkley together—with her OCD tendencies and her insane attention to detail. One day Sophia suggested she become a professional organizer, and after graduation, she did just that. She now worked all over the Bay Area helping families get their shit together. The design firm I worked for sometimes had her consult, and she’d even appeared on a few HGTV shows filming in the city. The job suited her to perfection.
So I just let Mimi do her thing, knowing my stuff would be so perfectly arranged I’d be astounded. Sophia and I continued to putz in the living room, laughing over DVDs we’d watched throughout the years. We paused over each and every Brat Pack movie from the eighties, debating whether Bender ended up with Claire once they all went back to school on Monday. I voted no, and I further bet she never got that earring back…
Later that night, after my friends left, I settled on the couch in the living room with Clive to watch reruns of The Barefoot Contessa on the Food Network. While dreaming of the creations I’d be whipping up with my new mixer—and how one day I wanted a kitchen like Ina Garten’s—I heard footsteps on the landing outside my door, and two voices. I narrowed my eyes at Clive. Spanx must be back.
Springing from the couch, I pressed my eye against the peephole once more, trying to get a look at my neighbor. I missed him again, only seeing his back as he entered his apartment behind a very tall woman with long, brown hair.
Interesting. Two different women in as many days. Manwhore.
I saw the door swing shut and felt Clive curl around my legs, purring.
“No, you can’t go out there, silly boy,” I cooed, bending down and scooping him up. I rubbed his silky fur against my cheek, smiling as he lay back in my arms. Clive was the manwhore around here. He would lie down for
anyone who rubbed his belly.
Returning to the couch, I watched as Barefoot Contessa taught us all how to host a dinner party in the Hamptons with simple elegance—and a Hamptons-size bank account.
A few hours later, with the imprint of the couch cushion pressed firmly into my forehead, I made my way back to my bedroom to go to sleep. Mimi had organized my closet so efficiently that all I had left to do was to hang pictures and arrange a few odds and ends. I quite deliberately removed the pictures from the shelf above my bed. I was taking no chances tonight. I stood in the center of the room, listening for sounds from next door. All quiet on the western front. So far, so good. Maybe last night was a one-time thing.
As I got ready for bed, I looked at the framed pictures of my family and friends: my parents and I skiing in Tahoe; my girls and I at Coit Tower. Sophia loved to take pictures next to anything phallic. She played the cello with the San Francisco Orchestra, and even though she’d been around musical instruments all her life, she could never pass up a joke when she saw a flute. She was twisted.
All three of us were unattached at the moment, something rare. Usually at least one of us was dating someone, but since Sophia had broken up with her last boyfriend a few months ago, we’d all been in a dry spell. Luckily for my friends, their spell wasn’t quite as dry as mine. As far as I knew they were still on speaking terms with their Os.
I thought back with a shudder to the night when O and I had parted ways. I’d had a series of bad first dates and was so sexually frustrated that I allowed myself to go back to the apartment of a guy I had no intention of ever seeing again. Not that I was averse to the one-night stand. I’d made the walk of shame many a morning. But this guy? I should have known better. Cory Weinstein, blah blah blah. His family owned a chain of pizza parlors up and down the West Coast. Great on paper, right? Only on paper. He was nice enough, but boring. But I hadn’t been with a man in a while, and after several martinis and a pep talk in the car on the way, I relented and let Cory “have his way with me.”
Wallbanger Page 1