Last Call

by Alice Clayton

  Praise for Alice Clayton’s laugh-out-loud sexy Cocktail Series

  MAI TAI’D UP

  “Alice Clayton is a genius! Mai Tai’d Up is sexy, steamy, and totally hilarious! A must read that I didn’t want to end.”

  —New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Emma Chase

  SCREWDRIVERED

  “Cheers to Alice Clayton! Screwdrivered is a hilarious cocktail of crackling banter, heady sexual tension, and pop-your-cork love scenes. The heroine is brisk and lively (can we be friends, Viv?) and the hot librarian hero seduced me with his barely restrained sensuality. I’ve never wanted a nerd more.”

  —New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Kresley Cole

  RUSTY NAILED

  “We want to bask in the afterglow: giddy, blushing, and utterly in love with this book.”

  —New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Christina Lauren

  “Clayton’s trademark wit and general zaniness shine through in abundance as readers get an intimate view of the insecurities one faces while in a serious relationship. Steamy, playful sex scenes and incorrigible friends make this a wonderful continuation of Wallbanger and Nightie Girl’s journey to their happily ever after.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “For fun, sex, and strudel, make sure to spend some time with these wallbangers.”

  —Heroes and Heartbreakers

  “A great follow-up to Wallbanger . . . just as funny and HOT as the first!”

  —Schmexy Girl Book Blog

  “Humorous, sizzling hot, romantic, and not missing dramatics. If you weren’t a fan before, you certainly will be after reading Rusty Nailed.”

  —Love Between the Sheets

  “Excuse me, I need to catch my breath. Either from panting or cracking up. Because I was always doing one of the two while reading Rusty Nailed. Alice Clayton, you never disappoint.”

  —Book Bumblings

  “Simon and Caroline are as adorable, funny, and sexy as ever.”

  —The Rock Stars of Romance

  “Witty dialogue, a quirky and lovable cast, and a whirlwind of a romance. . . .”

  —Peace Love Books

  “A great summer read, fantastic for lazing about and having fun with.”

  —Under the Covers Book Blog

  “A story that is sure to please.”

  —The Reading Café

  “I fell in wholehearted book-love! Fantastic voice, amazing characters!”

  —Teacups and Book Love

  “An entertaining romantic story overflowing with hilarity, passion, and emotion.”

  —Sensual Reads

  WALLBANGER

  “Sultry, seXXXy, super-awesome . . . we LOVE it!”

  —Perez Hilton

  “An instant classic, with plenty of laugh-out-loud moments and riveting characters.”

  —Jennifer Probst, New York Times bestselling author of Searching for Perfect

  “Fun and frothy, with a bawdy undercurrent and a hero guaranteed to make your knees wobbly. . . . The perfect blend of sex, romance, and baked goods.”

  —Ruthie Knox, bestselling 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.”

  —Humor blogger Brittany Gibbons

  “From the brilliantly fun characters to the hilarious, sexy, heartwarming storyline, Wallbanger is one that shouldn’t be missed. I laughed. I sighed. Mostly, I grinned like an idiot.”

  —Tangled Up in Books

  “Finally a woman who knows her way around a man and a KitchenAid Mixer. She had us at zucchini bread!”

  —Curvy Girl Guide

  “A funny, madcap, smexy romantic contemporary. . . . Fast pacing and a smooth-flowing storyline will keep you in stitches. . . .”

  —Smexy Books

  And for her acclaimed Redhead series

  “Zany and smoking-hot romance [that] will keep readers in stitches. . . .”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “I adore Grace and Jack. They have such amazing chemistry. The love that flows between them scorches the pages.”

  —Smexy Books

  “Steamy romance, witty characters, and a barrel full of laughs. . . .”

  —The Book Vixen

  “Laugh-out-loud funny.”

  —Smokin Hot Books

  Thank you for downloading this Gallery Books eBook.

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  This book is dedicated to Edward Cullen.

  Because . . . Edward Cullen.

  acknowledgments

  The story of Simon and Caroline began somewhere back in 2009. I was a part of this wonderful community of writers and readers and reviewers and all around crazy-town sillies called Twilight Fan Fiction. Some of you readers have been around since then; some came on board well after I had left that particular station. I mention it here because, as I sit at my desk putting the finishing touches on Last Call, I know in my heart that it was this very community that put me on the path I’m on today.

  I was asked in an interview once which book changed my life. Remember that Friends episode when the girls were against the boys in a contest to prove who knew whom best? The question was “What does Rachel say is her favorite movie?” The answer given, “Dangerous Liaisons.” A follow-up question: “What is her actual favorite movie?” “Weekend at Bernie’s.”

  So, Alice Clayton. Which book changed your life? Officially, I felt as though I should answer something very meaningful and smartypants. Something that would illuminate my inner spirit and show me to be some kind of incredibly enlightened literati. But the truth is, Twilight is a great fucking book. And it really did change my life. If the question had been “What’s your favorite book?” it would be The Stand by Stephen King. Love it. Reread it every single year. But it didn’t change my life, and Twilight, oddly enough, did.

  When I found this fan-fiction community, it let me get my fix of Edward, sure. But it also opened my eyes to the idea that I might be able to tell a story. Build my own world, tell some silly tales, indulge my inner dirty birdie. And I had a blast doing it. I met people who have become my very best friends. But what it really did, in a much broader context, was allow me to tap into a creative side of my brain that had been silenced for years. It encouraged me to let my silly out, let my crazy flow, and let me rediscover Insane Alice. And it’s been the best time of my entire life.

  Wallbanger has been translated and published in countries around the world. I’m headed overseas in a few weeks, and I’m lucky enough to be signing books in Prague, people—in F’ING PRAGUE! A city I have been dreaming of visiting since I can remember. And I’ve just started work on a brand-new series, more of that silly/steamy, funny/smexy stuff that I just can’t get out of my head. Stay tuned, chickens; we’re going to some new naked places. And I can’t wait.

  So now I sit, tying up the last little bit of this story, one that began so long ago in chat rooms and blinkie banners. And I’m a little sad. I’m a lot grateful. And I’m intensely excited for the next chapter of this extraordinary life I’m now living.

  And it all started with a teenage girl in a hoodie and a 107-year-old virgin vampire.

  Thanks.

  Alice

  xoxo

  prologue

  A starry night.

  A lady in white.

  A shoe full of fright.

 
This is the beginning of the end of this love story. Where girls are beautiful and boys are handsome and cats are rock stars. Where friendships endure and relationships mature. Skirts are flippy and emotions are trippy and everyone gets a happy ending . . . don’t they?

  Zoom in on happy couples. Zoom in on love everlasting. Zoom in on a chapel.

  This is the way the story ends.

  This is the way the story ends.

  This is the way the story ends.

  Not with a whimper, but with a bang.

  chapter one

  “This is bad. This is so bad.”

  “It’s okay, we can . . . wow, it really got everywhere, didn’t it?” I said.

  “This is bad. This is so bad,” Sophia repeated.

  “Just get me some paper towels, I can try and wash this off . . . Christ, that’s disgusting.”

  “This is bad. This is so bad.”

  I stomped my feet in protest. “Will you stop saying that? We have to fix this before—shit.”

  Mimi had just arrived.

  “What the hell is on my wedding dress?”

  The fastest way to get demoted from bridesmaid to dishonored guest is to vomit on the bride’s wedding gown. But if you do ever vomit on a wedding gown, make sure the bride is the perfect mix of anal-retentive, hyper planner, and fairy-tale whimsical.

  Mimi was a type A personality with a side of Disney. Which meant she couldn’t decide on one wedding gown, so she had two. Custom made. One for the ceremony, one for the reception. So when one was defiled by semidigested corn flakes, and I mean defiled, she went into crisis-averting mode and immediately pronounced herself a genius for having the foresight to purchase two gowns. Reception gown became main event gown, and all was peaceful in the land of tulle and lace.

  Until we realized that there were also semidigested corn flakes splattered across her Jimmy Choo bridal shoes. And maybe a flake or two inside as well . . .

  In the end, it was Sophia’s belly that saved her from being banished from the church. I held Mimi back, but barely. She was strong for only being ninety-eight pounds.

  “You ruined my Choos!”

  “I didn’t mean to! You know I can’t help it. I’m like a fountain anymore, it just comes spewing out. I’m too hot, I throw up. I’m too cold, I throw up. I get a whiff of perfume—which smells lovely by the way, great choice—I throw up. You should see how many ties of Neil’s I’ve ruined. It’s disgusting.” She clutched her rounded belly. “But I’m pregnant. You wouldn’t hold the miracle of life against me now, would you?”

  “Oh boy,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. Sophia made the most stunning pregnant woman ever created. We were all in agreement on this. Her skin glowed, her hair was luxurious, her eyes sparkled, and her tits were even more fantastic. Stunning. Except for five or six times a day when her skin would turn green, her forehead would speckle with perspiration, and she’d projectile vomit the entire contents of her stomach everywhere if she couldn’t make it to a bathroom in time. Or a garbage can. Or a potted plant. Or the gutter outside her apartment—I was present for that one. But within moments, she’d return to her perfect, shining example of premotherhood, complete with delicate hands placed gently on her bump of baby. Left hand arranged over right, not an accident. She took every opportunity to show off her new engagement ring. As well she should; it was incredible. Rumor has it Neil needed a crane to lift it and get it on her finger . . .

  She had currently assumed this defensive position, complete with wide eyes and innocent expression, and blingy bling, as I wrestled with the bride, who was envisioning her carefully orchestrated wedding crashing down around her ears. Which were flaming red; she was really steamed.

  “Backup dress, I have. Backup Choos? I don’t! What the hell am I going to wear on my feet?”

  “Can we clean them?” I asked, tugging her back as she lunged once more at Sophia. Who was currently auditioning to play the part of Mary, before they got to the inn.

  “They’re not going to be clean in time! Besides, I’m not walking around on my wedding day with feet that smell like stomach lining!” Mimi cried.

  “Okay, now I’m getting a little nauseous. Can we stop all the vomit talk?” I asked, swallowing thickly. “You can wear my shoes; I’ll go barefoot.”

  “You have giant Anglo feet! I’d be flopping around like a clown all day in those gunboats!” Mimi shouted.

  By the way? I only wear a size seven.

  “I can’t wear anyone else’s shoes unless you can find someone with size-five feet and exquisite taste in twenty minutes!” Her lower lip started to tremble.

  I looked frantically at Sophia, who I knew already felt terrible about what she’d done. As I was mentally calculating how fast I could get to the closest high-end department store, there was a knock on the door.

  “Mimi?” Ryan’s voice. “Mimi, you in there?”

  “Ryan? Ryan, you can’t be here, you can’t see me!” Mimi freed herself from my arms and ran to hide behind the door, clad only in white satin panties, a white lace corset, and a blue ribboned garter. Had I forgotten to mention that? “Seriously, it’s bad luck to see the bride before the—”

  “Hush, you silly girl. I’d never mess with tradition like that,” he soothed. “I just wanted to tell you something—you know, before the whole walk-down-the-aisle thing.”

  “Oh?” she asked, leaning against the door.

  “Yeah. I just wanted to say . . . well, I’m so lucky. I’m the luckiest guy I know, getting to marry the girl of my dreams.”

  “Oh,” she whispered, pressing her hand against the wood.

  “Ohhh,” Sophia and I mouthed to each other, linking arms and listening.

  “And I can’t wait to marry you—like, I literally can’t wait. I know it’s happening in an hour, but it’s too long, you know?”

  “I know,” she sighed, and relaxed against the door. Gown? Forgotten. Choos? Forgotten. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you too, sweet girl,” he whispered, and Sophia and I sighed together. “I also can’t wait for our honeymoon. I’m going to throw you down on that bed and peel that dress off of you as fast as I can. I can’t wait to fuck my wife.”

  “Uh, sweetie? The girls are in here.”

  “Shit.”

  “Hi, Ryan,” Sophia and I said, once more in unison.

  “Shit,” he said again.

  “But, wow, does that sound good,” Mimi said softly.

  Ryan chuckled on the other side of the door. “Okay, I’ll let you get back to your bride stuff. I just, wanted to tell you that.”

  “See you in there,” Mimi smiled, and we could hear him walking away. She turned back to us, her eyes bright. “I’m going to marry that man barefoot. Because who the hell cares.”

  She ran at us, a tiny, happy torpedo, and hugged us both tight. And just like that, Sophia was back in the wedding party.

  Crisis averted, the wedding went off without a hitch. No more vomit, lots of laughter, and lots of tears. And one pair of perfectly pedicured feet dancing down the aisle toward the groom. Mimi’s gown was tea length, sculptured satin crafted on a 1950s pattern. The fact that she was barefoot? Charming. Her smile? Evident from outer space. Matched only by the one on her husband-to-be’s face as he watched her approach.

  The ceremony was brief by Roman Catholic standards, and beautiful. And speaking of beautiful . . .

  I would never get tired of looking at Simon Parker in a tuxedo. Especially at the end of an aisle. Not going to lie, it gave me thoughts. Especially when during the ceremony he caught my eye more than once. Sometimes we simply grinned, enjoying the moment with our friends. Sometimes he looked thoughtful, as weddings tend to make everyone think about the future and the past. And once, those sapphire eyes burned into mine, hinting at what he’d rather be doing than standing at an altar. And what he’d rather be doing was me.

  In case that was in any way unclear.

  As the happy couple made their way down the aisle to appl
ause and well-wishers, Neil followed with his very pregnant girlfriend, Sophia. Then Simon stepped down the few altar steps, slipped my hand into his arm, and walked me down the aisle as well. “Beautiful.”

  “It was a beautiful ceremony.”

  “Wasn’t talking about the ceremony,” he whispered, his gaze dropping down my body, down past the russet silk, the palest tea-colored shantung, the perfectly dyed peep-toe pumps, and back up again to settle on my cleavage. Amply displayed. Mimi liked a low-cut dress on her ladies in waiting.

  “That’s very sweet.”

  “Those are very sweet,” he murmured, still gazing at the girls.

  “Eyes up here, Mr. Parker,” I instructed, squeezing his forearm. And as I did, I was reminded once more of the innate strength of this man—my man. Long and lean, tall and impossibly good looking with his dark hair and his blue eyes, and his powerful hands holding me steady as he thrust into me from . . . wait. What?

  “Where’d you just go?” he asked, his eyes curious.

  “Someplace naughty,” I teased, a blush warming my cheeks.

  Sweeping a piece of my blond hair back behind my ear, he leaned closer and dropped a kiss on my neck, just below my ear.

  “I knew I should have changed your name from Nightie Girl to Naughty Girl.”

  “Quiet, Wallbanger; we’ve got a receiving line to get through. Then pictures. Then cocktail hour. Then dinner. Then dancing. We’ll be lucky to have any naughty times before tomorrow.”

  “Quickie in the coatroom?”

  “Nope, that concept was ruined for me by those two.” I laughed, pointing at Sophia and Neil.

  His hand was firmly on Sophia’s bottom, church be damned. Since announcing their pregnancy a few months ago, Sophia had put on about thirty pounds, and they all went to her boobs and her butt. Neil could literally not get enough.

  “Doggie style. All day. All night. That’s all he wants. He can’t stop looking at it, touching it, kissing it, rubbing it. It’s like I’m just one giant ass, there for his enjoyment,” Sophia had told Mimi and me one day at lunch, to the immense pleasure of our waiter, who was hovering extremely close that day. My water glass never dipped below two-thirds full.