Wallbanger(15)

“Caroline, if you pul out a bottle of scotch, I’m going to have to consult human resources,” she warned, a grin twitching.

“First of al , you are human resources. And second of al , like I would keep scotch in my office! Obviously that’s in a flask lashed to my thigh.” I

giggled, producing a Blow Pop.

“Nice. Watermelon even. My favorite,” she said as we unwrapped and began to suck.

“So, tel me al about it,” I prompted.

I’d been consulting a little with Jil ian as she chose the final touches on the house she and Benjamin had been renovating, and I knew it was just

the kind of house I’d been dreaming of for years. Like Jil ian, it would be warm, inviting, elegant, and fil ed with light.

We talked shop for a while, and then she let me get back to work.

“By the way, housewarming next weekend. You and your posse are invited,” she said on her way out the door.

“Did you just say posse?” I asked.

“I might have. You in?”



“Sounds great. Can we bring anything, and can we stare at your fiancé?”

“Don’t you dare, and I would expect nothing less,” she fired back.

I smiled as I went back to work. Party in Sausalito? Sounded promising.

“You don’t seriously have a crush on him do you? I mean, how many dreams have you had about him?” Mimi asked, sucking on her straw.

“A crush? No, he’s an asshole! Why would I—”

“Of course she doesn’t. Who knows where that dick has been? Caroline would never,” Sophia answered for me, tossing her hair over her

shoulder and stunning stupid a table of businessmen who’d been staring since she walked in. We’d met for lunch at our favorite little bistro in North

Beach.

Mimi settled back into her chair and giggled, kicking me under the table.

“Piss off, pipsqueak.” I stared hard at her, blushing furiously.

“Yeah, piss off, pipsqueak! Caroline knows better than to…” Sophia laughed then trailed off, final y taking off her sunglasses and switching her

gaze to me.

The cel ist and the pipsqueak watched me fidget. One smiled and the other swore.

“Ah, jeez, Caroline, do not tel me you are crushing on that guy? Oh no, you are, aren’t you?” Sophia huffed as the waiter set down a bottle of

Pel egrino. He stared at her as she ran her fingers through her hair, and she waved him away with a careful y aimed wink. She knew how men

looked at her, and it was fun to watch her make them squirm.

Mimi was different. She was so tiny and cute that initial y men were drawn in by her innate charm. Then they real y got a look at her and realized

she was lovely. Something about her made men want to take care of her and protect her—until they got her to the bedroom. Or so I’d been told.

Crazytown that one was…

I’d been told I was pretty, and on some days I believed it. On a good day I knew I could work it. I never felt as hot as Sophia or as perfectly

pul ed together as Mimi, but I cleaned up good. I knew when the three of us went out we could real y work a scene, and until recently we’d used this

to our advantage.

We each had very distinct types, which was good. We rarely went for the same guy.

Sophia was very particular. She liked her men long, lean, and pretty. She liked them not too tal , but tal er than her. She wanted her men polite

and smart, and preferably with blond hair. It was her true weakness. She also was a sucker for a southern accent. Seriously, if a guy cal ed her

“sugar,” she’d wet herself. I had firsthand knowledge of this because I’d messed with her one night when she was wasted using my best Oklahoma

accent. I had to fight her off the rest of the evening. She claimed it was col ege, and she wanted to experiment.

Mimi, on the other hand, was particular, but not with a specific look. She went for overal size. She liked her men big, huge, tal , and strong. She

loved when they had to pick her up to kiss her, or stand her on a stool so they didn’t get neck cramps. She liked her men a little on the sarcastic

side and hated condescending. Because she was smal , she had a tendency to draw types that wanted to “protect.” But girlfriend had been taking

karate since she was a kid, and she needed no one’s protection. She was a badass in a retro skirt.

I was harder to pin down, but I knew him when I saw him. Like the Supreme Court and pornography, I was aware. I did have a tendency toward

outdoorsy guys—lifeguards, scuba divers, rock climbers. I liked them clean cut, but a little shaggy, gentlemanly with a touch of bad boy, and making

enough money that I didn’t have to play mommy. I’d spent a summer with a hotter-than-hel surfer who couldn’t afford his own peanut butter. Even