Wallbanger(5)

I pul ed myself together because I could now hear Simon moaning. His voice was low and thick, and while the woman and Clive continued to

cal to each other, I listened solely to him. He groaned, and the wal banging began. He was bringing it home.

The woman meowed louder and louder as she undoubtedly climbed toward her climax. Her meows turned into nonsensical screaming, and

she final y yel ed out, “Da! Da! Da!”

Ah. She was Russian. For the love of St. Petersburg.

One last thump, one last groan—and one last meow. Then al was blessedly silent. Except for Clive. He continued to pine for his lost love until

four mother-loving a.m.

The cold war was back on…





Chapter Three


BY THE TIME CLIVE final y settled down and stopped his cat screaming, I was thoroughly exhausted and wide awake. I had to get up in one more hour

anyway, and I realized I’d already gotten whatever sleep I was going to get. I might as wel get up and make some breakfast.

“Stupid meower,” I said, addressing the wal behind my head, and I padded out into the living room. After switching on the TV, I turned on the

coffee maker and studied the pre-dawn light just starting to peek in my windows. Clive curled around my legs, and I rol ed my eyes at him.

“Oh, now you want some love from me, huh? After abandoning me for Purina last night? What a jerk you are, Clive,” I muttered, stretching out

my foot and rubbing him with my heel.

He flopped onto the ground and posed for me. He knew I couldn’t resist when he posed. I laughed a little and kneeled next to him. “Yeah, yeah,

I know. You love me now because I’m the one that keeps you in vittles.” I sighed, scratching his bel y.

I headed back into the kitchen, Clive at my heels, and poured some food into a bowl. Now that he had what he needed, I was quickly forgotten.

As I headed for the shower, I heard movement in the hal way. Like the Peeping Caroline I was quickly becoming, I pressed my eye to the peephole

to see what was happening with Simon and Purina.

He stood just inside his doorway—far enough inside that I couldn’t see his face. Purina stood in the hal , and I could see his hand running

through her long hair. I could practical y hear her purring through the goddamned door.

“Mmm, Simon, last night was…mmmm,” she purred, leaning into his hand, which was now pressed against her cheek.

“I agree. A fine way to describe the evening and this morning,” he said quietly as they both chuckled.

Nice. Another twofer.

“Cal me when you’re back in town?” she asked as he swept her hair back from her face. Her freshly done face. I miss that face.

“Oh, you can count on that,” he answered, and then pul ed her back into the doorway for what I can only assume was a kiss that kil ed. Her foot

came up like she was posing. I started to rol my eyes, but that hurt. The right one was pressed so firmly against the peephole, you see.

“Do svidaniya,” she whispered in that exotic accent. It sounded much nicer now that she wasn’t caterwauling like a kitten in heat.

“See ya,” he laughed, and with that, she graceful y walked away.

I strained to see him before he went back inside, but nope. Missed him again. I had to admit, after the spanking and the meowing, I was dying

to see what he looked like. There was some serious sexual prowess going on next door. I just didn’t see why it had to affect my sleep habits. I pried

myself away from the door and made for the shower. Under the water, I pondered what in the world might be required to make a woman meow.

As seven thirty rol ed around, I hopped a cable car and reviewed the day ahead of me. I was meeting a new client, finishing up some details on

a project I’d just completed, and having lunch with my boss. I smiled when I thought about Jil ian.

Jil ian Sinclair headed her own design firm, where I’d had the good fortune to intern during my last year at Berkley. In her late thirties, but

looking in her late twenties, she’d made a name for herself in the design community early in her career. She chal enged convention, was one of the

first to sweep “shabby chic” off the map, and had been an early trendsetter in bringing back the quiet neutrals and geometric prints of the “modern”

look that was al the rage now. She hired me after my internship was over, and she’d provided the best experience a young designer could ask for.

She was chal enging, discerning, had a kil er instinct and an even more kil er eye for detail. But the best part about working for her? She was fun.

As I jumped off the cable car, I caught sight of my “office.” Jil ian Designs was in Russian Hil , a beautiful part of town: fairy tale mansions, quiet

streets, and a fantastic view from the tal er peaks. Some of the larger old homes had been converted to commercial space, and our building was