Wallbanger
Page 37
I looked at the blue-eyed devil and launched myself across the room, away from the brain-scrambling voodoo. I saw his face as I ran, and he looked a little disappointed.
“Girl, what are you up to tonight?” Mimi screeched into the phone. I held it away from my ear before the bleeding started. Mimi had three sound levels: Normal Loud, Excited Loud, and Drunky Loud. She was leaving Excited and on her way to Drunky.
“I’m getting ready to have dinner. Where are you?” I asked, nodding at Simon who had started pouring the apples into the pie dish.
“I’m out for drinks with Sophia. What are you doing?” she screamed.
“I just told you, getting ready to have dinner!” I laughed.
Simon came out into the living room with the pie in his hands. “Should I put this in the oven?” he asked.
“Hang on, Mimi. Not yet, I still need to brush it with a little cream,” I told him, and he ducked back into the kitchen.
“Caroline Reynolds, that was a man! Who was that? Who are you having dinner with? And what are you brushing with cream?” she fired at me, her voice growing even louder.
“Settle down. My goodness, you’re loud! I’m having dinner with Simon, and we’re making an apple pie,” I explained, which she immediately screamed out to Sophia.
“Shit,” I muttered as I heard the phone yanked away from Mimi.
“Reynolds, what are you doing? Are you baking pies with your neighbor? Are you naked?” Sophia yelled, taking her turn to grill me.
“Okay, no, and you all need to seriously settle down. Hanging up now,” I yelled over her yelling at me. I could hear Mimi squealing nasty things about pies and cream. Sophia was in the middle of threatening me not to hang up on her, when I did just that.
I sighed and went to find Simon, with his hands full of pie. I snorted in spite of myself.
“Oh, my God, that’s so good,” I whimpered, closing my eyes and losing myself to the sensations.
“I knew you’d like it, but I had no idea you’d enjoy it this much,” he whispered, staring at me with rapt attention.
“Stop talking, you’re going to ruin it for me,” I moaned, stretching and feeling myself respond to everything he was giving me.
“Did you want another one?” he offered, raising up on his elbows.
“If I have another, I won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”
“Go ahead, be a bad girl—you deserve it. I know you want it, Caroline,” he teased, leaning closer.
“Okay,” I managed, opening up to him once again. I closed my eyes and heard him fumbling about before putting it in. Sighing as I felt it, I closed my lips around what he offered.
“I’ve never seen a woman who could take so much in one sitting,” he marveled, watching me come undone once more.
“Yes, well, you’ve never met a woman who likes meatballs as much as me,” I moaned around another mouthful, feeling stuffed beyond belief but not wanting the meal to end.
Simon had just cooked me quite possibly the most perfect meal ever, hitting every single taste bud that needed to be hit. He’d learned how to make the most amazing meatballs from a woman in Naples, and he’d sworn they’d be the best I’d ever had. After no less than seven jokes about balls and mouths, I had to agree they were the best balls I had ever had in my mouth.
God, he gave great meatball.
I then proceeded to eat almost a pound of pasta myself, as well as all of my meatballs, plus half of his. I insisted he eat the last one, but he refused and brought the perfection that was his meatball to my willing mouth.
Simon was a great host, insisting that I sit, drink wine, and watch rather than help. He entertained me with stories about his travels as he got everything ready, and while the food was simple, it was good. “Nonni made me promise if she showed me how to make her polpette I would only serve them with her special sauce. If I dared serve these with a jar of Prego, she would cross the ocean to break her wooden spoon against my backside.”
“She made you call her Nonni?” I laughed, leaning back in my chair and unbuttoning the top button on my jeans. I had no shame. I’d eaten an obscene amount.
“You know what Nonni means?” he asked, surprised.
“I had an Italian great-grandmother. She insisted everyone call her Nonni.” I laughed again when his eyes went to my hands massaging my stomach.
“You gonna be okay there?” He raised his eyebrows as he got up to clear.
“Yep, just need to breathe a little.” I groaned, pulling myself up from the table.
“No, no, you don’t have to help,” he said, rushing to my side and grabbing my plate.
“Oh, no, I wasn’t. I was gonna drop this off and pass out on that couch right there,” I said, nodding toward the living room.
“You go relax. Anyone who just had that many balls in their mouth deserves a rest,” he teased, and I flicked his ear.
“I said no more ball jokes! You’ve had your fun, now let me go die in peace.” I shuffled into the living room. I really had made quite a little piggy of myself, but it was seriously good. I reclined and popped open another button on my jeans, relaxing into the cushions and replaying some of the finer points of the evening.
Watching Simon cook was, in a word, hot. He was really at home in a kitchen, his earlier fussing about with the pie aside. Even his salad—simple greens dressed lightly with lemon and olive oil, salt, pepper, and good Parmesan—was easy and perfect.
“Pink Himalayan salt, thank you very much,” he’d said proudly, producing a bag from his pantry. He’d brought it back from one of his many trips and had me taste a little before sprinkling it on the salad. Could have been pretentious, but it fit Simon. The many facets of this guy were astounding. My earliest assumptions about him were proving to be completely wrong. As assumptions tend to be…
I could hear him tending to the dishes, and as much as I probably should have gone to help him, I simply couldn’t remove myself from the couch. I snuggled on my side and looked around his living room again, my eyes drawn back to the tiny bottles of sand from all over the world. I marveled at how traveled he was, and how he seemed to enjoy it still. I gazed at the pictures of the woman in Bora Bora—her dark, beautiful skin and the smooth planes of her body—and thought about how different the three of the women in his harem were. Oops, make that two now that Katie/Spanx was with her new man.
Suddenly I could smell the apple pie and heard the oven door clank shut. I’d put it in his oven as soon as we came over so it would be ready after dinner.
“Girl, what are you up to tonight?” Mimi screeched into the phone. I held it away from my ear before the bleeding started. Mimi had three sound levels: Normal Loud, Excited Loud, and Drunky Loud. She was leaving Excited and on her way to Drunky.
“I’m getting ready to have dinner. Where are you?” I asked, nodding at Simon who had started pouring the apples into the pie dish.
“I’m out for drinks with Sophia. What are you doing?” she screamed.
“I just told you, getting ready to have dinner!” I laughed.
Simon came out into the living room with the pie in his hands. “Should I put this in the oven?” he asked.
“Hang on, Mimi. Not yet, I still need to brush it with a little cream,” I told him, and he ducked back into the kitchen.
“Caroline Reynolds, that was a man! Who was that? Who are you having dinner with? And what are you brushing with cream?” she fired at me, her voice growing even louder.
“Settle down. My goodness, you’re loud! I’m having dinner with Simon, and we’re making an apple pie,” I explained, which she immediately screamed out to Sophia.
“Shit,” I muttered as I heard the phone yanked away from Mimi.
“Reynolds, what are you doing? Are you baking pies with your neighbor? Are you naked?” Sophia yelled, taking her turn to grill me.
“Okay, no, and you all need to seriously settle down. Hanging up now,” I yelled over her yelling at me. I could hear Mimi squealing nasty things about pies and cream. Sophia was in the middle of threatening me not to hang up on her, when I did just that.
I sighed and went to find Simon, with his hands full of pie. I snorted in spite of myself.
“Oh, my God, that’s so good,” I whimpered, closing my eyes and losing myself to the sensations.
“I knew you’d like it, but I had no idea you’d enjoy it this much,” he whispered, staring at me with rapt attention.
“Stop talking, you’re going to ruin it for me,” I moaned, stretching and feeling myself respond to everything he was giving me.
“Did you want another one?” he offered, raising up on his elbows.
“If I have another, I won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”
“Go ahead, be a bad girl—you deserve it. I know you want it, Caroline,” he teased, leaning closer.
“Okay,” I managed, opening up to him once again. I closed my eyes and heard him fumbling about before putting it in. Sighing as I felt it, I closed my lips around what he offered.
“I’ve never seen a woman who could take so much in one sitting,” he marveled, watching me come undone once more.
“Yes, well, you’ve never met a woman who likes meatballs as much as me,” I moaned around another mouthful, feeling stuffed beyond belief but not wanting the meal to end.
Simon had just cooked me quite possibly the most perfect meal ever, hitting every single taste bud that needed to be hit. He’d learned how to make the most amazing meatballs from a woman in Naples, and he’d sworn they’d be the best I’d ever had. After no less than seven jokes about balls and mouths, I had to agree they were the best balls I had ever had in my mouth.
God, he gave great meatball.
I then proceeded to eat almost a pound of pasta myself, as well as all of my meatballs, plus half of his. I insisted he eat the last one, but he refused and brought the perfection that was his meatball to my willing mouth.
Simon was a great host, insisting that I sit, drink wine, and watch rather than help. He entertained me with stories about his travels as he got everything ready, and while the food was simple, it was good. “Nonni made me promise if she showed me how to make her polpette I would only serve them with her special sauce. If I dared serve these with a jar of Prego, she would cross the ocean to break her wooden spoon against my backside.”
“She made you call her Nonni?” I laughed, leaning back in my chair and unbuttoning the top button on my jeans. I had no shame. I’d eaten an obscene amount.
“You know what Nonni means?” he asked, surprised.
“I had an Italian great-grandmother. She insisted everyone call her Nonni.” I laughed again when his eyes went to my hands massaging my stomach.
“You gonna be okay there?” He raised his eyebrows as he got up to clear.
“Yep, just need to breathe a little.” I groaned, pulling myself up from the table.
“No, no, you don’t have to help,” he said, rushing to my side and grabbing my plate.
“Oh, no, I wasn’t. I was gonna drop this off and pass out on that couch right there,” I said, nodding toward the living room.
“You go relax. Anyone who just had that many balls in their mouth deserves a rest,” he teased, and I flicked his ear.
“I said no more ball jokes! You’ve had your fun, now let me go die in peace.” I shuffled into the living room. I really had made quite a little piggy of myself, but it was seriously good. I reclined and popped open another button on my jeans, relaxing into the cushions and replaying some of the finer points of the evening.
Watching Simon cook was, in a word, hot. He was really at home in a kitchen, his earlier fussing about with the pie aside. Even his salad—simple greens dressed lightly with lemon and olive oil, salt, pepper, and good Parmesan—was easy and perfect.
“Pink Himalayan salt, thank you very much,” he’d said proudly, producing a bag from his pantry. He’d brought it back from one of his many trips and had me taste a little before sprinkling it on the salad. Could have been pretentious, but it fit Simon. The many facets of this guy were astounding. My earliest assumptions about him were proving to be completely wrong. As assumptions tend to be…
I could hear him tending to the dishes, and as much as I probably should have gone to help him, I simply couldn’t remove myself from the couch. I snuggled on my side and looked around his living room again, my eyes drawn back to the tiny bottles of sand from all over the world. I marveled at how traveled he was, and how he seemed to enjoy it still. I gazed at the pictures of the woman in Bora Bora—her dark, beautiful skin and the smooth planes of her body—and thought about how different the three of the women in his harem were. Oops, make that two now that Katie/Spanx was with her new man.
Suddenly I could smell the apple pie and heard the oven door clank shut. I’d put it in his oven as soon as we came over so it would be ready after dinner.
