I struggled to sit up. I was covered in sweat and panting. I was actually panting. I found the sheets in a ball at the foot of the bed with Clive buried underneath, just his nose peeking out.

“Oh, Clive, are you hiding?”

“Meow,” came the angry reply, and a tiny face followed the kitty nose.

“You can come out, silly. Mommy’s done screaming. I think.” I chuckled, running a hand through my damp hair.

I had charmingly sweated through my pjs, so I got up to stand over the A/C vent, cooling off and beginning to calm down. “That was close, huh, O?” I grimaced, pressing my legs together and feeling a not-unpleasant ache between my thighs.

Ever since the night Simon and I “met” in the hallway, I couldn’t stop dreaming about him. I didn’t want to, really didn’t want to, but my unconscious mind had taken over and was having her way with him. Nocturnally. My body and brain were separate on this one: Brain knew better, Lower Caroline was not so sure…

Clive pushed past me and ran into the kitchen to do his little dance next to his bowl.

“Yah yah yah, settle down,” I croaked as he threaded himself in and out of my ankles. I dumped a scoop of kibble in his bowl and hit the coffee. I settled against the counter and tried to collect myself. I was still breathing a little hard.

That dream had been…well, it had been intense. I thought again of his body perched over mine, a bead of sweat rolling off his nose and dropping onto my chest. He’d lowered himself and dragged his tongue up my stomach, toward my br**sts, and then…

Ping! Ping!

Mr. Coffee brought me back from my saucy thoughts, and I was grateful. I could feel myself getting worked up again. Is this going to be a problem?

I poured a cup of coffee, peeled a banana, and looked out the window. I ignored my compulsion to massage the banana and thrust it into my mouth. Oh, sweet Christ, the thrusting! This was headed south fast. And by south I mean…

I slapped myself in the face and forced my mind to think of something besides the manwhore I was currently sharing a wall with. Inane things. Innocuous things.

Puppy dogs…doggy style.

Ice cream cones…licking his cone and two scoops.

Children’s games…damn, did I want to do whatever Simon Says…Okay, enough! Now you aren’t even trying.

While showering I sang “The Star Spangled Banner” over and over again to keep my hands from doing anything other than washing up. I needed to remember what an ass**le he was—not how he looked in only a sheet and a grin. I closed my eyes and leaned into the spray, remembering that night again. Once I’d stopped staring at his, well, his below the sheet, I’d opened my mouth to speak:

“Now look here, mister, do you have any idea how loud you are? I need my sleep! If I have to listen to one more night, one more minute, in fact, of you and your harem banging away on my wall, I’ll go insane!”

I yelled to release all the tension that would have, could have, should have been released already in a very Clooney way.

“Just settle down. It can’t be that bad. These walls are pretty thick.” He grinned, pumping his fist against the doorframe and trying to unleash a little charm. He was clearly used to getting what he wanted. With abs like that, I could see why.

I shook my head to impart focus. “Are you out of your mind? The walls are not nearly as thick as your head. I can hear everything! Every spank, every meow, every giggle, and I have had it! This shit ends now!” I screeched, feeling my face burn with fury. I’d even used air quotes to emphasize the spank, meow, and giggle.

As I spoke of his harem, he began to downshift from charm to chastise. “Hey, that’s about enough!” he shot back. “What I do in my home is my business. I’m sorry if I disturbed you, but you can’t just come over here in the middle of the night and dictate what I can and can’t do! You don’t see me coming across the hall and banging on your door.”

“No, you just bang on my damn wall. We share a bedroom wall. You’re right up against me when I’m trying to sleep. Have some common courtesy.”

“Well, how come you can hear me and I can’t hear you? Wait, wait, there’s no one banging on your walls, is there?”

He smirked, and I felt the color drain from my face. I crossed my arms tightly across my chest, and as I looked down, I remembered what I was wearing.

Pink baby doll nightie. What a way to establish credibility.

As I fumed, his eyes drifted down my body, unabashedly taking in the pink and the lace and the way my hip jutted out as I tapped my foot angrily.

His eyes finally came back up, and he met my stare, not backing down. Then with a twinkle in those baby blues, he winked at me.

I saw red. “Oooohhh!” I’d screamed and slammed back into my apartment.

Mortified now, I let the water wash away my frustration. I hadn’t seen him since, but what if I did? I thumped my head against the tiles.

When I opened the front door forty-five minutes later, I tossed a goodbye to Clive over my shoulder and prayed silently that there’d be no random harem girls in the hallway. All clear.

I pushed my sunglasses on as I walked out the door of the building, barely noticing the Range Rover. And by barely, I mean I barely noticed that rover rhymed with over, as in bend me over the chair in my family room and—

Caroline!

I might have a problem here.

Later that afternoon Jillian stuck her head inside my office. “Knock, knock,” she said, smiling.

“Hey! What’s going on?” I leaned back in my chair.

“Ask me about the house in Sausalito.”

“Hey, Jillian, how’s the house in Sausalito?” I asked, rolling my eyes.

“Done,” she whispered and threw her arms in the air.

“Shut up!” I whispered back.

“Totally, completely, absolutely done!” She squealed and sat down across from me.

I offered a fist bump across the desk. “Now that is some good news. We need to celebrate.” I reached into a drawer.

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

“First of all, you are human resources. And second of all, 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, tell me all about it,” I prompted.