Page 3 of Sheets & Giggles
Ellie
Bang! Bang! Bang!
I pull the bud from my ear as the thumping sound pulls me from my work. Tilting my head, I try to work out where it’s coming from. When I realize the sound is in my bedroom, or more pointedly, the wall that joins my apartment with that of next door’s, my mouth falls open.
“No. Fucking. Way.” I shake my head as I run my hands through my hair. He’s been moved in all of five minutes, and already I know that I’ve got myself a wall banger for a neighbor. Fucking brilliant.
It’s a sound that even my noise-canceling AirPods can’t keep out, so I try to distract myself by organizing the chaos of my desk, vacuuming under the couch, and fluffing my cushions, jamming them against my head when the banging feels like it’s rattling my skull.
I’m thankful there aren’t any moans going with this. But the rhythmic banging is enough to make me both hate my new neighbor and feel curious about him at the same time. I mean, that guy is really going for it. The forward thrust lasting a good twenty minutes so far.Bang! Bang! Bang!Whoever he’s giving it to is getting ithard. Which brings me to my next curiosity: who is he giving it to?
When the banging finally stops, I don’t go back to my work like I should. Instead, I sit around half reading a book while fully listening for any movement out in the hallway. The furniture he was bringing in did not look like a woman resides with him, so whoever she is she’ll have to go home at some point. Unless of course she sleeps over. In which case, I’ll be up early in the morning, hoping to catch a glimpse of her as she exits his apartment.
I don’t know why this matters to me so much. Call it the curiosity of a writer, or just call it plain nosy, but I need to know if she can walk straight after taking a hammering like that. I have visions of a bowlegged woman named Sally swinging her way down the stairs, one foot at a time as her swollen crotch impedes her movement.
I drop my head back on the couch, giggling at my thoughts. And then I grab a pad of paper and scribble them down.I might be able to use that later.
While I’m in my writing frenzy, I hear the creaking of the wooden door, followed by footsteps as a female voice says, “See you tomorrow, Ash!”
I literally throw my notes to the side and rush for the peephole, practically slamming against my door as I press my face there, spotting a tiny blonde with an oversized bag hanging off her shoulder.So that’s his type, hey?Tiny and blonde. Two things I definitely am not.
I’m so focused on the retreating female that I completely miss the fact that Ashton’s front door is still open.And he’s staring at me!Well, staring at my door, anyway.
Can he see me?
Surely not.
I hold my breath just in case, standing so still that even I’d think I was a statue if I came across myself—fun fact about me: I was a champion at musical statues as a kid.
It takes a moment, but he eventually frowns then closes his door, allowing me the sweet pleasure of being able to breathe again. And as I push away from the door, gasping for air, I’m struck by the sudden urge to write. I keep writing until the day turns to night, and the night turns to day.
Seems Mr. Wallbanger really is my muse.I haven’t been this inspired in years!
* * *
“So,the heroine gets a new neighbor, and every time the neighbor has a woman over, he bangs her so hard the walls shake,” I say at lunch on Friday. I don't often get out of the house, but today is an exception since it's a farewell lunch for my editor who's going on maternity leave. “It's so loud that the heroine just sits there listening in amazement while talking to her cat. I’m going to call itWallbanger.” I give myself a nod of appreciation, picking up my margarita and taking a long, well-deserved sip. This book is going to be amazing.
Clearing her throat, my editor, Dee, sucks on the straw of her healthy green smoothie and frowns before she pushes her dark-framed glasses back up her nose. “There’s actually a book just like thatcalledWallbanger. It’s by Alice Clayton.”
My mouth falls open. “Well, what if she has a dog and I call itBed Shaker?”
Dee lifts her phone and taps into it. “Ahh, Penny Wylder wrote that one. I don’t think there’s a dog in there based on the blurb, but maybe steer clear of the wall banging and bed shaking if you don’t want to get caught up in a social media shit storm.”
Sitting back in my seat, I fold my arms across my chest, pouting. “Some muse he turned out to be,” I mutter.
“What’s that?” she asks, raising her eyebrows as she takes a dinner roll from the bread basket.
“It’s nothing. I’m just losing my mojo, I think.”
“Speaking of your mojo, I heard my replacement is in town.”
“I don’t even want to think about replacing you. You’ve been my editor since the beginning, and I’m severely put out that you had to go and procreate on me.”
She laughs, sitting back in her seat and rubbing a hand over her swollen belly. She looks like she’s about to pop, and honestly, I’m super happy for her. Her husband is the nicest guy you’ve ever met, and they’re both going to be the most amazing parents. I’m just going to miss having someone who understands me and my vision as my editor.
“I’m going to miss you too, Ellie. But this new guy, he’ll be great for you. Word is, he has an innate ability to draw the absolute best out of his authors. You’ll be back on those bestseller lists before you know it under his tutelage, I promise.”
“As long as I quit writing about wall bangers?”
She laughs. “As long as you quit writing about wall bangers,” she says.
And I laugh along with her, but really, I’m not sure how it’s supposed to stop. That wall banging has been going onallweek. It’s all I can think about, and strangely, it’s the only thing that inspires me to write. So, if I can’t publish this, I’ll have to come up with something else.
At the very least, I’ll need to ask my neighbor to move his bed away from the wall…
