Wallbanger by Alice Clayton is a fluffy, reasonably entertaining, and quick contemporary romance. It is the first book in her Cocktail series about twenty-something professionals building careers and finding life partners. The book had very little conflict and read like a romantic sitcom: she is an interior designer and he is a nature photographer; they each have two friends that are perfect for their counterpart’s two friends; they have no money concerns despite living in notoriously expensive San Francisco.
Caroline has a noisy neighbour. The night she moves into her faboo sublet, she is awakened by the headboard next door banging into the wall behind her. It happens the next night and the night after that. The sounds of female approbation on the other side of the wall change, the banging stays the same. To make matters worse, Caroline is in a romantic and auto-erotic slump. After the umpteeth night of tauntingly disrupted sleep, she storms over and complains directly to the Wall Banger himself. He is, of course, gorgeous and amused. She is annoyed and scantily clad. Things proceed in the anticipated fashion.
While reasonably funny, Wallbanger is the first in a trilogy of books that I will not bother exploring further, although, for what it’s worth, they are highly rated on Amazon. There is no real obstacle to the characters’ relationship. A goodly portion of the novel is devoted to delaying the relationship’s transformation from romantic partners to the consummation devoutly to be wished. I estimate that a solid 25% of the book is the putting off of sex and then the sex that follows the putting off. I didn’t buy it for a second. Neither the delay, nor the cataclysmic consummation. Further, Caroline refers to her body parts in the third person, such as Brain, Nerves, Heart, and “Little Caroline”. They have trouble coming to an accord. I am Mrs. Julien’s side-eye for this narrative decision.