Kissing Frogs

by Tori Turnbull

  “No, much better to save the surprise.” I smiled weakly and discreetly checked that the paths to the emergency exits were clear. “So, ah, John, do you live in Pimlico?”

  “Oh no. I live over Vauxhall Bridge near the Oval.” Okay, so why was he staking out my corner shop? There were several corner shops between Oval and Pimlico, and I couldn’t say that mine was anything special, certainly not worth travelling from Oval for. “But I work in Pimlico Station, so I see you most nights after work, passing through. I like to wander over to your corner shop on a weekend. Sometimes I see you there.”

  There you go, a perfectly rational, non-psychotic reason for him to have seen me. I breathed a sigh of relief and finally took a sip of wine.

  “As soon as I saw your picture in the Underground, I knew it was a sign that you were ready for me.”

  Oh, shit! I snatched a poppadom off the plate in the middle of the table and threw it on the floor, then wiggled three fingers frantically behind my back.

  * * * * *

  Clearly Mark was no one’s superhero.

  He’d ignored every one of my signals so far.

  An hour had passed. Occasionally I’d catch a glimpse of his reflection in the window as he ploughed through his tandoori mixed grill. A couple of times I heard him laughing with the waiters, but not once had he checked to make sure I was okay.

  As it was, the date had gone from bad to indigestion and probable night terrors. I had indigestion from bolting down my food. I didn’t want to eat. I’d lost my appetite somewhere around the time John started talking about my recent social events like he’d been part of them, not watching from the shadows. My stomach was churning, but I figured the quicker I choked the food down, the quicker I could bring the date to an end. I had, reluctantly, mostly abstained from my wine (Amir would seal it up for me to collect tomorrow). There was no way I would risk getting drunk around this guy.

  Now we stood in the entrance of the restaurant, my feet twitching to get me out of the door. Unfortunately, I wasn’t free and clear yet. Instead, I was staring at John as he stared back, glassy blue eyes unblinking, whilst he repeatedly licked his lips. His clammy hand gripped mine, holding me in place as he puckered up, leaning in for a goodnight kiss.

  I considered making a run for it, but he’d already made it clear he knew where I lived, worked, and shopped. Besides, if a quick peck on the cheek would bring tonight to an end, I was willing to sacrifice my cheek. It would be rude not to, and although he knew my life better than I did, he hadn’t done anything threatening with his cutlery or pulled an axe on me over the naan bread, so it wasn’t like I had an excuse not to.

  I sighed deeply. Like taking medicine, some things were better to get over with as soon as possible. Closing my eyes (I couldn’t do this if I could see it coming), I leant forward, tipping my cheek towards him.

  John pressed forward enthusiastically. His overly wet lips slipped across my cheek, well lubricated with saliva and headed towards my mouth. Stomach heaving, I jerked back, yanking open the door, rushing through my goodnight and making my escape.

  “Maybe we could see each other again?” John called after me.

  “Maybe,” I said without turning or slowing down. If I don’t see you first and hide.

  * * * * *

  Mark – the useless git – caught up with me five minutes later as I struggled to pull my coat on, hiding around the corner from the restaurant on Douglas Street. Taking my coat off me, he pulled the arm free, holding it out and helping me get dressed. “So, I take it from the sprint exit, poppadom dropping, enough finger wiggling to give yourself repetitive strain injury, and the fact your date finished in record-breaking time that things didn’t go well.”

  Seriously? “Seriously? You saw all that and still did nothing?”

  His head jerked back, his expression going from amused to concerned. “It was that bad?”

  It was a bit late to give a damn now the date was over. “Put it this way: I think we can safely change Carnation John’s nickname to Stalker John.” He rolled his eyes, clearly thinking I was exaggerating. “He knows where I live and shop, what I eat, and what time I set off for work in the morning. Apparently, he lives just over the bridge and works in Pimlico and has ‘seen me around’, but not been able to work up the courage to ask me out until now.”

  Mark gave a tight-lipped smile. “Nice to know Muriel’s adverts were good for something.”

  “No. No, it’s not. There’s nothing nice about this at all. I’ll probably have to get a restraining order.” I turned on him. “And another thing – where were you when I needed you? You didn’t do anything when I signalled.”

  “What signal?” Before the angry words boiling up inside me could spill out, he continued, “I told you the signal was to shout for help if he reached for a weapon. As far as I could see, he only used his fork and spoon all night, so there was nothing to worry about.”

  “There are other kinds of danger, and I could hardly shout for help in the middle of the restaurant.” His eyebrow rose. “It would have been embarrassing.”

  “If you were safe enough to be embarrassed and kiss the jerk,” he said, “you didn’t need rescuing.”

  “You call that a kiss?”

  “You don’t want to know what I call that, KT. Did he pay the bill?” he growled. Like he was the one entitled to be pissed off.

  I set off walking. “We went halves. I didn’t want him to think I owed him anything.”

  “Didn’t stop you kissing him, though.”

  I stopped suddenly and turned, nearly tripping over him. “What are you annoyed about?” I jabbed his chest with my finger. “You aren’t the one who just got slobbered on.” I shouldered past him, stalking off. Seriously, if this was what it was going to be like, I was definitely going to get the Australia work travel visa.

  “Hang on. Don’t go storming off in a sulk.” He snagged my arm, halting my escape. “It’s too early to head home on a Saturday night. Let’s take the long way and call in at Corner Bar for a drink.”

  * * * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, I pushed into the warmth of the bar. I wandered further into the packed room, looking for somewhere quiet to wait whilst Mark stopped at the ATM a couple of doors down, outside Sainsbury’s. “Oh!” I turned with an involuntary squeak. A good-looking, mid-thirties blond sidled up to the bar next to me, touching my hand to get my attention.

  “Hi,” he said. “I’m not coming onto you or anything.”

  I sighed. Why not? That would solve all my dating problems and show Mark and my mother I wasn’t so pathetic I couldn’t get my own date. I’m passably attractive, single, solvent, disease-free, and willing to put out. What more did men want?

  “I just… I thought I recognised you. You’re the girl from the advertisements in the Underground, aren’t you?” How could he possibly recognise me from that photo? I looked horrendous in that picture. I slumped from the double hit to my confidence. He steadied me, a large hand cupping my waist as a group of rowdy rugby fans jostled past. “So, is it you?”

  “N-no,” I said. He was good-looking. There was no way I was admitting it and ruining my slim chances.

  “Oh, well, sorry.” He stepped back, giving an apologetic smile. “You’re probably with someone.” He looked around as if some guy was going to suddenly appear and claim me. “I should’ve realised. I only wanted to say how much better you look in the flesh.” His eyes swept appreciatively over my little black dress, pausing briefly on my chest, not long enough to slip into sleazy territory, just long enough to show appreciation. “But I guess… if you’re not her…”

  He let the words hang. He thought I had a boyfriend and he was still sort of coming on to me. I sensed potential. “Thanks. Ahh –” I finished lamely, my attempt at flirting aborted before it began, as I realised I didn’t know his name.

  “It’s Rob. So, you are her, then?” Brown eyes sparkled with amusement.

  “Maybe.” I gave a tentative smile and tri
ed a flirtatious look. “I’m Kate.”

  “Because if you were her, I’d tell you I was going to ring and ask you on a date, but I assumed you’d be so flooded with offers it would take months to get through them. So, there wasn’t much point.”

  “Hmm, I wouldn’t say flooded exactly.” I may be out of practice, but I wasn’t quite in the remedial class yet. I wasn’t going to admit it was more of a slight ripple in the ocean of response than a tsunami.

  “So, would you like to, then? Go for a drink sometime?”

  Yes! Yes. Yes, I would. “Sounds good.” I played it cool, repressing the happy dance of success.

  “How about now? Unless –”

  “Yes.” I gave up on cool. Given Stalker John was the only date to come out of the bloody Underground adverts, there was no way I was going to let this opportunity pass.

  Rob smiled. “I’ll get us a bottle of wine to share.”

  I nodded enthusiastically. He ordered a bottle I’d never heard of without consulting me, but hey, I like all wine. All wine. As long as it has alcohol in it.

  The barman disappeared, returning soon with a bottle and a couple of glasses. My date – yeahy! – offered to taste. He swirled the wine in the glass, raised it to his nose, sniffed, frowned. He turned to the barman. “It’s corked.”

  “Ah, I don’t think so.” The bartender smiled uncertainly, looking from my date to me and back again.

  “It is corked,” Rob responded, a little arrogantly.

  I smiled apologetically at the barman. He gave me an are you with stupid look. “I don’t think it is, sir.”

  I cringed, shrinking back and praying Rob would shut up. I’m not a wine snob. I drink wine that costs a Euro when I’m on holiday. I wouldn’t be able to tell if it was corked.

  “That shows what you know about wine,” Rob retorted.

  “Hey, Rob.” I tried to catch his attention to see if I could turn this around. His tone was condescending, which was making him much less attractive, even to my desperately dateless self. Didn’t he know you should always be polite to people who controlled your alcohol intake or cooked your food (or they put yucky things in it and re-served it to you)?

  The barman stared him down. Testosterone thickened the air. They both ignored me. “It’s a screw-top.” He opened his hand, showing the metal lid. “No cork.”

  “Well, well–” Rob blustered. I flushed, heat scorching my cheeks. I was embarrassed for him. And me. “I’m not drinking it,” Rob declared. Clearly trying to save face, but really just being a bit of a dick. Maybe, I wasn’t that great at picking up my own dates. Where the hell was Mark? “I’ll have a beer. Boddingtons,” Rob snapped.

  The barman shrugged and took away one of the wine glasses, replacing it with a pint. It seemed like Rob thought the shitty wine (a whole bottle of it) was good enough for me. I did a quick scan of the bar, but I still couldn’t see Mark. Maybe the ATM was out of order and he’d walked down to Victoria Street to use another one.

  “Let’s go and sit down.” Rob turned a slightly bashful smile on me, making me think maybe he was just nervous and a bit embarrassed, which I could relate to.

  “Okay. Sure.” So, he was a little arrogant, but it could be worse… he could be Stalker John.

  “You must be out every night with a different man since the adverts came up.” Rob recovered from his embarrassment quickly.

  “Ah, not really.” It was seven days since the adverts came out, and I had had one date. I sipped my wine (tasted fine to me) and smiled coyly. Yes, he was a little bit… pretentious, but he was trying and I was desperate.

  “I probably haven’t got a chance.” He only thought that because he’d had his confidence knocked over the whole corked thing and hadn’t met Stalker John, his main (all right, only) competition. “I’m amazed you weren’t on a date tonight.”

  “I was earlier, but…” I shrugged. With a little distance, a glass of wine in hand, and a bottle of wine in reserve, I could afford to be magnanimous. “It didn’t work out.”

  “He was a loser?”

  I thought about it and decided to go for making a good first impression by being nice. “No, not really, Rob. Just not my type, I guess.”

  “Not the kiss-and-tell type, huh?”

  I shuddered and wiped my cheek with the back of my hand at the reminder. “It’s been so long since I’ve been kissed properly that I think I’ve forgotten how to kiss.” Oops, I’d said that out loud. How many glasses of wine had I had this evening?

  I was snapped from mentally counting alcohol units by his response. “Hmm, I don’t mind rescuing a damsel in distress, and we can soon remedy that.”

  Rob moved in fast. Before I knew what was happening, he was kissing me. He kissed like an overeager Labrador, missing my lips altogether on the first lunge and lapping at my face. He leant over paws – ah, hands – on my shoulders, pushing me back against the sofa. I pressed my hands to his chest, holding him back a little, as I tried to mentally catch up and physically direct things a bit more to my liking.

  Maybe if his lips were firmer and he tilted his head and… No! I wasn’t going to think about Mark’s kiss now. He’d only done it to prove some point. It wasn’t even a real kiss, just a peck.

  Besides, getting it right the first time took patience. I couldn’t expect perfection.

  Right? I tried to convince myself.

  No, yuck!

  Rob was moving way too fast for me. We’d barely exchanged names and now he was going straight in with the tongue. No teasing. No finesse. If it wasn’t for the fact his most recent competition seemed like the type to sift through my bin on collection day, I might’ve given him up as a lost cause. Instead… I let my lips part, before he licked all my makeup off. My hands drifted up to his face, settling over smooth cheeks not roughened with manly stubble (unfortunately), and held him steady.

  He tasted of beer, warm male, and cigarettes (again, yuck). Then again, I probably tasted of curry, but he wasn’t complaining. So, I wasn’t going to say anything either.

  I kissed him back.

  It was just like riding a bike. You didn’t forget it. You were maybe a bit wobbly at first, but a little practice and it was smooth going. I nibbled his lips. Rob thrust his tongue eagerly into my mouth, poking it around randomly.

  Okay, this was getting worse, not better. I was totally not into this. If this frog was going to turn into my prince, it wasn’t going to be through this kiss. I pulled back, twisting my face away.

  Rob took the hint and sat back with a satisfied sigh. Picking up his beer, he silently toasted me. A small smile of masculine pride hovered around his mouth. He took a long sip from his pint.

  I smiled – grimaced – back, surreptitiously wiping my mouth, chin, and cheek with the back of my hand, and reached for my wine, swilling the cigarette taste from my mouth, feeling flustered and rushed and more than a little disappointed with this whole dating thing. I didn’t think I really liked Rob. It was difficult to be sure, given we hadn’t had a conversation or anything. He’d just bought me a drink and slobbered on me in public.

  “So, now that we’ve gotten the first kiss out of the way…” He said that like there would be a second kiss. I wasn’t going to be rushing in there after the first. Kisses work better for me when I know the guy and feel something for him. “Are you going to tell me who that is glaring at me from the corner?”

  “What?” Turning from my unflattering assessment of his kisses, I followed his nod to see a glaring Mark. “Oh, that’s no one.” Okay, so he could see it was definitely someone. “Well, actually, it’s Mark. My mother’s best friend’s son. He’s just here making sure everything’s okay and you’re not an axe murderer.”

  Rob smiled. “A bodyguard.” He winked. “Makes sense.” It did? It must be a man thing. “Should we invite him over to join us for a drink, so he can meet me for himself and see that you’re safe and unharmed?”

  “No.” That would be even more painfully awkward then this already
was. Mark would embarrass me by asking Rob about his intentions or sharing bikini video footage of me on his phone. “Just ignore him. That’s what I’ve been doing since birth.”

  Rob laughed (mistakenly thinking I was joking) and settled back down on the sofa beside me. “So, seriously, tell me why a woman like you has to advertise for a date? Is it some sort of TV programme, or are you writing an article for a magazine?” If only it was that exciting. “And why use that photo? Is it some sort of test to see if men are attracted to looks or intelligence?”

  I ignored the compl-insult; the compliment that I must be intelligent, the insult because I’m not beautiful. If he thought I was clever, I wasn’t going to set him straight. Closing the distance between us, Rob settled himself with an arm around my shoulder. It was kind of nice to be snuggled against him as we chatted and I settled back into the dating game, talking about the usual first date things: what we did for a living, hobbies, favourite holiday destinations… I only hoped Mark could lipread and was getting all this down for his report back to my mother. I was way better at this whole dating lark then I remembered.

  “So, what was it?”

  “Huh?” Oh yeah, I was supposed to be paying attention to the conversation, not mentally patting myself on the back. “I wish it was one of those things. Actually, it was my mother’s idea. She’s got it into her head that if I don’t start dating now, she’ll never have grandchildren. And she wants several… as soon as possible.”

  Rob erupted into a violent spasm of coughing, shooting forward on the sofa and spilling his drink. I slapped his back, easing up as he edged off the side of the faux-leather sofa.

  “Are you all right? You went pale and then flushed.”

  Rob nodded, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

  I relaxed back. Putting the kiss aside, I was starting to enjoy this. Sure, it started off arse over tit – with the whole kissing before talking or getting to know each other thing – but when you met Mr Perfect, that was what happened. Right?