Kissing Frogs

by Tori Turnbull

  “Ah, so I was right with the ‘other man’ theory. Did he have a reason to be upset?”

  “No… I-I don’t… I mean… He doesn’t have any right to make me feel guilty for being here.” I forked up some of the delicious belly pork. “We’re only having dinner. It’s not like I’m cheating on him.” It just felt like I was.

  “What kind of relationship do the two of you have?”

  “I… Almost like family.”

  He snorted. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that almost doesn’t count?” My eyes narrowed. “In what way are you like family?”

  “Well, I’ve known Mark forever. We used to play together as kids, and then he moved to America with his mother. Other than the occasional family holiday, I didn’t see him for years, and now he’s back and he moved in with me and suddenly he thinks he has a right to dictate who I see.” My words were getting faster and faster and shriller and shriller.

  “Penny was right. It’s Mark the ‘hunk’ who’s almost, but not quite, family…”

  “Don’t say it like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like it makes perfect sense when it plainly doesn’t.” Typical man. “One minute he’s treating me like I’m an irritating little sister, and the next he’s getting all possessive.”

  His eyebrows hiked. “Does he have a right to be possessive?”

  I ignored the question, because the only truthful answer was maybe… probably… yes. “I don’t get why everyone thinks women are the moody, unpredictable ones.”

  “Maybe he has feelings for you and doesn’t like the idea of you going out with some other man.” He shrugged like it made perfect sense. “If we had a relationship, I wouldn’t be happy with you going on a date with some strange guy, who’s probably looking for something more than friendship.”

  “He said he was fine with just sex,” I rebutted, annoyed. “Then when he found out I was coming on a date with you he–”

  “Whoa!” Richard reared back in his seat. “Back up there a second. You’re sleeping with the poor guy and going out on a date with me? Hell, now I feel bad for him.”

  “But–” What happened to Mr Perfect?

  “Kate, come on. He’s living with you – a gorgeous, intelligent, curvy brunette – sleeping with you, and you’re going out with someone else?” He shook his head. “You can hardly blame him for being jealous.”

  “It was just practice sex.”

  Richard choked, coughed, and then laughed. Loudly. Until heads turned in our direction and tears rolled down his face. “P… p… practice sex. I’m going to use that one myself.”

  I leant across the table. “He’s the one who encouraged my mother to set up the whole ‘two months of dating’ thing. He’s the one who said I had to date as many men as possible, who encouraged my mother when she said I had to kiss frogs if I wanted to find my prince. I didn’t even want to do this in the first place.”

  Richard watched me steadily, obviously un-swayed by my argument.

  I sat back, stunned. He agreed with Mark. That I was cheating. This must be one of those “men are from Mars” moments. I changed the subject before I fell out with him. “Enough about me. Let’s talk about you.”

  He watched me for a moment. “Okay. I admitted that I’m attracted to you and you’re exactly my type: an attractive brunette with a great figure…” He paused like he was waiting for something. I had no idea what. “Where’s my payback compliment? Hey, men need an ego stroke too.”

  “Some more than others,” I responded dryly.

  He smiled, unrepentant. “So?”

  “Fine.” I couldn’t stop my eye-roll. “You’re gorgeous. A hunk. Movie-star hot. The kind of man women flock to for your looks, success…”

  “That’s it?” He waved his hands in a give-me-more gesture.

  “Don’t rush me. I’m thinking.”

  “It can’t be that hard.”

  “It’s just a shame you’re also a mummy’s boy whose sister has him wrapped around her little finger–”

  “Hey! At least I haven’t been arrested and I only have to go on one date, not two months’ worth,” he countered, placing me firmly above him on the loser scale.

  “Did I mention vindictive?”

  He laughed, clearly just playing around with me. We lapsed into silence, me lost in thought. Our starters were cleared and our main courses arrived. Eventually the waiter appeared, cleared the table, and handed us dessert menus.

  “Would you like dessert?”

  Sugar, fat, and calories when I was feeling confused and depressed? Of course I would, but… “I probably shouldn’t. I didn’t finish my main course.”

  “I won’t tell your mum if you don’t tell mine I ordered chips and asked for ketchup in a posh restaurant.”

  I sighed with relief. It was nice to know other people’s mothers harassed them into adulthood too.

  “Come on, Kate. Chocolate will probably help. They do a fantastic chocolate plate here. My sister loves it. Besides, I want to have the sticky toffee soufflé, and eating dessert is greedy if you eat alone.” He suddenly leant across the table. “Quickly, smile. They’re doing a close-up. Laugh and pretend I’ve just said something really funny.”

  I followed his directions, looking into his eyes and letting his hand rest on mine on the table. A couple of minutes of staring at him like a fool and he leant back, raising a hand to wave across the restaurant. “It’s okay. You can relax now. They’re leaving.”

  “How did I do?”

  “The fake laugh wasn’t great, but the smile was beautiful, and it’s not like we were miked, so everyone will think we’re having the time of our lives. Two gorgeous – one single – people on a free night out together.”

  I ignored his dig. “I’m sorry. I really am having fun. I might have been distracted earlier, but… You’re a really nice guy, Richard.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He waved his hand dismissively. “I’m Mr Perfect. I’m just not Mr Right for you.”

  “No, but I really am sorry.” I was.

  “I believe you, Kate. Now stop stressing.”

  “Will you say nice things about me to Before Lunch?” Okay, I was a selfish, self-absorbed bitch. I’d sulked and whinged my way through our date and now I was going to beg him to lie and say I’d been a fantastic date.

  “You want me lie on television?”

  “I can always tell them you’re a really nice guy and I’d have loved to have seen you again, if only you hadn’t still been hung up on your ex-girlfriend, who dumped you because of your erectile dysfunction.”

  Richard grabbed his napkin, spluttering out the sip of wine he’d just taken. “You wouldn’t.”

  I quirked an eyebrow and gave a smug smile. “If that’s what it takes.”

  “I pity Mark. He doesn’t know what he’s getting into.” He held up a hand, halting my next threat. “Fine, fine. I’ll say whatever you want. I’ll even fake tears and call you the one that got away.” I heaved a sigh of relief. “But you don’t get off that easily. You better tell them you were worried I was too much of a man for you to handle and say that if you hadn’t pledged your heart to another, you’d have snapped me up.”

  “Deal.”

  Elbows on the edge of the table, I propped my chin in my hands and looked at Richard across shredded petals and empty dessert dishes. Really looked at him, without the distraction of my own life and problems. Have I mentioned how gorgeous he was?

  He deserved the woman of his dreams. Instead, he’d ended up with me. The worst date ever – make that third worst, after Romeo and Stalker John. “I’m so sorry, Richard. This must have been the worst date you’ve ever been on.”

  He nodded. “It certainly ranks up there.”

  “If you were a gentleman, you would’ve lied,” I muttered.

  “If your idea of a gentleman is someone who lies to your face, I’m not surprised you’re having a tough time on your dates.”

  “Low blow, Mar–” I froz
e, eyes widening as Richard winced. I covered my face with my hands, peeping out at him through my fingers. “Sorry. I’m truly sorry. I don’t know why I’m letting him distract me like this.”

  “Because you’re in love with him.”

  Chapter 23

  I’m Mr Right. Someone said you’re looking for me.

  “What? Me… Mark…?”

  I was genuinely shocked by the idea. “Love. Yep.”

  “Well, I mean, I love him, but… it’s – it’s like siblings.”

  Wasn’t it? I mean, I loved my friends… but I didn’t want to smother them in their sleep… or touch them in intimate ways… or get all hot and sweaty with them… Was I… Did I…? I frantically sorted through my emotions and scrambled for alternatives.

  “I come from a really close family, but do you usually get love bites from your siblings?” He tapped a finger at the point where my neck and shoulder met. I mirrored the action and felt a sensitive spot. “Because we draw the line at a hug and the occasional kiss on the cheek.”

  “I’m not his type.”

  Richard checked me out over the table. The bodice of my dress was scooped, showcasing cleavage. I knew I hadn’t overdone it with the makeup or hairspray, and now that I’d relaxed a bit more… “He’s gay? Blind?”

  “He likes skinny blondes with big…” I dropped my hands from making big-boob gestures in front of my own breasts. “Not brunettes with too many curves.” Not for anything other than practice sex, anyway.

  “Why not let him decide that?”

  I looked at him, confused, wary, and hopeful.

  He took pity, tugging my hand from my mouth, where I worried my nail, and enclosing it with his on the table. “Talk to him.”

  “I did.”

  “Girl talk or guy talk?”

  “English!” I snapped. What was it with men and this girl talk/guy talk rubbish?

  “Did you spell out what you think and feel in real words or in looks, assumptions, and telepathy? Speaking for mankind here, I can tell you it doesn’t matter how perfect, or right, we are, we don’t understand that female crap. We need it in real ‘tell it to me straight’ words.”

  “Well, I, ah… I said… that I don’t want to go out on dates with men.”

  “But not that you would stop going on dates with other men?”

  “We were having an argument,” I said. “I didn’t stop to think about forming a perfect response.”

  “It’s not surprising you were arguing. The poor guy doesn’t have clue where he stands.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “So, tell him how you feel and ask him straight out if he feels the same.”

  “This is one of those things we spoke about earlier where I’m not a feminist; the man has to say I lo – it first.” I couldn’t bring myself to admit how I felt out loud here with Richard. Not without knowing where Mark stood on the whole emotions thing first.

  “That has nothing to do with feminism, that’s being a chicken.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe you’re not as perfect as I thought on first meeting you.”

  “Snappy comeback. Not,” he retorted childishly, laughing the whole time.

  “Why am I arguing with you about this?”

  He sobered. “Because you’ve decided to turn me into a man-friend, so now you want to argue me onto your side. It won’t work, Kate. I’m afraid I’m falling in with the brotherhood on this one.”

  * * * * *

  “What are you doing in my bed?”

  An hour later, I wandered into my darkened bedroom. The blanket-covered heap in the middle of my bed moved, yanking the cover over his head and thumping across the bed in an annoyed gesture.

  “Sleeping!” Mark snapped.

  And making sure I couldn’t bring anyone else back for a night of hot sex. “Sleep somewhere else.” I slammed my handbag on the dresser, sending my brush spinning into the mirror, and snapped on the light. Mark blinked, screwing up his face at the sudden glare. I embraced the vindictive pleasure – let’s see how easy he found it to sleep with the light on.

  “I’m not going back to sleeping on the blow-up mattress in the spare room, or the too-short couch.”

  “You didn’t seem to mind the couch earlier,” I retorted.

  “Falling asleep on the couch with a hot woman following even hotter sex is entirely different from a cold night of exile, just because you’re being unreasonable.”

  “Me, unreasonable? I’m not the one being unreasonable.”

  “Fine, then you won’t have any problem with turning off the light and getting into bed.” He huffed, throwing himself onto his other side so he could glare at me through narrowed eyes.

  “You ruined my date.” I twisted, pulling my zip down and letting my dress fall to the floor.

  “I wasn’t even there.”

  “Well, that didn’t stop you from ruining my date with Mr Perfect.” I stepped out of my dress and shoes and glared at him in just my underwear. He glared back, obviously fuming, as I reached behind my back to release the fastening on my black, lacy Wonderbra.

  “Mr Perfect?” He used a mocking, childlike singsong voice.

  “Yes. Mr Perfect. He was good-looking, intelligent, employed… self-employed, in fact. That makes him the boss. Plus, he’s really successful and kind and funny.” And willing to listen to me rave on about another man all night. “In short, perfect, and you ruined it.”

  “Good.” He punched his pillow noisily. “You can call us quits. You upset your mother.”

  “You told my mum we fell out?” How old was he? Bloody tattletale. I tossed my underwear in the wash basket, snatched one of his t-shirts from the clean laundry pile, and tugged it on.

  “No. She came out because she heard the banging and shouting. I told her you were a bloody stubborn idiot.” He settled down, watching as I flicked off the light and moved to the bed. “It seems I’m not the first person to reach that conclusion.”

  I slipped under the cover, twisting and shuffling to perch on the very edge of the bed furthest away from him, lying tensed, gripping the edge of the mattress, struggling against the pull of gravity and hot man that tried to roll me into the centre of the bed. I lay stiff and uncomfortable in the heavy silence until it became unbearable. “I think you should sleep somewhere else.” I meant it to be a firm statement, but my voice sounded confused and pathetically hurt in the silent darkness of the bedroom.

  “Go to sleep.”

  “I’m never going to be able to sleep if you’re going to lie there in silent condemnation all night.”

  “I’m not condemning. I’m fuming.”

  Neither of us was going to get any sleep if we kept this up.

  Mark took a deep breath and continued in an exaggeratedly calm tone. “You must be tired after your date. Close your eyes and try to sleep, Kate. It’ll come!” he snapped, before I could say I can’t.

  “Don’t patronise me,” I said, nearly falling off the edge of the bed. “You’re the one who caused this argument in the first pla–”

  Ignoring my squeak of outrage and jabbing elbow, he snagged an arm around my waist and hauled me back, tucking me against the hard planes of his body, making it painfully clear that sleep was going to be a long time coming for him too. He might be angry with me, but I’d just stripped in front of him and climbed into bed with him, and he had the mother of all erections.

  “Go to sleep.” His words were clipped, his tone rough.

  I moved against him, wriggling to put distance between us. “Fine – I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “No, you won’t.” He groaned with frustration. “I’m not in the mood for this, Kate, and you’re not in the mood for the consequences if you keep rubbing your backside against me like that.” He tightened his grip, anchoring my hips tightly against him. I froze, the silence stretching between us, only the sound of heavy breathing to break the monotony.

  “Mark?” I said into the dark.

  “Are you going to apologise?”
he mumbled sleepily, face buried in the scented curve of my neck, hand cupping the curve of my breast.

  “Apologise? Me? For what?”

  “Going out with another man.” He said it like I was being dense.

  “No. I want to talk abo–”

  “I’m sleeping.”

  So much for Richard’s “talk to him”. I wanted to talk, to clear the air and find out what Mark really felt for me, but he wasn’t interested. “I’m too stressed to sleep.”

  “We’re both too tired to do anything other than fight, have sex, or sleep. I’m pretty sure I’m not going to get lucky right now, so go to sleep. With any luck, you’ll talk in your sleep and make sense for once.” He huffed out a breath as I struggled to get away again. “Lie still. I didn’t mean it. I’m just tired and pissed off. Neither of us will be able to sleep if we lie at opposite sides of the bed and sulk.” He snuggled against me, sighing deeply. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  * * * * *

  “What time is it?” Mark’s voice was groggy with sleep and displeasure. He turned, cracking one eyelid, glaring at me.

  “Ten thirty.” I dropped down to sit on the edge of the bed and pull on my socks, making him bounce and curse.

  His glare burned over me as the mattress dipped and settled. “I swear, if you’ve just jumped out of my bed to run off on another date with some other… man, I’m going to do someone an injury.”

  “Technically, it’s my bed.”

  “KT.” His tone was flat. The tensing of his muscles let me know he was now fully awake and not at all happy with the circumstances.

  “My, my, aren’t you grumpy this morning.”

  One hand snaked out from under the cover, clamping around my arm and dragging me back onto the bed. “I mean it.”