The Bad Boyfriends Bootcamp

by The Bad Boyfriends Bootcamp (retail) (epub)

  ‘Hello. You’ve reached the super-sexy house of singles.’

  ‘Um, yes. Er, have I got the right flat? Has Molly moved?’

  ‘Patrick! I wasn’t expecting you …’ Molly had expected a brigade of bootcampers, but not him. Suddenly, she felt odd. Molly felt sure Patrick would have a whale of a time lampooning her new business idea and suddenly resolved to keep it schtum.

  Molly made a split-second decision – she wouldn’t exactly share the whole truth with Patrick right now, but maybe just corral him along tonight and see if he could do with a hint or two. Or two dozen.

  ‘Hello? Anyone there at the house of sex? I didn’t realise East Dulwich had a red light district.’ Patrick’s now-familiar sarcastic tone disturbed Molly from her calculations.

  ‘Yes, yes. I’m buzzing you up.’ He might be a cadet in the making, but he was already exemplary as a pain in the arse.

  As Patrick bounded to the top of the stairs, his smile dipped for a second as his dark eyes took in Molly’s look for the evening.

  ‘Blimey, you scrub up well.’

  ‘Stop it,’ Molly threw back in a dead-pan, ‘you’re making me blush.’

  ‘Yes, well, I actually stopped by on the off-chance … but I imagine, by the looks of it …’

  ‘Are you free tonight, Pat?’

  Patrick’s mouth opened just a little and he licked his bottom lip. ‘Yes, well – yes.’

  ‘Excellent. Then you’re coming with us.’

  ‘Us? What … who’s “us”?’ Patrick rubbed at his forehead, then pushed his hand over his dark, cropped hair.

  Molly smiled. This was easier than she thought it might be. Patrick was proving entirely compliant and not as much of a pest as usual. In fact, he didn’t have his normal sense of cockiness about him tonight. Which was interesting.

  ‘A group of “us”. We’re going speed dating. You have to come – John is. And so am I. You know, it is Valentine’s Day.’ Molly winked in a cheery, jolly manner. She didn’t want this to sound like a serious sort of thing – she wanted Patrick to see it just as any other night out with the lads.

  ‘OK, I’m in,’ he replied quickly, recovering his confidence a little and smiling back at her.

  * * *

  As Molly, Josie, Rachel and their legion of men boarded an otherwise quiet bus for the trip to London Bridge, The Colonel realised they must look like a strange sort of group.

  ‘They’re like our working girls and we’re the pimps,’ she said softly out of the corner of her mouth to Rachel.

  Rachel giggled. ‘They’re working boys. They’re gigolos! I suppose we are the pimps, as we’re making a profit out of their romantic successes.’

  ‘I feel dirty!’ Josie grinned. ‘In a good way.’ She pursed her lips and wiggled her eyebrows. Oddly, it didn’t detract from her sunny, Californian appeal. I suppose even if you pull a funny face to distort your gorgeous features, you’re still going to have an amazing body underneath it. Molly silently resolved to step up her own exercise efforts. Josie looked stunning in what was otherwise a very ordinary denim shirt, the top poppers left open to reveal just a saucy flash of bra, and black Capri pants that fitted her like a hormonal teen boy’s dream. Rach had opted for the classic black wrap dress, with an emerald green lace vest underneath to add just a splash of eye-catching colour. Though the twinkle in her eyes and the swish of her high ponytail of honeyed hair was enough, frankly.

  ‘Now, I think it’s important that we go round and reassure the guys one-on-one while we’re on the bus. We don’t want them getting so nervous that they forget the golden rules of speed dating.’

  ‘And, um, in case anyone wasn’t quite listening during that session or forgot to read the notes, the golden rules are …?’ Rachel tried to look as innocent as possible.

  Molly lowered her sceptical eyebrows and reviewed them, ‘One: ask questions. People love talking about themselves. Two: have a slightly quirky anecdote so they remember you easily when making their choices at the end of the night. But don’t be weird, obviously.’

  ‘But kooky is OK?’ Josie broke in.

  Molly carried on regardless. ‘Three: try to look like you do this every day and it’s a walk in the park with a piece of cake. Desperate is never a quality people swoon over. OK?’

  ‘OK.’ The other girls nodded together and dispersed among the bus. Rach headed for the formerly Kappa-wearing Gary, who was now decked out in Taupe’s best grey jeans and a dark blue V-neck. The result was transforming; his blue eyes seemed to really jump out and sparkle against the indigo lambs’ wool and his hair had been stripped of its wet-look gel to reveal healthy, shiny nut-brown hair that was gorgeous in its own right. Josie decided to tackle the person closest to her: Kurt. His eyes widen as she walked his way and Molly wondered how his new-found confidence would hold up with such a gorgeous blonde Amazon in his midst. Josie, even when at her most ordinary, could knock anyone for six.

  Molly thought she might just check Patrick was OK; he was sat with John at the back of the bus, but John seemed far more intent on writing the world’s longest text on his phone and so completely ignored his mate. Bad behaviour on a date, and unforgivable behaviour with a best friend. Molly made a mental note to add textiquette to John’s homework, lest it trip him up in a date down the line. Patrick caught Molly’s eye and shrugged slightly as if to say, What can you do? He’s a plonker, but he’s my mate. Molly nodded in agreement.

  Just as she took hold of a hanging hand-hold to negotiate the bus as it flew around South London’s more severe corners, Rob appeared at the foot of the stairwell.

  ‘Hey! There you are. I just wondered if I could pick your brains about a few things. Being the expert, and all.’ Rob grinned the sort of smile that just invites you to reciprocate. His rather cheeky East End accent, at first sound, marked him out as a wide-boy, but the more Molly talked to him and saw him improve, the more she realised that the Del Boy persona actually concealed quite a sensitive soul. He was a kitten, really. A Hackney kitten. His wheat-coloured hair was styled in just a few waxy peaks at the front of his head, and the same colour came through in his sexy-but-not-scruffy stubble.

  ‘It’s not about being an expert, Rob, just playing up your strengths. Of which you have loads, of course. Now, what is it you do again?’

  Rob chewed the inside of his cheek. ‘Estate agent. But I have that covered tonight. I’m going to follow it up with, “but don’t hold it against me – I wasn’t loved enough as a child.” What do you think?’

  Molly laughed. ‘That’s pretty good.’

  ‘Phew, glad you like it. I thought it would cover golden rule two and let me then follow up with a question about her job. That would sort me out with rule one. Of course, I could always just run away with you now at the next stop and save all this messing around.’ Rob didn’t break eye contact with Molly for a second. His green eyes sparkled.

  She didn’t know what to say. But she did know that she was blushing.

  Rob broke into a big laugh, but still didn’t look away from Molly’s eyes or her flushed cheeks. ‘No, seriously, I couldn’t do that.’

  Molly relaxed a little bit, and felt her body temperature drop at least a degree or two.

  ‘I’d probably have quite a fight on my hands.’ Rob nodded his head to the assembled crowd of men. Molly’s heart gave an involuntary leap at the implication that she was hot property – it was utterly ridiculous, she knew, but who didn’t love the thrill of a good flirt?

  ‘Nothing you couldn’t handle, I bet.’ Oh God, what are you doing? Remember the teacher-pupil rule! Would Robin Williams behave like this?

  Rob smiled a lazy smile, raised his eyebrows and walked back up the stairs. Hard to do smoothly on a speeding bus, but somehow he managed it. Molly watched his head of blonde, thick hair disappear back onto the top deck.

  When Molly felt more like herself again after a calming breath, she remembered she had actually been on her way to chat to Patrick but when she looked again i
n his direction his head was bent down to John’s, both of them examining the phone screen. Patrick’s eyebrows were so low over his eyes it looked like they were after a change of identity as a moustache and the back of his neck was flushed red. Probably baking in that favourite synthetic shirt of his, Molly thought. Tsk, I’ll have to get Rachel to help him without it seeming too obvious. Wait, I thought he said it shrunk at New Year? That’s odd.

  Molly instead took the spare seat next to another football team recruit, Pavel. She soon realised why it had been left free: with Pavel’s huge muscley frame next to the window seat, it left about twelve inches of seat for his fellow passengers. He was a big man – in height and in arm and thigh girth, she guessed. Pavel looked like the sort of guy you wouldn’t approach in the gym, just in case he bench pressed you by mistake. Molly couldn’t see how he’d have trouble finding a girlfriend: Molly had tonnes of friends that went gooey for the rippling torso-type. It wasn’t her bag, but each to their own.

  ‘Hello! It’s Pavel, right?’

  ‘Yes, that is correct.’ Pavel’s Polish accent was clipped and severe, but his face had a big welcoming grin. Molly spotted the tail end of a tattoo poking out from the sleeve of his crisp white shirt, something with a sword’s tip, the wispy end of a big snake and some thorns. Hmm. Perhaps women have been assuming that poor Pavel has a bark and a worse bite.

  As Molly ran though the plan for tonight and winkled some details out of Pavel about his painting and decorating business, his family back home and his pet iguana, she realised that he had a soft centre under that hard outer layer. He was a big teddy bear. A Polish bear, in fact, to go along with her Hackney kitten. This whole project was starting to give her faith in mankind again; men could be lovely, even when they were also, at times, idiots. In no time they arrived at London Bridge and Molly had to break off her discussion with Pavel about the best brand of vodka (she had to admit she’d never tried Polish standard and he could only splutter with shock and resolved to buy her a double in the bar. Straight up, of course). With a ding of the bus bell, the large party of singles disembarked and ambled towards the bar.

  * * *

  Rumble Bar had just as many dark, roomy corners as promised, as well as a big central hall under the arches of London Bridge where the speed dating would be held. There were tiny round tables, only just big enough for two, covered with rich red chintzy cloths and with funny little beaded lamps on each. Molly approved: the dim lighting and small tables would mean the two quick-fire daters would have to huddle in close and get past that first stage of awkwardness. The organisers obviously knew what they were doing.

  Molly had called up the bar weeks ago when the idea of taking everyone out for a speed-dating night on Valentine’s had first switched on her inner light bulb. It turned out that Rumble were running a speed dating event, but that twenty more male attendees would not also take them almost to capacity but would also make the night what some sensitive souls would call a sausage fest. Molly had, in her entrepreneurial way, already thought of that and bartered her way out of the situation with the Cooper flair; she would arrange for twenty-ish women to come to balance things out. If the bar could agree to half-price admission for her coach-load of singles, she predicted the Rumble drinks sales would go through the roof, all the way up to the train tracks. Nervous daters needed drinks. Forty daters would need a whole mess of drinks. And like any good marketing graduate, Molly knew that alcohol was the biggest profit-maker out there. All those clinking ice cubes in the G&Ts held by shaking hands would be music to the bar manager’s ears.

  * * *

  After just a few warm-up cocktails and some excited chatter, the speedy bit got under way. The girls – pulled together from friends, and friends of friends, and friends of friends of friends of the privates – all took a table and pinned on their heart-shaped name tags. Perhaps a kitsch step too far, but it naturally drew the eye to their varying assets, which as an unconscious lure was no bad thing. The guys hung back at the bar, waiting for the clang of the brass school bell carried solemnly by one of the organisers, a rather round man in a T-shirt and – bizarrely – bow tie.

  Clang.

  They were off.

  Molly would have been happy to observe from afar on this particular task, but she had the foresight to know that her soldiers needed a fearless leader who would take up the front position and face the enemy with steely, flirty determination. She scooted into a seat at one of the micro tables, between Josie and one of Rachel’s design school friends. At least, Molly guessed it was a design school person; the white-blonde fringe against coal-black tresses and asymmetrical spider-web-like purple jumper over lime green vest was a strong indicator. Perhaps not the first-impression-focused outfit Molly would have chosen herself, but each to their funky own.

  Kurt sat down in front of her.

  ‘Phew. I’m really glad it’s just you,’ he said through a breathy voice.

  ‘Well, that’s exactly the sort of chat that will definitely get you a tick on the sheet.’ Molly rolled her eyes and laced her fingers together. ‘Come on: chat chat chat. You’ve only got five minutes and I am just waiting to fall in love with you.’

  Kurt looked startled.

  ‘Kurt, you might as well practise on me, dude. Otherwise we’ll just sit here and talk about the website colour theme changes for four minutes and,’ she looked down at her retro Casio, ‘twelve seconds.’

  ‘OK, OK.’ Kurt cleared his throat, set his shoulders and looked Molly dead in the eye, like a dentist preparing to pull out a particularly tricky molar. ‘Hello, I’m Kurt. I work in IT, so I’m good at switching things off and on again and frowning. I enjoy reminiscing about when Wagon Wheels were bigger and A-Levels were harder, but I don’t enjoy reading the Daily Mail or smelling Red Bull when I’m hungover. I can cook, I can clean, but I can’t sing. And now I’d like to know about you, if that sounds OK.’ Kurt, flexed his neck from side to side, like a dentist who had conquered that unruly molar.

  ‘Hell yeah!’ Molly swung her hand in the air and Kurt met it for a relieved high five. Josie looked over her shoulder and muttered something along the lines of ‘Oh, it’s OK when she does it?’

  ‘Loving your work, cadet!’ Molly beamed with pride, brushing her hair out of her face and behind her ear. ‘Funny, quick, not boring and ending with a nice, honest question. The pupil has become the master. My work is done.’ Holding up her glass of red wine in a salute to Kurt’s new-found dating prowess, Molly sat back a little in her wobbly wooden seat.

  ‘And now you.’ Kurt nodded expectantly.

  ‘And now I …?’

  ‘Now you chat chat chat to me. We have a conversation. New topics spring up and I react to them with yet more sensitive but interested questions. I need more than a one-sided practice, Mols. I need more in the field experience than just eavesdropping over edamame. Didn’t you hone some lines, like you told us to?’

  Molly didn’t really have an answer to pull Kurt’s brows up to their starting position again.

  ‘Ummm.’

  ‘You didn’t?’

  ‘I didn’t.’ Molly scratched her neck. ‘But I’m not really here to, you know … I’m here for you guys, so … don’t worry about me,’ she tried to laugh the whole thing off with a carefree guffaw, which actually made her sound like a bad Carry On actor. ‘I’ll be fine. I’ll wing it. Yep, sooooo,’ she drawled, desperate to fill the minutes and cover up her personal lackadaisical approach to an event which she had been preparing her boys for weeks now. Oops.

  Clang. Someone up there heard her.

  ‘Move on, kind sirs, move on!’ called the bow-tied compere.

  Kurt, still a little lost-looking, got up and moved over to Josie’s table. Molly saw him change quick-smart into a big, sunny grin when his eyes fell on their athletic blonde associate happily awaiting him.

  ‘Eyes front, Colonel.’ A voice broke into her observations from across her table. Rob was playing with his name tag on the table cloth, mov
ing it in between his fingers like a card shark would an ace. He pretended to study her name tag attached to her chest. For just that cheeky second too long.

  ‘Molly, is it?’ he smiled with a slight twinkle. ‘Great name.’

  Molly felt a warmth spread from her neck down to where he’d just been staring. ‘Thanks. I don’t know who you are, of course – you don’t have your name tag on. Some would say that’s a rookie move when it comes to speed dating. Maybe the women will have to put a tick by “Guy who’s a bit sure of himself with the nice eyes”.’ Ah! I’m doing it again! Flirting with a cadet. I could be struck off the dating military register. Maybe five minutes won’t hurt …

  ‘I might be a rookie.’ Rob nodded slowly, his clear, deep green eyes following the line of Molly’s hair from the top of her head, down to her shoulders. ‘Or maybe I’m only interested in ticks from women who know my name already.’ He tried to stop himself from smiling, but the effect was just miles more potent.

  Ommm, I am calm, Ommm, I am not flirting, Ommm I am as sexual as Cliff Richard.

  ‘So, Molly, what do you do?’ Rob continued to flip the tag round his fingers, lacing it through from index to little with a deft movement of his thumb. Flip. Flip. Smile. Flip.

  Molly decided to find her usual professional brain again and put a stop to this. Fast.

  ‘I’m an amateur taxidermist. And I have two puppies who I love more than anything. And I want to get married before I’m thirty. In my mother’s wedding dress.’ Molly looked up at the ceiling as she trotted out some basic kiss-of-death stuff. Hopefully it would stop Rob in his increasingly smooth tracks. His tracks were so smooth, in fact, that you couldn’t see where he’d been. Molly was feeling quite disorientated by being out-flirted by one of her students.