Kiss Me, Chloe

by Shéa R. MacLeod

  “Did you see him?”

  “The hot guy two tables over?”

  He frowned. “No. Look at the pool table.”

  I glanced in that direction. There were several guys and a couple girls huddled around the table, chatting and drinking. A couple were actually playing. One of the players caught my attention, mostly because he’d sashayed around the table and then leaned over, sticking his butt in the air in our direction.

  “Wouldn’t be Mr. Booty, would it?” I asked dryly.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  I laughed. “Well, go for it, then.”

  “No.” Kev shook his head. “We’re here for you, Chloe.”

  “Don’t be silly. That guy is showing off for somebody, and it sure ain’t me. Now, go for it.” I gave him a little shove. Kev deserted me with barely restrained excitement. I couldn’t blame him. Mr. Booty was a cutie.

  I grimaced at my bad rhyming. Good grief, I needed help.

  The Soulmate

  SHORTLY AFTER I’D MOVED to London, Kate and I took the Eurostar to Paris for a long weekend. It was my first visit to the City of Lights, and I spent most of the time wandering in a daze with my mouth hanging open. It was all so beautifully breathtaking. We ate baguettes by the Seine, savored ice cream at Berthillon, and climbed to the top of the Eiffel Tower. I even lit a candle in Notre Dame, though I’m not Catholic. It seemed the thing to do in the moment.

  On the second day, we found ourselves in the Jardin du Luxemborg, exhausted from walking all over Paris from the Sacre-Cœur to Arc de Triomphe. We plopped onto the nearest bench and kicked off our sandals, curling our feet in the cool grass.

  “Stalker alert,” Kate whispered.

  “Huh.”

  “Those two guys that just entered the park? Totally checking you out.”

  I glanced toward the entrance to see two vaguely Middle Eastern-looking men wandering aimlessly, taking pictures of each other while sneaking glances our way. I snorted with repressed laughter. “Obvious much?”

  “Oh, good grief, they’re coming our way. Pretend to be busy.”

  I lifted a brow. “Doing what, exactly?”

  “I dunno. Check your phone or something.”

  I rolled my eyes but dutifully pulled out my phone, scanning through social media updates and email ads to lengthen my member or get me a $10,000 loan. Unfortunately, the gambit didn’t pay off. The two men sat down on the bench backing ours and casually turned around.

  “Bonjour,” the cuter one said.

  Kate and I exchanged glances. “Bonjour,” we chimed back. It was about the only French either one of us knew.

  “Parlez-vous français?” He beamed at us, oblivious to the fact that we were uncomfortable with their sudden intense interest.

  I was all for telling them to shove it, but being the polite sort, Kate shook her head. “English.”

  “Ahmed,” the speaker said, tapping his chest. “Jalil,” he pointed to the other one.

  Kate and I introduced ourselves. There was a round of hand shaking. Ahmed held my hand a little longer that I was comfortable with.

  Ahmed said something to Jalil in their language, and Jalil looked crestfallen. “He only speak Turkish and French,” Ahmed said apologetically. “Me, little English. More Spanish.”

  “Oh, I speak Spanish!” Kate said brightly. I could have slapped her. I wanted them to go away, not leer at us anymore. Well, to be fair, Ahmed wasn’t leering. Jalil was, and he stank so badly of cigarette smoke, he was giving me a headache.

  Ahmed and Kate exchanged a few words of Spanish, which I didn’t understand, while Jalil continued to stare at me. Every once in a while, he’d say something random in French which, of course, I didn’t understand.

  “Ahmed says Jalil is into you.”

  “Duh.”

  More Spanish. “He thinks you’re beautiful. Jalil does, that is.”

  Wonderful. I was all for living in the moment, but this particular moment kind of sucked.

  “They want to take us to dinner.”

  I stared at her. Had she lost her mind? “Heck, no. Remember we have that thing? At that place?”

  Her expression brightened. “Oh, yeah.” She rattled off some Spanish to Ahmed, who turned and repeated it in Turkish to Jalil. Jalil gave me cow eyes before rattling something off in Turkish to Ahmed, who then repeated it to Kate in Spanish.

  “He wants your number.”

  I rolled my eyes. “We can’t verbally communicate. Having my number would do him no good. What are we going to do? Sit silently on the phone?”

  Once again we went through a rousing round of translation resulting in Kate saying, “He says he can write in English.”

  Great. I wasn’t getting out of this. Not unless I got really blunt and nasty. And frankly, I wasn’t in the mood to spoil the day or deal with any possible backlash, especially since it would be Kate who had to deal with it through Ahmed and the whole stupid translation vortex.

  “Fine. He can follow me on social media.”

  Apparently this was an acceptable substitute for my email, and he quickly pulled up the website and followed me. Kate and I then managed to extricate ourselves from the clingy men and hustle out of the park and back to our hotel. I thought we were safe until the post showed up on my profile.

  Rambling paragraph after rambling paragraph of barely intelligible English proclaimed my beauty and Jalil’s undying love. “We are soulmates,” he wrote. “You my destiny. The sky shine for you. Your eyes bright happiness.” And on it went for at least five paragraphs.

  “Oh, good grief,” I mumbled, deleting the post, hoping no one had seen it. I then blocked him from posting anything on my timeline. The last thing I needed was my mother reading professions of love from some creepy guy.

  I awoke the next morning to a private message, wherein Jalil blasted me upside and down for “betraying” him, “breaking” his heart, and ruining any chance we had at happiness. Apparently, in his mind, we were practically engaged.

  “Kate,” I said, after deleting the message and blocking him completely this time. “Next time a guy wants you to translate a message for me, please don’t.”

  Chapter 5

  HUMID AIR PERFUMED with roasted coffee beans and sweet vanilla hit my nose as I pushed open the door to Milk & Bean. I desperately missed the many Saturdays Kate and I had spent together drinking copious lattes out of vintage coffee mugs in pastels. These days she was busy with Adam doing couple things. I didn’t begrudge her, of course. If anything, I envied her. I just missed how things used to be.

  I waved to Sophie, who was sporting purple streaks in her hair. She smiled and waved back, showing off a new silver cuff bracelet. I gave her a thumbs-up. She was the same barista who’d been there every Saturday since I’d started coming here two years ago. I was surprised. Most places had quick turnovers, but at Milk & Bean, they seemed to stick around. They must pay pretty well.

  I caught sight of Kate waving wildly from our usual corner. She was wearing a cobalt blue sweater that turned her eyes nearly sapphire. She looked healthy, happy, her eyes shining brightly and a bigger smile across her face than I’d seen in years. Relief flooded me. I hadn’t realized until then how worried I’d been about her. About Adam. But clearly, if her dopey expression was anything to go by, he made her crazy happy, and that was good enough for me.

  “It’s about time you got back from tromping all over... where was it?” We did the cheek kissy thing before I plopped next to her in the booth.

  Kate rolled her eyes and laughed. It hung in the air like sparklers for a moment. God, she hadn’t laughed like that in ages. Not since before she’d married the vile Gavin, may he rest in pieces. Not that he was dead, mind you, but if I ever got my hands on him, all bets were off.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she giggled. “You know we were in Italy.”

  Of course I did. Kate had always wanted to visit Italy and hadn’t gotten the chance. Her asshat of an ex-husband had promised her like a billi
on times, but naturally the jerk never followed through. Modus operandi for Gavin. Bastard. Adam was another kettle of fish. The man delivered what he promised. I should be so lucky.

  “How much of Italy did you see? Besides the bedrooms, I mean.”

  Kate choked on a sip of coffee. “Pervert,” she laughed as she mopped up the spill. “We saw plenty, thank you very much. The ruins at Herculaneum would take your breath away. And the wine is astonishingly good.” She winked. “But we also saw lots and lots of bedrooms. Stairwells, elevators...”

  “Enough!” I held my hands up, laughing. “I get the picture. You’re happy.” I watched her closely as another twitterpated look crossed her face.

  “I can’t even tell you how happy.”

  “Good. Because if Adam pulls a Gavin, I’m going to beat his butt.”

  “Oh, believe me. He’s already aware.” She gave another starry-eyed grin. “I don’t think Adam is capable of pulling a Gavin. He’s just too...too... amazing.” The last was said on a sigh. Her eyes took on a faraway look, her lips curved in a secret smile. I really did not want to know what had put that smile on her face, because it probably involved a whole lot of naked.

  The bell above the door jangled wildly, and a redhead strolled in. Tall and slender with broad shoulders set off by a navy blue peacoat, he made more than a few heads turn. “Oh, look. It’s Kev.”

  “Yes, I invited him. Hope you don’t mind.” Kate waved him over.

  “Of course not. He’s amazing.”

  “Oh, what? I leave for a few days in Italy, and you’re BFFs now?” she asked, quirking a brow.

  “Sure. We do drinks.”

  “Don’t be jealous, sweetie,” Kev interrupted, leaning down to peck Kate on the cheek before giving me the same treatment. “There’s plenty of me to go around. Now, ladies, can I get you anything?” We gave him our requests, handed him our empty cups, and he hurried up to the front to place the order.

  “I’m glad you two are getting along,” Kate said, folding her hands under her chin. “I swear I don’t know what I would have done without him sometimes. He’s been such a good friend.”

  “If that sweater is any indication, he’s certainly better at shopping than you are.”

  She stuck her tongue out.

  “Hey, if the shoe fits.”

  “What can I say? I’m a basket case when it comes to fashion. You know that.”

  She wasn’t kidding. I was the one who’d always loved clothes, not that anyone would call me a fashionista. More like...original. Or eccentric. I glanced down at my hot pink pencil skirt and black and white polka dot blouse with the French blue kitten heels, and orange and green striped bag. Yep. Definitely original. Color made me happy.

  “Although Adam said if Kev sent me home with another handbag, he was going to have to start storing his clothes in the kitchen.” She giggled. “It’s my cousin, Emma, who’s the fashion-forward one. That girl can put together the cutest outfits. Of course it does help that she’s like a size zero.” Kate wrinkled her nose. “Wench.” But she said it softly with a slight laugh that told me how much she adored her cousin.

  “Believe me,” I said, “if she wasn’t related to you, as well as being one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, I’d hate her guts.”

  We laughed. Being definitely not size zeros was something we both understood well. Though I’d always been more confident about my curves than Kate, I was still well aware that not everyone agreed with me on my level of fabulous. Fortunately, I didn’t really care that much what anyone thought.

  “Okay, ladies, here you go.” Kev reappeared, juggling two pale blue cups and a pink one. He handed the blue to Kate and me and kept the pink one for himself.

  “What?” He caught me staring at the pink cup. “I happen to adore pink. I have no less than half a dozen pink shirts. I’d paint every wall in the flat pink if the landlord wouldn’t kill me.”

  “Speaking of,” Kate said. “How are you doing with the new flatmate?” After Kate had moved back to America several months ago, before she and Adam got back together for their happily ever after, Kev had been left with two other gay male flatmates and an empty room to fill.

  He sighed. “Fine. I mean Matt is fine. A little too addicted to video games, if you ask me, and not terribly good about cleaning up after himself. But we get along, and we’ve agreed to hire a housecleaner. It’s Raj and James who are the problem.”

  “Still don’t like having a straight flatmate?” Kate asked.

  “Straight male flatmate,” Kev corrected her. “It’s ridiculous. This is the twenty-first century, for crying out loud.”

  I barely held back a snort. Talk about turning the tables.

  “You think it’s funny now, but those two tossers are threatening to move out and leave me hanging. Don’t suppose you know a decent, open-minded person in need of a place?” He looked positively desperate.

  We shook our heads. “Sorry, no, but I’ll let you know if I hear of anything,” I told him.

  “Me, too,” Kate chimed in.

  “Enough about my flatmate problems,” Kev said, settling in. “I want to hear all about this honeymoon with that yummy husband of yours. Leave nothing out. I want every delicious detail.”

  Kate laughed and launched into a detailed account of her and Adam’s trip to Italy. Fortunately she didn’t get too detailed about the previously mentioned stairwells and elevators, but the picture she painted of the ruins in Rome, the quaint villages, and the delicious food suddenly gave me a craving for travel. Italy was on my list, too, and while I’d had a brief trip to Rome a few years back, it hadn’t been nearly enough.

  “Enough about my honeymoon,” Kate said, eyeing Kev. “What about your love life? Didn’t you have a date with a guy in fashion design?”

  Kev rolled his eyes. “I will spare you the details, but let’s just say the ‘fashion designer’ turned out to be a suit salesman.”

  “Well, that’s not so bad, is it?” I asked. Suit salesmen dressed well, didn’t they?

  “From Moss Brothers.”

  “Oh,” we chorused. That was pretty much the UK version of the Men’s Warehouse. Not that there was anything wrong with that. A suit was a suit, as far as I was concerned, and any man who took the trouble to look snazzy got a gold star. But Kev was more of an Armani kind of guy. Or, better yet, bespoke from Saville Row.

  “Chloe, sweetie.” Kev turned to me. “Have you heard from that dreadful Derek person?”

  I snorted, nearly inhaling my coffee. “I texted him straight after the show and told him I didn’t want to see him again.”

  “What did he say?” Kate asked.

  “He first tried to claim he’d told me what the play was like. When that didn’t fly, he apologized profusely and told me it was all a mistake, and he’d assumed I knew.”

  Kev shook his head. “Man is a liar, liar pants on fire. No, wait, he doesn’t have any pants does he?” He laughed at his lame joke. “Please tell me you’re not going out with him again.”

  “Oh, believe me, I’m not. And I think he finally got the message. He stopped texting me anyway.”

  “Good riddance,” Kate said. “You do not need to be dating that kind of catastrophe.”

  During a lull in the conversation, we heard Sophie calling out takeaway orders. “Chai latte,” she sang. A tiny woman with a harassed expression and three kids in tow claimed the latte, clutching it to her breast like a lifeline.

  “Tall hot chocolate,” Sophie sang. A tall gentleman with exquisite brown skin and a smoothly shaved head stood up and walked to the counter. His light gray suit was definitely not of the Moss Brothers variety.

  “Oh, my!” I muttered under my breath. Kate and Kev started giggling and pretty soon, we were all laughing.

  “Oh, my, indeed.” Kate practically snorted.

  “Warning. He’s headed our way,” Kev all but squealed. His cheeks had turned as pink as his coffee cup.

  My stomach did an odd fluttery thing as
the ridiculously good-looking man walked toward us. Scratch that: swaggered toward us. That’s what it was, really, a swagger. He was hot as heck, and he knew it. I’d never liked that sort of man. Too arrogant, usually. Too overconfident. Too much of a jerk. But I had to admit he was making my lady parts sit up and take notice.

  “Hello, there,” he said as he stopped at our table. He voice was as smooth and delicious as the rest of him. “How’s everyone’s day going?” Definitely British. London. The posh bit.

  “Just got better,” Kev piped up.

  “Fine,” Kate said with a cheeky grin. “How about yours?” She slid a look my way. I kicked her under the table.

  Mr. Tall’s eyes never left mine. “Extremely well, thank you. And it will be better if you tell me what has you all so cheerful today.” The way he looked at me, I knew he was well aware we’d been talking about him. Of course, we had been rather obvious. I felt a flush rise in my cheeks and struggled to shove it down.

  “We were just commenting on your excellent taste in clothes,” Kate piped up. “Chloe thinks you have very interesting...uh...trousers.” She and Kev sputtered with laughter. Traitors.

  “Does she now?” His full lips parted, revealing perfect, white teeth and a movie star smile. Dang, the man was sexy as heck. “Tell me, Miss Chloe, is there anything else you find... interesting?”

  Oh, he was a smug bastard. But the wild attraction simmering between us was nearly palpable. Oh, gosh, I was in trouble. “Maybe. But that would be telling.” I couldn’t help but flirt a little while Kate and Kev giggled like school children, and naughty ones at that.