Kiss Me, Chloe

by Shéa R. MacLeod

“Well, then. Why don’t I take you out sometime, and we can talk about all the things that... interest you.” He gave me a slow, sexy wink that turned me into insta-goo.

  “I don’t even know your name.” Not that that was going to stop me.

  His smile got even sexier. “Geoff. Geoff Penridge.”

  “Okay. Sure,” I said. “When?”

  He seemed startled, and maybe it was rude by British standards, but in my experience, if you don’t nail people down, they sort of fade away on the wind. You can’t trust a man to follow up when he says he’s going to call, no matter how much he flirts with you.

  “Oh, I like a lady who goes after what she wants. How about next Friday? Meet for drinks at six.”

  The old drinks routine. “Fine. St. Germaine’s on Clerkenwell Road near Farringdon Station. Know it?” St. Germaine’s was only a couple of blocks from my work. I wouldn’t have to rush to get there, and if things went south, I could get to the Tube station quickly. No wasted trips.

  “It’s a date. Chloe.” He flashed another wicked grin, and then he was gone.

  “Dang,” Kate said, fanning herself. “If I wasn’t a married woman...”

  “Well, I’m not. And that boy is hot. You better get some of that, girl, or I will.” Kev ogled Geoff’s backside.

  I snorted. “You two are a laugh a minute.”

  “All I’m saying is you only live once, sweetie.” Kev gave me a serious look. “A little of that, and I could die a happy man.”

  Bus Stop Romeo

  MOVING FROM PORTLAND to London had meant giving up my car and switching to public transportation, and therefore given much more opportunity for bizarre bus stop conversation. Admittedly, it had been awhile since I’d been on a bus, so this particular experience took me a little by surprise. It was one of the strangest— and most amusing—conversations I've had pretty much ever.

  I was waiting for the bus to take me to meet Kate one evening (this was before she moved to Notting Hill and was still married to that asshat, Gavin). Next to me, a woman stood talking loudly on her phone about her latest sexy-time conquest when a red double-decker pulled up to the curb. It wasn’t my bus, so I remained seated. A man got off, a baseball cap pulled low, half-smoked cigarette stub in one hand and a can of cheap cider in the other. It was clear he was more than a little inebriated, and he wandered over to the woman and asked for a light, which she promptly gave him before giving him a slightly disgusted look and walking away to continue her conversation in peace.

  He promptly staggered to the corner of the bus shelter, burning cigarette clutched in his hand. I heard the sound of a rasping zipper.

  "I hope you don't mind,” he said over his shoulder. “I just need a quick wee."

  "Oh no! Dude... you cannot pee there right in front of me! You need to hold it." It was like being stuck in an alternate dimension. Where was the reticent British gentleman I’d heard so much about?

  “Sorry, love. Can’t wait.” This was followed by a splashing sound and the stench of urine, which nearly made me gag.

  "That's disgusting. I can't believe you're urinating right there! Where's the respect?"

  "I have respect, madam,” he slurred. “I just needed to relieve myself. I can't help it."

  “Gross.” I got up and edged away from him. “I don’t need to be seeing that.”

  "Don't be mad at me." He walked over and held out his hand like he expected me to shake it.

  "Sorry, dude, I am so not shaking your hand after that." I rummaged around in my bag and came out with some sanitizer, raspberry scented. “Hold out your hands.” He obediently did as ordered, and I squirted the gel into his palms.

  As he rubbed the cleaner over his hands, he pleaded with me. "I promise I won't try to shake your hand. Just don't be mad at me. Do you like black men?"

  I blinked, completely baffled. "What? Um...I guess. If I like a guy, I don't care if he's black, white, or purple if he's got high standards for himself."

  "So you got a boyfriend?"

  "Nope," I said without thinking.

  "Really? You don't have a boyfriend? Why not?" I could see the wheels slowly turning through the inebriation. I scrambled for a good comeback that would hopefully put off whatever he was contemplating.

  "My standards are too high," I said.

  At this point he stretched out his hands as if to indicate himself as an option to end my singleness. Was this what my life had come to?

  "I'm sorry,” I said primly. “I don't date guys who pee at bus stops."

  "I don't usually.” His voice again held that tone of pleading. “It was an emergency sich...stich...sitchuashun. I promise I'll never wee at another bus stop again. I would make an eshellent boyfriend."

  "It's too late. I just can't bring myself to date someone who peed at the bus stop."

  "But you're hot,” he said as if that settled it. “I promise I won't do it again. I had my back to you. At least I didn't whip out the John Thomas in front of you."

  John Thomas? Seriously? It was all I could do to keep from laughing out loud. I was starting to wonder if I was on some hidden camera show, or maybe I was the drunk one.

  "And I thank you for that. It would've made an inappropriate situation even more inappropriate." At this point I wasn’t even sure that was possible.

  "Seriously, why can't I have your number? I need a girlfriend."

  I gave a little snort as I desperately held back a howl of laughter. "Well then, you'll have to stop relieving yourself at bus stops. Girls don't like that."

  "But I had to go,” he whined. “What would you do if you had to go?"

  "I wouldn’t do it at a bus stop! My momma raised me right," I said.

  My phone rang. It was Kate. “Are you almost here?” she asked.

  “Still waiting on the bus. Order me a drink, will you? I’m going to need it.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’ll tell you when I get there. Trust me. It’s a good one.”

  "You don't have a boyfriend, eh?” said my companion with a big knowing grin and nod toward my phone as I hung up. “That's your boyfriend!"

  "No, that's my friend. I’m meeting her later. I told you I don't have a boyfriend."

  "Oh. She. I undershtand." He smirked knowingly, attempting an eyebrow waggle.

  I rolled my eyes. My bus pulled up, saving me from the insanity. As I climbed aboard, I paused to give him some parting advice. “Have a good night. Don't pee at anymore bus stops. Remember, girls don't like that."

  “What does it matter?” he said with a heartfelt sigh. He stared at me with soulful and very bloodshot eyes. “I’ve already lost the love of my life.”

  Chapter 6

  I WAS EXCITED ABOUT the date with Geoff. After the porno play with Derek, I deserved a nice night out with a decent guy. And if he was gorgeous, that sure didn’t hurt. Finger’s crossed Geoff would be the ticket. And if not, well, it was an adventure, right?

  I had just the thing, too. A cute ’50s inspired retro-look dress with a fitted bodice (to show off the tatas) and a swirly skirt that flared from the smallest part of my waist. Extremely flattering, especially on my va-va-voom figure. The print also had a vintage feel, with red Eiffel towers and swirly blue French lettering. I paired it with a bright red cardigan, a handbag covered in red poppies, and black and red tartan pumps. Was I carrying the red theme too far? I hummed a little as I swooped my thick, blonde hair up into a high ponytail and swiped on more red lipstick. Naw. You could never take a theme too far in my opinion.

  Blowing a kiss at the bathroom mirror, I hurried back to the office I shared with Olivia and snagged my zebra print trenchcoat from the hook behind the door. It was almost six, and I didn’t want to be late.

  “Hot date?” Olivia asked, grabbing her coat, a classic Burberry tweed. Although she never talked about it, Olivia came from money. I knew she had a degree from some fancy university, though I could never remember if it was Cambridge or Oxford. Why she was working in a thankless
job at a charity was beyond me Maybe it was because her dad was the boss or she was into old buildings, though she didn’t seem the type.

  “I hope so.” I said, shrugging into my jacket. “Guess we’ll find out.”

  “Are you headed to the Tube station?”

  “St. Germaine's.”

  “Oh, I’m meeting Paul there.” I guessed this week they were back on. I wasn’t surprised. Breaking up and getting back together seemed to be their thing. “Can I walk with you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Oh, good.” We stepped out into slightly chilly air. “Tell me about this guy. Is he cute?”

  “Extremely.” I told her about the tall hot chocolate incident and how it had led to Geoff asking me out for drinks.

  “Oh, that’s so romantic,” she sighed.

  I wouldn’t have said romantic exactly, but I guess it made for a good story. “I just hope he doesn’t turn out to be a loser like the last one.” At least he wasn’t an artsy type. As far as I knew, anyway.

  “That Derek person? The actor?” She waved her hand airily. “You didn’t want to date him from the start. Your intuition warned you, but you ignored it. And it was right! I’m a firm believer in listening to your intuition.”

  Ironic, seeing as how she was dating a guy we all knew was cheating on her. But she was right about Derek. My intuition, or maybe my logic, had told me not to date him. And had I listened? No. I’d let my determination to live in the moment and prove Kev wrong get the better of me. Where had that gotten me? With an image scarred into my brain I’d never get out, thanks to the porn play experience, that’s where.

  “What did your intuition tell you about Paul?” I didn’t mean to snipe at her relationship, or lack thereof. I was genuinely curious. I’d run into Paul a couple of times when he’d met Olivia at work for one of their date nights. They seemed like such an odd couple. Her, young and lively, and him, closer to forty and still desperately trying to rock the pale, tragic youth thing.

  Olivia shrugged, unperturbed by my question. “No idea. It didn’t really say one way or the other. But who cares? I’m only twenty-five. I’ve got lots of time to find The One. If there is such a thing.”

  “Paul isn’t it?”

  She laughed merrily. “Are you joking? I think not. But he’s fine for now. He’s surprisingly good in bed, if you know what I mean.”

  “Ah, yeah. I think I get it.”

  We both laughed. I supposed when you were young, that was all that mattered. Had I ever been that carefree? I couldn’t remember it if I had. I’d always been so wrapped up in what was supposed to be important. Maybe that was why I was still single at a decade older than Olivia.

  St. Germaine’s was heaving. All the suits from the surrounding offices had poured in for the two-for-one happy hour. The tables were full, the bar two-deep, and the black and white checked floor almost invisible beneath all the feet. Thank goodness for high ceilings, or I might have gone claustrophobic.

  “Oh, there he is,” Olivia shouted in my ear. She waved wildly, and I spotted Paul in the corner. At least I thought it was Paul. His usual black-dyed hair had been allowed to go its natural medium-brown with liberal streaks of gray, and he was sporting an enormous handlebar moustache that was currently, and unfortunately, all the rage. He stood up as we neared, and I realized he was wearing skinny corduroy pants in a vaguely brownish color and a red and black plaid flannel shirt. With suspenders. None of it was a good look for him. Dear heavens, I thought I’d left the hipsters back in Portland.

  Olivia greeted Paul with a quick peck on the lips. Paul seemed unenthused, to say the least. He sank back down, not even offering to get us drinks. Was their relationship about to go off again? No doubt I’d hear the minute it did.

  “Do you see him?” Olivia asked.

  I peered around the low-lit bar but couldn’t see my date anywhere. I glanced at my watch. Six on the dot. “Maybe he’s running late.” If I had another Derek on my hands, I was going to be pissed.

  “Well, maybe we should get some drinks. Surely he’ll show up soon.” She glanced down at her boyfriend, who studiously avoided catching either of our gazes. She sighed. “Come on.”

  Leaving our coats with Paul, we waded through the crowd around the bar, using carefully placed elbows when necessary. Mostly it wasn’t. The minute the guys spotted Olivia, they parted like the freaking Red Sea. Although I got significantly less positive attention, there were still plenty who eyed my figure with appreciation. I put a little extra sass in my stride just for fun.

  We shouted our drink order at the barman and then stood quietly waiting for them. No point talking; it was so loud, I could hardly hear myself think. Some guy moved in on Olivia, trying to chat her up. He was young, cute, and well-dressed, but she stared down her nose at him and turned away. Downcast, he rejoined his friends, who shook their heads, no doubt commiserating with his bad luck. I couldn’t blame the poor guy. Olivia was such a pretty girl and so full of life. It was too bad she was determined to waste time on a loser like Paul. Then again, who was I to talk about dating losers? I could give my friend, Kate, a run for her money. She’d dated several extreme losers before meeting Adam.

  The barman finally delivered our drinks, and we paid. I was picking up my blackberry mojito when someone jostled my arm hard enough to slosh half my drink across the bar. Whirling to give the idiot a piece of my mind, I found myself staring into a pair of umber bedroom eyes. Whatever I’d been going to say went straight out the window.

  “Geoff.”

  “I’m sorry, Chloe.”

  He was sorry? For what? “Um, why?”

  He glanced at the glass in my hand. “I spilled your drink. Let me get you another.”

  He waved the barman over, and in no time at all, I was sipping a fresh blackberry mojito. Olivia had disappeared into the crowd, no doubt back to Paul. Too bad. There were plenty of other gentlemen here that would no doubt be a vast improvement. If only she’d open her eyes.

  Speaking of eyes. “Thank you,” I said turning to my date. The mojito slipped smoothly down my throat, warming my belly and reminding me I hadn’t eaten since lunch. A few sips in, and I was already feeling a slight buzz.

  “You’re welcome. I’m also sorry I’m late. Delay on the Tube. You know how these things go. The price of living in London.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. After all, ten minutes late was nothing like over an hour late. I’d been late myself from time to time, thanks to the vagaries of London’s transportation system.

  There was nowhere to sit or even stand, so I headed toward the table where Paul had been sitting. He and Olivia had disappeared, and the table was now packed with half a dozen young men in suits, their ties loosened and bottles of imported beer in their hands. Drat. Where was my coat? I loved that coat, and I didn’t want to have to replace it. Although there was a cherry red and black striped one I’d been eyeing at Debenhams.

  “Excuse me,” I broke in on their conversation. “Have you seen a zebra striped trench? I left it at this table.”

  “Oh, sure, love,” one of the guys slurred. “I kept it safe for you.” He pulled out my coat, which he’d been sitting on. “Good look for you,” he said, tossing it at me.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Just be careful when walking near the zoo. They might mistake you for one of the inhabitants.” The entire table burst into a roar of drunken laughter.

  I stared at him for a moment, anger buzzing in my brain. “Better to be mistaken for a zebra than a hyena,” I snapped back.

  More raucous laughter, followed by the sound of mooing. I wished for another comeback, but what was the point? They were all drunk off their asses. Probably wouldn’t even remember this in the morning.

  “Listen, you wanker,” Geoff suddenly appeared beside me, looming over the table like an avenging angel. “That is no way to talk to a lady. Apologize. Now.” There was a dangerous undercurrent to his tone that gave me chills. The drunks must have f
elt it too, because every one of them turned pasty white.

  “S-Sorry,” the one who’d made the zoo comment stammered, avoiding eye contact.

  I glared at him, barely resisting the urge to grab his drink and pour it over his head. “Thank you for returning my jacket,” I said stiffly. I whirled around and marched away, head held high. I downed my entire drink in a couple of gulps and then turned to Geoff. “Let’s get out of here.”

  He nodded, quickly downing his own drink and following me outside. “Well, they were rather rude.”

  I nodded tightly. “Thank you for defending my honor.” Not that I needed anyone defending my honor, but it had been nice. I wasn’t used to having someone else stand up for me. Except Kate, of course. That girl would fly off the handle if someone so much as looked at me sideways.

  “No worries.” He brushed it off as if standing up to drunk jerks was an everyday occurrence. “Are you hungry?” Geoff asked, wrapping one arm around my shoulders, quickly brushing aside any anger he might have had over the insults.

  “Sure,” I said, shaking off irritation. I wasn’t about to let a few rude comments ruin our evening. I’d heard worse, to be honest. And while I rarely let it affect me, every once in a while it stung. Like tonight. “I could eat.”

  “Excellent. I know just the place.”

  The place turned out to be a Michelin-starred restaurant which made the Pomodoro look like a McDonald’s. Not that it was over the top or anything. It was simple, understated elegance. Not fussy. Not ostentatious. It screamed expensive. I hesitated while visions of Damon danced in my head. What if Geoff stuck me with the bill? No way could I afford one meal in a place like this, never mind two. I told myself firmly not to be ridiculous. So far Geoff had been the perfect gentleman.

  “Ah, Mr. Penridge. We are pleased to see you again.” The maître dˈ gave a graceful nod and waved us forward.

  We followed him into the dining room. Despite being completely full, the murmur of conversation was so low you could still hear the string quartet in the corner. Couples and small groups spoke in hushed tones. No loud laughter or angry arguments to break the elegant atmosphere.