Kiss Me, Chloe

by Shéa R. MacLeod

  “Floozie. Well, if the bra fits.” I waved it around.

  Kate rolled her eyes. “Dope. And trust me, Adam has made the same reference on more than one occasion.”

  “Ew, I do not need details of your sexy time with Adam.” She blushed wildly, and I couldn’t help myself. “No, wait. I want details. Length. Girth. Exact action sequence.”

  Kate stuck her tongue out. “I am not sharing details of my husband’s... erm...”

  “Member?”

  She laughed so hard, she almost spilled her drink on the lingerie. “Exactly. With my luck you’d sell it to the tabloids.”

  “Hey, I got bills like everyone else.”

  We snickered. “Let’s just say I am extremely satisfied with the performance of Adam’s husbandly duties.”

  I laughed so loud, an elderly woman with hearing aids and a raincoat covered in pigs gave me a baleful glare. I gave her a sickly sweet smile. “Well, that’s a relief. What about this one?” I pulled out a sassy red and black half-corset thingy. I hummed a few lines from “The Stripper.”

  “No way. Stomach rolls galore. Clearly a man designed that thing because anyone bigger than a size two is going to look hideous in it. Ah, now this is perfect.” She pulled out a midnight blue and white, sheer babydoll with matching knickers. Sexy. Definitely flattering on her curvy form and pale skin. And I didn’t imagine it would stay on long.

  “Perfect. My little sis has grown up.”

  She snorted. “Now heels.”

  “You never wear heels. They hurt your back.”

  “Which is why I won’t be standing in them,” she said with a wink.

  “Floozie by name, floozie by nature.” I followed her to the shoe department.

  While she’d tried on half the heels in the place, she changed the subject. “Tell me about your date with... what was this one’s name?”

  “You make it sound like I’ve had so many. This one was Geoff.”

  “Geoff what?”

  “Penridge.”

  She made a face.

  “What?”

  “Geoff Penridge? Not exactly sexy.”

  I shrugged. “Okay, so it’s not exactly in the Adam Wentworth sexy department, but he’s super hot. And not a slacker. What’s in a name anyway?”

  “According to Shakespeare, not much,” she admitted. “But Shakespeare was a man, after all. He did not understand the importance of sexy names.”

  I huffed. “You’ve been spending too much time with Adam.”

  She giggled in that way that said she had indeed been spending way too much time with her husband. “So, this Geoff. He’s got a good job then?”

  “Yeah. Investment banker.”

  “Oh, that’s some dosh.”

  “Well, he certainly didn’t stick me with the bill. And the place he took me to was seriously swanky.”

  She mulled it over. “That’s good.”

  “But?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged as she slid her feet into a strappy pair of red stilettos. “It sounds kind of boring.” She stood up and nearly fell on her backside. Would have, if I hadn’t caught her and shoved her back in the chair. “What do you think?”

  “I think it doesn’t matter if it’s boring. Investment banking is a secure job.” Security earned a lot more points than fun in my book, at least when it came to occupation. I didn’t want to have to take care of someone, nor did I need someone taking care of me. I just wanted to be free to be me. To, have fun, go a little crazy and not have to worry the rent wouldn’t be paid if I wasn’t on top of things every darned minute.

  She eyeballed me. “I meant about the shoes.”

  “Oh.” I gazed down at them. “They’re sexy as heck, but shouldn’t you be able to stand in them more than ten seconds?”

  “Good point.” She took them off and tossed them back in a box. This time she grabbed a pair of lime green ones. “What I’m saying is you’re such an artistic, colorful person. Are you sure an investment banker is a good match? Aren’t they usually kind of uptight?”

  “Geoff seems okay. Besides, I need someone with security. Someone who is serious about who he is and what he does. Not some...fly-by-night.”

  “Not a musician, you mean.”

  I scowled, but she was too busy lacing up the lime green gladiator stilettos to notice. “Exactly.”

  “Not all musicians are flakes, you know.” She managed to stand up without falling over. “How about these?”

  I wrinkled my nose. Kate let out a deep sigh. “You’re right. Not a good color.” She sat down and started unwrapping them. “My point is you can find a guy who is fun and interesting and artistic and had still got his stuff together.”

  “And I can also find a unicorn in Green Park.”

  She laughed and tried on a pair of purple silk things. “Okay, okay, so they’re rare. But wouldn’t you rather be with the guy who was perfect for you instead of some boring guy who’s just secure?”

  “Geoff isn’t boring, exactly.” Okay, so he didn’t make me see stars, but he wasn’t a yawn a minute either. “He’s nice. Besides, there aren’t that many Adam Wentworths in the world. In fact, I think you took the last one.” I smiled to show I wasn’t bitter or jealous. Okay, maybe a little jealous.

  Kate looked dreamy. “I did luck out, didn’t I?”

  “You sure did. Now how about those shoes?”

  She got to her feet and managed to stay upright, even taking a couple of only marginally wobbly steps. “Oh, these are gorgeous. And perfect.” She squealed. “These are the ones!”

  “You’re going to knock Adam’s socks off.”

  “I’m hoping for a little more than that.” She waggled her eyebrows.

  I snorted with laughter. “I think they’ll do the trick.”

  “They better.” She leaned down and snapped a picture of her bare foot in the sexy heel. I could hear the swooping sound as she sent a text. Her phone chimed almost immediately. She smirked as she read the message. “Yep. That did it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You two and your sexting.”

  “Oh, believe me, that wasn’t sexting.”

  “Oh, dear heavens.”

  She howled with laughter. This time she was the one getting stared at.

  We were on our way out the door when I spotted it. The perfect little red dress. Kate caught me looking.

  “Girlfriend, if you want to catch this Geoff guy, I suggest you snatch that up quick. No way in heck a man can resist you in that.”

  “You think I should?” I quickly tallied up my bank account. I could just swing it if I was careful the rest of the month.

  “Get it or I will. I think I could give Adam a double whammy.”

  I snatched the dress and ran.

  Chapter 8

  “WOW. YOU LOOK AMAZING.” The look in Geoff’s eyes confirmed the little red dress had been a brilliant idea. Best purchase ever. And if I had to eat beans on toast for a month, well, that was the price to pay for fabulous.

  I smiled as I shut my apartment door behind me. “Thank you.”

  “Let’s take a cab,” he suggested. “It’s a bit of a jaunt.”

  “Really? Where are we going?”

  He grinned, his teeth flashing white. “It’s a surprise.”

  “Oh, I love a good surprise.”

  He took my hand, and we hurried down the front steps to the waiting cab. My stomach fluttered with anticipation.

  The surprise turned out to be Madison, a restaurant in Blackfriars. It was on the top floor, and nearly every wall was glass. The views overlooking St. Paul’s Cathedral were breathtaking, the dome glowing in the darkness like a beacon, lit by up lights cleverly placed for the best effect.

  We were seated by a window offering what was possibly one of the best views of the city. I barely noticed the waitress arrive to take our drink order. Geoff ordered Veuve Clicquot, a ridiculously expensive champagne—the same one Kate had rejected for her wedding reception.

  I caught h
im staring at the waitress’s backside as she walked away and frowned, irritated. I cleared my throat, and he immediately turned his attention back to me as if nothing had happened.

  “See something you like?” I asked dryly.

  He smoldered at me. “Oh, yes. Definitely.”

  Maybe he hadn’t been staring at the waitress after all. Maybe I was overreacting. But I decided then and there I was going to keep a close eye on things. If Geoff was one of those ogling types, I was going to dump his ass, good job or not.

  “Are we celebrating something?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The champagne. Not a usual dinner drink. And we already celebrated your promotion.”

  “Every day should be a celebration, don’t you think?”

  I grinned. “I like your style.”

  OVER THE NEXT FEW WEEKS, Geoff and I went out regularly, although it drifted from Friday nights to Thursday nights, and I never saw him on weekends. Heck, I never heard from him on weekends and rarely on weeknights, come to that. At first I didn’t think much of it, being busy myself, but soon it started to gnaw at me.

  “I was thinking,” I said, twirling spaghetti around the tines of my fork. It was about our fourth date. “There’s a festival on South Bank this weekend. We should go. I think it would be fun.”

  He hesitated. “Uh, sure. That’d be great.”

  I wondered at his hesitation. “Sunday, maybe?”

  “I, uh, have a lot of work to do. Meeting Monday.”

  “Saturday, then. Around eleven?”

  “Sure. Eleven. I’ll meet you outside the station.”

  I grinned, excited we were finally doing something different than just dinner before he dashed home. “It’s a date.”

  “Yeah. Great.”

  I hadn’t missed the fact he seemed less than enthusiastic. I knew he enjoyed seeing me, so it wasn’t that. And I hadn’t caught him staring at any more waitresses, which was a relief. Still, a little niggle of unease wormed its way into my brain. I pushed it to the back of my mind.

  Saturday dawned cool, but bright, that kind of sunlight that happens early in the year when you half expect it to be cloudy and dumping rain but instead looks like a tropical afternoon, reminding you it really is spring after all. I pulled out my cutest, most comfortable black knee-high boots and paired them with leggings and a navy tunic with bright red and yellow flowers. Over that I donned my zebra striped coat and red newsboy cap. The slightly humid air tried to turn my hair frizzy, but I’ve always been the queen of product. I beat it into shape in no time.

  I arrived at South Bank station precisely at ten minutes to eleven. Since I had plenty of time, I dashed across the street to grab a coffee and was back in time to meet Geoff. Except he wasn’t there. I found a quiet place against the tile wall and waited.

  The second hand of the giant clock above the escalators mocked me as it slid around and around. Seconds turned into minutes. I checked my phone. Nothing. No calls, no texts. He was ten minutes late. I felt like an idiot standing there propping up the wall.

  Another five minutes passed. I was having flashbacks of Derek. This time I called Geoff. No answer. It went straight to voicemail. Maybe he was still on the Tube. If he was underground, there’d be no reception. I sent a text, knowing he’d get it the moment he had a signal. And I waited.

  The minute hand slowly moved around the face of the clock. Another ten minutes ticked by.

  “Forget this,” I mumbled under my breath. I sent Geoff another text. You’re 20 minutes late. I’m going to look around. Text when you get here.

  I was fuming as I stormed out of the station and down the road toward South Bank. What was it with men and standing me up? Were they just rude, or was there something more to it? Red flags were flying at full mast, but I just didn’t know what to make of it.

  South Bank was an area that wound along the south side of the River Thames. The expansive sidewalks allowed hordes of tourists and locals to easily wander along the river without the hassle of dealing with traffic. Park benches peppered the walk, inviting one to sit and enjoy the view of the river as boats chugged along on its choppy surface. Shops and restaurants lined the other side of the walk, tempting one to stop and spend money on anything from a cold alcoholic beverage at a pub to a new novel from Foyles. About halfway between Waterloo Station and London Bridge—which was a little over a mile and a half, give or take—stood Shakespeare’s Globe Theater, a modern replica of the theater where the Bard himself once trod the boards. In the opposite direction, a short walk from Waterloo Station, the London Eye loomed against the sky, turning in its eternal dance.

  I wandered for a while, enjoying the sunshine, the sight of the river, and the color and chaos and live music of the festival. Vendors had set up simple booths topped with white canvas tents, plying their wares for sale. The sweet scent of caramel corn made my stomach rumble, but the flash of bling caught my eye. I hurried over to a booth to see what was on offer. Rows of silver and crystal necklaces and bracelets glittered in the sun. Chandelier earrings dangled from jewelry trees. A large amethyst pendant caught my eye. The price was exorbitant, but I grabbed a business card for later.

  The next booth held journals with hand-tooled leather covers and homemade paper. I picked up a green-covered journal and ran my finger across the leather. It would make a perfect replacement for when my day planner was full. I couldn’t help myself. I handed the vendor my credit card and tucked my new treasure in my bag.

  I browsed booths of goods from around the world, making a mental list of ideas for Christmas gifts, even though the holiday was months away. I bought a box of rose and lemon Turkish Delights, the wonderfully sticky sweet treats dusted in powdered sugar, for later.

  Along the way I stopped to watch a quartet playing swing music. Next to them a couple, dressed in forties clothing, danced away, their limbs flashing as they whirled and twirled. The man grabbed the woman, swung her out and back. The audience clapped wildly. I dropped a couple pound coins in the open trumpet case.

  My stomach rumbled again, so I bought a boar sausage on a bun and topped it with spicy mustard before making my way to an empty bench. I took a bite, the rich meat juices bursting in my mouth. I nearly moaned at the deliciousness.

  As I ate, I watched people walking by, enjoying a day in the sun. A young couple barely out of their teens strolled past, arms twined around each other. They looked ridiculously in love and kind of gooey around the edges. Give them time. He’d cheat or she’d get bored, and all that love would turn sour.

  Another couple walked by, seventy if they were a day. The man used a cane and the woman was slightly hunched over, her orthopedic shoes squeaking slightly against the pavement. The wind tossed their white hair like nimbus clouds. They held hands, their wrinkled fingers laced. She said something I couldn’t quite catch, and he looked down at her with such adoration, it made my heart ache. Maybe those kids would make it after all. There was such a thing as happily ever after. You just had to look for it.

  All in all it was a lovely day, even though I was alone. After all, there were worse things.

  I PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE ignored Geoff’s call. He was clearly a flake. Short of having been in the hospital with an exploding appendix, I couldn’t imagine any scenario in which he couldn’t have at least sent me a text letting me know he was canceling. But I admit I was curious. I hadn’t expected him to be a flake. Up until then, he’d always been more or less on time, and he’d always taken me to nice restaurants for which he paid, even though I’d offered to cover my share. Everything about him said stable and dependable.

  “I’m so sorry, Chloe,” he said, his voice sexy and low with just the right amount of pleading in it. “Something came up, and I couldn’t make it Saturday.”

  “And you didn’t think, I don’t know, maybe I should text her and let her know? Or even possibly answer the text and emails I sent?”

  He heaved a sigh that carried the weig
ht of the world. “It’s my grandmother. She’s dying. We thought this was it, so I spent all weekend at the hospital. No phone service.”

  “I’m really sorry to hear about your grandmother.” I was. Losing a grandparent sucked. “But you could have stepped outside. Or sent a text the minute you knew that’s where you were going.”

  “Listen, I said I was sorry. How was I supposed to know my grandmother was going to be dying?” He was defensive now, which was a little odd seeing as how most people with dying grandparents told their friends straight away, never mind their girlfriends. Although maybe “girlfriend” was going too far. We’d only been on four dates.

  “I’m just saying the polite thing to do would have been to let me know what was happening. Let me know about your grandmother. I would have understood. I’ve lost grandparents, too.”

  “Whatever. Look, I am sorry. I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

  “Fine. How is your grandmother?”

  He hesitated. “She’s fine. I mean, dying, you know, but fine, all things considered.”

  For someone who’d been at his dying grandmother’s bedside all weekend, it sure was a weird response. A little red flag waved wildly, but people handled grief in different ways. Maybe his was to be pragmatic. “I’m glad. That she’s okay, I mean.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.

  “Let me make it up to you, okay? This weekend. You and me. We’ll go to the theater, dinner. Sound good?”

  “Sounds amazing.” We’d finally do something fun on the weekend, like a normal couple. “What show were you thinking?”

  “You pick,” he said. “Whatever you like. Let me know. I’ll get one of those package deals.” They had websites where you could buy a package deal for a West End show and dinner at a nearby restaurant. It was a good value, and I admired him for not being a total spendthrift.