The Art of Kissing Frogs

by Shéa R. MacLeod

  We’d grown up together in Portland, our lives forming an odd dance of meetings and partings. Winding up in the same foreign city had cemented our friendship permanently. She was quite possibly one of my favorite people on Earth.

  “Kate!” Chloe squealed, squeezing out of the booth and rushing over for hugs and cheek kisses. Chloe was nothing if not unashamedly exuberant. She plopped back down, the little bounce sending golden ringlets dancing wildly around her face. “I ordered you a drink.” She pushed a pale blue vintage coffee cup in my direction. Milk & Bean was obsessive about the ’40s vibe, right down to their china.

  “Thanks.” I slipped into the corner booth next to my friend and subtly dabbed at my cheek with a napkin. Sure enough, Chloe had left big, hot-pink lip prints. Once my cheek was more or less clean, I took a long swallow of coffee before leaning back with a sigh. “I needed that. “

  “How’s the new flat? The roommates? I miss you. You could have stayed longer, you know.” Chloe’s words spilled out in a bright rainbow of chaos.

  I laughed. There was nothing like an effervescent splash of Chloe to inject a dose of energy. “It’s great. The room is tiny but perfect. The boys are awesome.”

  Chloe’s hazel eyes grew wide. “Are you sure living with boys is a good idea? With your luck....”

  I snorted. “They’re gay, Chloe.”

  She raised an eyebrow, as if doubting my gaydar. “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure, yeah.” If their canoodling on the couch hadn’t clued me in, the fact that Raj and James shared a room had pretty much been a dead giveaway. And since Kev could give RuPaul a run for her money in the flamboyancy department, it was a safe bet he was, too. Especially when I caught him drooling over our new postman. I didn’t blame him. The guy looked good in shorts.

  “Damn.” Chloe pouted prettily. “I was hoping for a little romance.” And a moment ago, she’d been worried about me living with straight men. Typical Chloe.

  I shook my head. Romance with flatmates was never a good idea. In fact, it topped the chart of “Bad Ideas.” Right up there with office romances. Besides, I preferred it this way. It was a safe environment for me. “I’m starting to lose interest in romance. Maybe I’m not ready,” I said, toying with the handle of my cup.

  “Don’t be silly. It’s been six months.” Chloe wrinkled her nose. “You’re not still mooning over that ex-asshat of yours, are you?”

  “No. Definitely not. I’d be more than happy if I never saw him again.”

  It was true, too. At first I’d hoped Gavin would come to his senses, realize the hot Brazilian he’d left me for wasn’t half as good as I was, that all we’d been through to be together, plus two years as husband and wife, meant something, and come crawling back. Six months later I finally realized that wasn’t going to happen. I wasn’t even sure I wanted it to happen. Gavin hadn’t been especially nice to me. Sometimes my own idiocy stunned me.

  “You gave up everything for that wanker.” Chloe’s American accent came on extra strong when she got riled, and she loved throwing in British curse words for fun. “You even moved here to be with him. And what does he do? Ditches you for the first pair of tits that strolls by. I hope he gets leprosy and his penis falls off.”

  I nearly sprayed coffee across the table. “We can only hope. I’d pay good money to see that.”

  “I swear, if I ever get my hands on that man, a missing dick will be the least of his worries.”

  I smiled, suddenly feeling better. I could always count on Chloe to be in my corner. The woman would have made an epic Viking shield maiden. “I thank you for your righteous anger on my behalf, but I’m fine, really. I’m moving on with my life. Granted, my latest date may have been a candidate for an insane asylum, but it’ll get better.” I hoped. An image of Adam popped into my head. As if.

  “You deserve better, you know,” Chloe said, giving me a stern look. “You are beautiful and smart and funny, and you should be with someone who appreciates you.”

  “Tell the men of this city that.” I didn’t mean to get maudlin, but some days it was hard. As if getting dumped for a sexy Brazilian wasn’t bad enough, date after horrid date was fast proving there wasn’t a decent man left in the entire universe. Either that or I was fundamentally broken. Just the thought made me sad.

  Chloe reached over and squeezed my hand. “Hey, don’t think about that jerk almost-ex-husband, all right? He’s an idiot. No stupid Brazilian chick, no matter how hot, could ever be half as amazing as you. I wish you could see that.”

  I swallowed and gave my friend’s hand a squeeze. I wished I could see it, too. But it was hard to believe under the circumstances. When I looked in the mirror, beautiful was not what I saw. The best anyone had ever said about me was that I had a pretty face. “Thanks. You’re the best.”

  Chloe grinned, tucking a golden curl behind her ear. “I know. That’s why you keep me around. Just think of it this way. Your most recent date was better than the first one.”

  I frowned. “How do you mean?”

  “Well, at least this guy didn’t ask if he could wear your underwear.”

  I sputtered with laughter. “Good point.”

  “What about Mr. Cheekbones?” Chloe asked, eyeing me.

  I’d told her about Adam, of course. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, have you seen him since that night on the Tube?”

  “Don’t be silly. What are the chances I’d run into him again?” Not very likely in a city of over twelve million.

  Chloe shrugged. “He said he lived nearby, right? So he has to take the Central Line to get anywhere. Odds are pretty good you’ll run into him again at some point. I’m always seeing the same people riding the Tube.”

  I shrugged. “Naw. Haven’t seen him.” I wasn’t about to admit I’d looked for him every day. I’d sound pathetic. “You’ll be the first to know if I do.”

  “Sounded like a total dreamboat,” Chloe sighed, a faraway look in her eyes. “I can’t believe you didn’t get his phone number.”

  “Kev said the same thing. He thinks I need lessons in how to pick up a man.” Probably my new flatmate wasn’t wrong. Clearly I needed some kind of help. My dating life was a hot mess. “It’s weird, though.”

  “What is?”

  “Mr. Cheekbones, I mean Adam, looked really familiar.”

  “You think you’ve met him somewhere?” Chloe drained the last of her coffee and looked around as if more might magically appear.

  “No. I would definitely remember if I had.” I pondered for a moment. It wasn’t the Tube or a restaurant, I was pretty sure. It was almost as if I’d seen his picture somewhere. “Still, I’m sure I’ve seen him somewhere. It’ll come to me. Eventually.”

  Mr. Tesco

  TESCO ON A SATURDAY evening was a madhouse. Unfortunately, it was also the only time I could do my grocery shopping. It was either that or get up stupid early on Sunday to elbow my way through the pre-church mob. Fat chance.

  I grabbed a blue plastic basket from the stack by the door and headed straight to the produce aisle. I eyeballed the pepper selection. There were over a dozen different kinds to choose from. That had always been a surprise to me, that London had such a vast selection of produce compared to back home in Oregon. You’d have thought someplace like the Pacific Northwest, with its local farms and orchards, would have a bigger variety of produce. Not even close. The English loved their fruits and vegetables, and imported them from all over the world, especially the southern European Union and African nations.

  Grabbing a couple of sweet, pointed red peppers, I threw them in my basket and moved to the onions. Not as many varieties here, but still plenty. I selected a red onion and turned to the courgettes. I smiled a little. The first time I’d gone shopping in the UK, I’d asked everywhere for zucchinis not knowing the British used the French word.

  “Making something special?”

  The thickly accented male voice shocked me out of my reverie. Startled, I whirled aro
und, brandishing the courgette like a weapon. A tall gentleman was standing a little closer than strictly necessary, and his slightly musky cologne tickled my nose. He was fairly good-looking in a dark, Eastern European sort of way, though the thick gold chain around his neck made me think of The Sopranos. “Um, just dinner,” I said, suddenly realizing I was still brandishing the courgette. Talk about phallic overtones. I quickly dumped it in my basket and moved down the aisle toward the fruits.

  “For you and your husband?”

  I held back a smile. Real subtle, dude. I’d always heard the place to meet men was the supermarket, but this was the first time someone had tried to pick me up in one. Frankly, it was more than a little awkward. “Just me. I’m not married.” Anymore. I wasn’t about to go into the details of my personal life with a complete stranger. Besides, trying to explain the whole separated-but-not-divorced scenario was too complicated for a first meeting.

  He smiled. “Oh that’s good. Do you live nearby?”

  It was all getting a little personal. I wasn’t used to being accosted by random men at the supermarket and wasn’t sure whether I should be thrilled or creeped out. “I’m sorry, I don’t know you.” I tried not to wince at how blunt I sounded.

  “I’m Stefan.” He held out his hand.

  Reluctantly I shook it, unimpressed by the limp handshake and clammy skin. A big guy like Stefan should have a better grip than that. “Kate.”

  “You’re American?” He gave me a wide grin, showing off a perfect set of white teeth. He must have spent a fortune on dentistry.

  “Yes.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I really wished he’d stop following me around the store.

  He beamed. “I love Americans! I love watching American shows. You know, Miami Vice.” He made some kind of weird hand gesture I couldn’t interpret. “I want to go to Miami, you know. Drive a speedboat. Go dancing at the clubs.”

  I hadn’t the heart to tell him Miami Vice was so last century. “Right. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Stefan.” I grabbed a bag of clementines and started to move toward the next aisle, already running through my mental list of groceries.

  Stefan kept pace, randomly grabbing items off the shelves to throw into his basket. “I would like to take you out for a drink sometime.”

  My first instinct was to say no with a great big “hell” in front of it. I glanced at the thick pelt of man fur almost hiding the gold chain. Stefan was so not my type, and I was pretty sure I was allergic to his cologne. Then I remembered my decision to be more open-minded when it came to dating. Live a little, I told myself. Stop being such a ninny and give the poor guy half a chance. You’ll never find love if you don’t try. “Sure. Okay. That’d be great. Sometime.”

  “How about tonight?”

  “Umm...”

  And that’s how I found myself sitting in the middle of a nearly deserted pub a few hours later with some random guy who thought dressing up for a date meant throwing on a football (aka soccer) jersey, a fresh pair of sweat pants, and an entire bottle of cheap cologne. At least Stefan hadn’t complained about the price of drinks, although he probably should have. My Southern Comfort and lemonade was a lot more lemonade than Comfort.

  “So, Stefan,” I said. The fake leather couch squeaked under my butt, my bare legs sticking a little as I turned toward him. With my sundress in the wash, my only other “date” outfit was a black knit wrap dress that hit just above the knees. Though based on what my date was wearing, I could have stuck with the jeans and T-shirt from earlier and he wouldn’t have noticed. “Where are you from?”

  “Serbia. But I’ve been in London ten years now.” He took a deep swallow of his beer. I watched a bead of condensation slide down the bottle and drip onto the leg of his sweat pants, leaving a dark blotch. He didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy staring at the television screen on the opposite wall. There was a game on. Replay, of course. The sound was off. I had no idea why he needed to watch it when we were supposedly in the middle of a date he’d been so eager for he’d chased me around Tesco. Guys were so damn weird.

  Without warning he wrapped his right arm around my shoulders. It was awkward, but I let it go. What harm was he doing? And he liked me. Plus he was a reasonably attractive guy even if he made my sinuses hurt. Still I felt distinctly uncomfortable and couldn’t help comparing him to Adam. Now there was a man whose arm I wouldn’t mind having wrapped around me.

  I told myself I was being ridiculous. A man like Adam was so far out of my league, we weren’t even playing in the same game. I needed to be realistic. Here was a guy who was actually interested. Well, maybe. Apparently I didn’t outrank football.

  I shook my head. “Serbia. That’s, uh, nice. You must like it here, then. To stay so long, I mean.”

  “Yeah. It’s nice.” His eyes stayed glued to the telly.

  I scrambled for another question. Some way to get the conversation started. I smoothed my skirt down, tugging it over my knees, fidgeting a little with the hem. “What do you do for work?”

  “Driver.” His eyes were still glued on the flat screen.

  “A delivery driver?” I picked up my drink and downed half of it. It was watery from the melted ice. God, I could use more alcohol. Like a whole bottle.

  “Delivery, yes.” He chugged his beer and slammed the empty bottle on the stained coffee table, making me jump. “You want another?”

  “No. I’m fine, thanks.” I still had half a glass of Southern Comfort and lemonade left, and it felt wrong somehow to make him pay for more crappy drinks.

  Without another word Stefan got up and strode toward the bar. Never come between a man and his beer. The thought amused me no end, but I couldn’t help feeling a little put out. Why had he asked me on a date? He was barely paying attention to me and didn’t seem interested in conversation or learning anything about me. He certainly wasn’t sharing anything about himself. I was starting to think this whole thing was a big mistake. How could I wrangle my way out of this? Maybe I could feign a headache. Or explosive diarrhea. That usually ended things quickly.

  Stefan returned with another beer, plopping down beside me and wrapping an arm around me again, this time a little lower, his hand perilously close to touching the top of my right breast. It made me distinctly uncomfortable. I managed to wiggle out of his grasp under the pretense of reaching for my drink.

  “Do you have family in London?” I asked. Maybe I could still salvage this date. I really should give the guy a chance.

  “My brother is here. His wife.” His eyes were back on the TV screen.

  It was like pulling teeth. “Have you ever been married?”

  “No. Maybe I marry you. You would like that?” He turned to me long enough to leer at the tiny amount of cleavage visible at the neckline of my dress.

  To say I was stunned was an understatement. Before I could say anything, Stefan swooped down and stuck his tongue in my mouth. No prequel, just full-on open mouth, insert tongue. He wiggled it around like a big, wet slug. I tried to pull away gently, but the slug wiggled wildly, almost making me gag.

  I shoved Stefan’s chest as I jerked back, nearly falling off the couch in the process. “What was that?” Fury screamed through me, but I tried to remain calm.

  “Don’t you want to kiss me?” He seemed offended by my reaction. Astonishing. Boy really needed to work on his seduction routine.

  “Seriously?” I snagged my bag off the coffee table and stood up. “Thanks for the drink. I have to go.”

  He grabbed my hand. “Stay,” he begged. “It’s early. I love spending time with you.”

  That just about floored me. Was he serious? He’d spent the entire evening practically ignoring me, right up until he decided playing tonsil hockey was appropriate. I jerked out of his grasp. “No, thanks. And Stefan?”

  “Yes?” He gave me cow eyes.

  “Lose my number.”

  Chapter 3

  “HOW’D YOUR DATE GO?” Deb, my coworker, glanced up from her comput
er, then back down. Her glasses had slid to the tip of her nose, and she was wrapped in a thick, gray cardigan as if it were freezing outside instead of the middle of summer.

  I sank into her my chair and started at the blank computer screen. Mondays were always rough, especially when I’d spent Sunday on the couch watching reruns of romantic comedies. They always made me equal parts hopeful and depressed.

  I could barely see the top of Deb’s blonde head over her monitor. “I’m thinking of issuing myself a moratorium on men.” Except for Adam, of course, but I doubted I’d ever see him again.

  “That bad, huh?” Deb’s faint northern accent was a little heavier than usual.

  “You talk to your mom this weekend?”

  “How did you know?”

  I smiled. “I have my ways.” The truth was, Deb’s accent always got thicker after calls home to Liverpool, just like mine did after a get-together with Chloe.

  “Never mind that,” Deb said, pushing back a little from the computer so she could see me. “I want to hear about the date.”

  “Dates.”

  Deb’s gray eyes widened. “You went out with him twice in one weekend? That’s brilliant.”

  “Two different guys.”

  “Even better. Do tell.”

  I shrugged and pressed the power button on my own monitor. “Nothing much to tell.” I gave Deb a quick rundown on my date with Mr. Ancient Aliens and Mr. Tesco, including a detailed description of the slug in my mouth.

  Deb shook her head, her silvery-blond hair slipping out of the messy bun she always wore. “My goodness. You do have a time of it, don’t you?”

  “You’re telling me.”

  “Mr. Cries Over His Ex is still my favorite, but Ancient Aliens could give him a run for the money.” Deb tapped a pen thoughtfully against her chin. “You know, I was thinking...”

  I eyed my co-worker warily. Deb thinking was never a good thing. The last time she’d had what she called a “brilliant idea,” we’d ended up eating borsht for a company Christmas party. Let’s just say I’m not particularly fond of beets.