The Art of Kissing Frogs

by Shéa R. MacLeod

  “There’s a lovely man who lives in my building. I’m fairly certain he’s single.”

  “Fairly certain?” I laughed. “If he’s so great, why don’t you date him?”

  Deb rolled her eyes. “If I wanted a boy toy, he’d be perfect, but I like my men a little more mature.” At forty, Deb was barely five years older than me, which didn’t bode well for the age of the gentleman in question.

  “So you’re giving me the boy toy?”

  Deb laughed. “Don’t be silly. He’s your age give or take.”

  “Give or take how much?” I asked suspiciously.

  Deb tried to look innocent and failed miserably. “Ten years. Maybe twelve.”

  “Good grief, Deb.” I couldn’t help myself. I burst out laughing. “Are you trying to get me arrested?”

  “Never say I didn’t try to help you out,” Deb said, giving me an arch look.

  “I wouldn’t dare say such a thing.”

  “Besides, I imagine he has a lot of stamina in bed. The young ones always do.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief.

  “Yeah, I bet.” I wasn’t about to admit it, but the last thing I wanted was someone ten years younger than me—give or take—with stamina in bed. He’d no doubt find me boring as hell. I was pretty vanilla when it came to bedroom antics. “I think I’ll stick to someone my own age, thanks.”

  “If you insist. Though I believe I’m fresh out of pensioners.”

  I stuck out my tongue and gave Deb the raspberry. Deb laughed. “Careful, or I’ll set you up with Alan from accounting.” Alan was actually extremely cute. He was also a complete jackass and boring as hell.

  “Perish the thought.”

  The phone on my desk rang, the tiny red bulb next to my boss’s name lit up. “Oh, boss lady,” I said picking up the phone. “Hey, Nancy, what’s up? Yeah, I’ll be right over.”

  “Another crisis?” Deb asked as I hung up.

  I snorted. “The usual.” There was always one crisis or another that needed solving. To say the boss lady was high maintenance was an understatement. I supposed it was what they called job security.

  Deb shook her head. “I don’t get it.”

  “Don’t get what?” I scooped up a pen and notebook from my desk.

  “You are the calmest, most confident person in a crisis I’ve ever met. When it comes to work, almost nothing fazes you. Yet your love life is an utter disaster.”

  She was right. “Never thought about it before,” I said. “I just do what needs to be done. It’s my job. It’s easy. Men are...complicated.”

  Deb snorted. “Men are about as complicated as goldfish.”

  Figures. Every goldfish I’d ever had died.

  NANCY WAS PACING HER office like a mad woman when I arrived. “There you are,” she snapped as if it had taken me an hour to walk to her office instead of less than a minute. The moment I was inside, she strode to the door and slammed it shut.

  “What’s up?” I remained outwardly calm, but inside I quivered. I felt my ears going red.

  “What’s up?” she screeched. “What’s up? I’ll tell you what’s up. You didn’t book the hotel in Malta like I told you.”

  “For Bob? Of course I did. I have the confirmation.”

  “Not for Bob, you imbecile. For me.”

  “Uh, Nancy, you never told me you were going to the conference in Malta.” It was a week away. I hadn’t even booked her an airline ticket, never mind a hotel. It would be a minor miracle to get her a room now. All the hotels would be full.

  “You stupid cow,” she snarled. “I told you last Monday.”

  I gave her a look. “Nancy, I had last Monday off, remember?” There was no way she could have told me.

  Her cheeks turned bright red. “I left a message on your desk.”

  “There was no message there when I came in Tuesday morning.” I kept my voice calm, even, non-accusatory, even though I wanted to scream she was a liar. We both knew it anyway. There was no need for me to point it out.

  “I emailed you.”

  “Really?” I said quietly. Even I could hear the challenge in my tone. “Interesting that I didn’t get an email. Perhaps I should have IT check our systems to make sure it didn’t get lost.”

  Nancy grew even redder. “Never mind,” she snapped, plopping into her fancy executive chair that had probably cost as much as my entire month’s salary. “Just fix it.”

  “Very well. When would you like to fly out?”

  “Figure it out, Kate,” she yelled. “Christ, do I have to do everything for you?”

  With a nod, I whirled around and strode to the door. I admit I let it slam behind me a little harder than I probably should have, but I was so mad, I was afraid I might burst a blood vessel.

  “Is that smoke coming out your ears?” Deb said as I stormed into our shared office.

  “That—that... I can’t even use the word in polite company.”

  “You can say it. Bitch.”

  “That wasn’t the word I was going for,” I said, sinking into my chair.

  “Ah.” Deb grinned. “Up to her usual tricks, is she?”

  “For sure.” I told her quickly about what had happened.

  “You’re right. Bitch doesn’t cover it. Do you need help?”

  “Don’t worry,” I said grimly. “I’ve got this.”

  I spent the next hour on the phone with the company’s travel agency and several hotels in Malta. The ticket was easy enough. The hotel room was a lot more complicated, but eventually I moved Bob to a hotel about three miles from the convention, something he wasn’t going to be happy about, not that I blamed him. Nancy got Bob’s room. Once everything was handled, I pulled out my memory stick and pulled up a file. I stared at it for a moment and then began typing furiously.

  Deb peered over my shoulder. “Another entry in the Nancy Files?” she asked.

  “You know it.” I’d started the Nancy Files two months after I’d begun working for her. I’d needed an outlet for my anger and frustration with my boss. Entries about her ridiculous demands and her blaming me for her own mistakes had turned into an epic tome. It was the perfect release valve.

  “You should publish that one day,” Deb suggested. “Bet it would be a bestseller. Nobody would believe it was real.”

  MY STOMACH HEAVED AND rolled as I showed my ID to the bouncer. I wanted nothing more than to turn around and take the Tube home. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately depending on how you looked at it, Kev was hot on my heels. No way was he going to let me bail after I’d wheedled him into joining me for a dance lesson.

  Part of me was worried I’d run into Gavin and whatshername. I had no idea if Guanabara was their scene or not, but with my luck.... The real truth was that this “doing something new business” was easier said than done.

  After a quick check in my small purse for contraband, the bouncer waved us through. Inside was a plain lobby with concrete floors and a short counter where a girl was selling canned drinks and hot snacks. I peered into the glass case to check out the unusual food items. They looked like balls of fried dough about the size of racket ball with a pointy top like a Hershey kiss.

  “I don’t know what those things are, but they smell amazing,” Kev said, leaning so close to the glass I was half afraid he might fall over. He was right, though. The smell was making me hungry. My stomach let out an embarrassing rumble.

  “What is it?” I asked the girl, pointing at the dough balls.

  “Coxinha,” she said, pronouncing it ‘co-shinia.’ “Bread and chicken. Fried. You want?” Her English was heavily accented and halting. My guess was Brazilian. Fantastic.

  “Sure. How much?”

  “Two pounds.”

  Dead cheap if you asked me, so Kev and I handed over two pounds each, and she gave us our coxinhas. I can’t even begin to explain how that little ball of deep-fried dough stuffed with chicken tasted, but it was insanely delicious. I think I might have moaned out loud.

  “I swear I have d
ied and gone to heaven,” Kev declared after the first bite.

  We wandered across the lobby, nibbling at our snacks. A wide set of stairs led up to the first floor. Since there were several people climbing the stairs, I figured that was where we were supposed to go. According to the website, London Dance Groupmeet was the most popular group for Latin dancing. They met once a week at Guanabara, London’s hottest Brazilian dance club. I had heard of Guanabara, of course, but never been. This was my chance to finally experience it. So far, so good.

  The double doors at the top of the stairs led into a huge open room. A wide mezzanine circled the room, looking out over the main area with a circular dance floor in the center. Tiny bar tables and stools lined edges of the mezzanine while enormous long tables with benches circled the dance floor. There were two bars, one at either side of the mezzanine, and waiters dashed back and forth between the long tables holding trays loaded with delicious-smelling food. My stomach rumbled, and I took another bite of my tasty coxinha.

  A small, dark-haired woman waved wildly from one of the long tables. She didn’t really need to wave. I would have spotted her anywhere. The leopard print leggings and oversized red shirt covered in sequins didn’t exactly blend into the background.

  “Good lord,” Kev gasped, nearly choking on his coxinha. “She certainly has...flair.”

  I snorted. “Be nice.”

  “Oh, please. I’m the nicest person you know.”

  I rolled my eyes. “That’s what scares me.”

  As we made our way down the steps onto the main floor, I realized my heart was beating a little too fast. My nerves were definitely working overtime. Meeting new people had always been hard for me. I was a natural introvert, but I figured if I didn’t make myself go out and meet new people and experience new things from time to time, I’d turn into a hermit.

  “You must be Kate. I’m Lena.” The woman’s accent was heavy and Western European. Spanish, maybe. Or Italian, I couldn’t quite tell. Lena leaned in and gave me two cheek kisses, left first, then right. I had never been one for the touchy feely business, but I quite liked the European style of cheek kissing as a greeting. It made a person feel special while not encroaching too much on personal space.

  “Hi, Lena. Nice to meet you. This is my friend and flatmate, Kev.”

  Another round of cheek kisses followed, along with dramatic declarations from both Lena and Kev about how wonderful it was to meet each other. I hid my smirk. I was pretty sure Lena could give Kev a run for his money in the flamboyancy department.

  “This your first groupmeet? Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” Lena charged ahead without waiting for either of us to answer. “You’re going to love it. It’s so much fun. You done forró before?” She pronounced the word “foh hoh.”

  “Um, no,” I admitted, glancing at Kev, who shook his head. “I’ve done a little salsa dancing, though.”

  “Oh, you’ll be fine,” Len said with a wave of her hand. “You from America?”

  “Yes, but I’ve been here two and a half years. You?”

  “Portugal. Lisbon. But I been here twenty. You know how it is.” She patted Kev’s arm. He looked baffled. “Love it. Oh, there’s my friend Bruno.” She waved at a wickedly handsome man in a silk shirt and designer jeans who was making the rounds. “I’m gonna go say hi.” Before I could blink, Lena was across the floor hugging Bruno. There was more cheek kissing and a lot of wild gestures.

  “Hello, Bruno,” Kev muttered under his breath, waggling his eyebrows. “Come to papa.”

  “Down boy,” I elbowed him with a giggle.

  Lena dragged Bruno across the floor toward us. “Bruno, these are my friends Kate and Kev,” Lena said as if the three of us had been best besties all our lives. “She’s American.” Lena pointed at me. “Kev is English. Bruno is from Brazil.”

  “Oh, Americana. I love Americana.” Before I knew quite what was happening, I was engulfed in a bear hug, crushed up against a muscular chest. Despite the invasion of my personal space, frankly, I wasn’t complaining. Bruno had a very nice chest, and he smelled amazing. Plus he was by far the best-looking man I’d seen in a while. Well, except for Adam, of course.

  The hug was followed by the usual round of cheek kissing and some low murmuring in what I guessed was Portuguese. Bruno kept his arm firmly around my waist as he declared a few more times how much he loved Americanas. I guess he didn’t mind my extra curves.

  “My turn,” Kev declared loudly, practically shoving me out of the way so he could give Bruno what barely passed as a manly bro hug. Kev was inordinately pleased with himself, but poor Bruno looked confused. I was pretty sure Kev wasn’t Bruno’s type. I hoped my roomie wouldn’t be heartbroken.

  As more people entered the club, I found myself passed from one hunky Brazilian to another. Each tried to outdo the other with massive bear hugs, cheek kisses, and declarations of adoration toward American women. Kev followed along, making sure to cop a feel or two here and there. I figured it was only fair since the Brazilian men sure weren’t shy about groping me. By the time the dance lesson started, I was feeling more than a little overwhelmed. Kev quickly claimed me as partner and dragged me out onto the floor.

  I found the basic steps of forró easy to pick up, as they were similar to salsa, and by the time the actual dancing started, I was having the time of my life. Every time I tried to sit down, another good-looking man would appear, begging me to dance. And if one didn’t show up fast enough, Lena would drag one over and foist him on me. No less than three men insisted on buying me caipirinhas, the classic Brazilian drink similar to a mojito only made with a cactus liquor instead of rum. How could I say no?

  Eventually I managed to get a moment’s rest by feigning a blister. It wasn’t far from the truth.

  “Are you having fun, sweetie?” Kev appeared out of nowhere and plopped down beside me on the bench. He appeared a little flushed as he reached for my caipirinha to take a sip.

  “Tons.” I gave him a wide grin. “Thanks for coming with me tonight. I know this isn’t really your scene.”

  “Sweetie, are you kidding? Hot music and hotter men are totally my scene.”

  “But they’re not, you know, gay.”

  He snorted with laughter. “Are you kidding? At least half of them are in the closet and the other half wish they were.” He winked at me, and I shook my head. Confidence he did not lack.

  By the end of the night, my feet hurt, my eyes burned, and I was pretty sure I was buzzed off the drinks, but I felt like I was walking on cloud nine. The evening had been just what I needed, and experiencing it with Kev had made it extra fun.

  “Come on,” Lena said, winding one arm through mine and the other through Kev’s. “I’ll walk to the bus stop with you. You have a good time?”

  “The best.” I gushed. I couldn’t help myself. I was feeling effervescent.

  “Definitely.” Kev was as giddy as I was.

  “Good. You’ll come next week.” Clearly Lena was a woman used to getting her way.

  Kev and I glanced at each other before chiming in unison, “We will.”

  The three of us walked companionably to the bus stop, arriving as the apple-red double decker pulled up. As Kev and I climbed on-board, Lena waved and yelled, “Mind how you go.”

  Mr. Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

  GARY CAME AFTER THE guy who wanted to try on my underwear and before the toe sucker. I probably shouldn’t have been dating. After all, Gavin had only left a few weeks before. I’d spent weeks on Chloe’s couch, bawling my eyes out. But there’s something about being dumped for another woman (especially a hot, exotic one) that makes a girl feel the urge to get out and prove herself. Show the world (and her almost-ex-husband) she is desirable. So, that’s what I did.

  Gary seemed so normal, especially after the underwear incident, and it was the first time in a long time—maybe ever—that a man had treated me as if I was a freaking goddess. He was interesting, too. He was a writer (although he wrote horror, w
hich really wasn’t my cup of tea) and that meant he was a creative type. He totally understood my own creative streak, and he didn’t laugh when I subtly mentioned that one day I’d like to write books with curvy women as heroines.

  I did think it was a little odd he never called me during the week and only texted long enough to establish the next date, but I shrugged it off, figuring he had a deadline or some such writerly thing. When we were together, he was there 100 percent, which is more than I can say of some, including Gavin. We liked the same movies, we were both kind of nerdy about things like Doctor Who and Star Trek, and we both liked our food. A lot.

  For the next five weeks, we went out at least once a week. He took me on a Jack the Ripper walk one night, after which we had drinks in the pub and talked about the coming zombie apocalypse. We went to the latest science fiction film starring that hot guy from Australia and then dissected it over spicy Italian meatballs and too much Prosecco. I was starting to think he could be The One.

  It was the morning after our fifth date. He’d stayed over (Chloe was away on business) and while I can’t say the sex was stellar, it wasn’t bad. And hey, it gets better with practice, right? We were nursing mugs of hot coffee and watching the morning news. He had his arm around me. Nothing earth-shattering. It was comfortable. Couply. And then he said those four little words no woman wants to hear. Ever.

  “We need to talk.”

  You know how people say things like “my blood ran cold?” Well, mine actually did. I was afraid I was coming down with hypothermia. Or maybe the plague. I was suddenly freezing. I had to clench my jaw to keep it from chattering. Those words, those four little words, were the same ones Gavin had said the day he left me. I suddenly felt like throwing up.

  “Um, okay,” I said, carefully setting my coffee mug down on Chloe’s side table. “About what?”