The Art of Kissing Frogs

by Shéa R. MacLeod

  Adam was in the middle of taking off his makeup. His shirt was off, and he was still wearing the tight trousers that were part of his costume. Lordy, he looked good enough to eat. The arms on that man were enough to send a girl into a swoon. And he had one of those perfectly tapered torsos: broad shoulders narrowing down into tight hips. Now I wanted to fan myself. I’d suspected he had a good body underneath his clothes, but seeing it in the flesh, so to speak, was even better than expected.

  He jumped up when he saw us in the mirror. “Kate!” His eyes sparkled, and his smile was wide and happy. He really was glad to see me. I couldn’t help the stupid grin that spread across my own face.

  “Hi, Adam.”

  He engulfed me in a hug before I could say anything else, pressing me up against him rather closer than a casual acquaintance should. More like a boyfriend. My heart rate kicked into high gear. He kissed my cheek, lingering for a moment before finding my mouth. The kiss was relatively brief, but fireworks were igniting behind my eyes. “Oh, damn,” he whispered, wiping his thumb gently across my cheek. “I got makeup on you.”

  I laughed. “That’s okay.”

  He snagged a wet wipe from his dresser and dabbed at my cheek. “There. All better.” His voice was low and husky, and the way he looked at me made my heart do crazy things. Like aerial acrobatics.

  Someone in the room cleared their throat. Dazed, I glanced around. Chloe.

  “Oh, ah, Adam. This is my friend, Chloe. Chloe, Adam.”

  She gave him a wicked grin and a firm handshake. “Hiya, Adam. I’ve heard a thing or two about you.”

  “All bad, I hope.” He winked.

  She laughed and gave me a not-so-subtle two thumbs up. “Definitely.”

  “You were amazing tonight, Adam,” I said, trying not to be too obvious about staring at his perfectly sculpted abs.

  “Thanks, love. I admit it feels amazing being onstage. Totally different to filming. The instant audience reaction.” He shook his head as if astonished by how much the crowd loved him.

  “Hey, mate.” A head appeared around the door, followed by the rest of the person. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you had visitors. Ladies.” He was handsome in a dark, sinful way, but I had zero reaction to him. Nothing like how I felt about Adam. Chloe, on the other hand, was immediately at attention.

  “Kate, Chloe, this is Simon Fairmont. I’m sure you recognize him from the play. Simon, this is my—friend, Kate and her friend, Chloe.”

  My heart sank. He’d called me his “friend.” Wasn’t that like the kiss of death? Not “girlfriend” or “the woman I’m seeing,” but “friend.”

  Simon greeted us with handshakes and cheek kisses. “Thank you so much for coming. I hope you enjoyed the play.” His accent was rich and plummy like Adam’s, but with just the faintest hint of East London. “Hey, mate, how about a beer to celebrate?” he asked Adam.

  “Why not? Let me get this makeup off, and I’ll meet you outside.”

  “Sure thing. Ladies, nice to meet you.” Simon sauntered off toward what I assumed was his own dressing room, leaving us standing awkwardly, not sure what to say. Well, left me standing awkwardly. Chloe was busy staring after Simon, and Adam had sunk into a chair in front of the mirror and started taking off his makeup again.

  “Well, I guess we better go and let you, ah, disrobe in peace.” I could have kicked myself. Why did stupid things always come out of my mouth?

  Adam grinned. “Why don’t you two join us at the pub?”

  “We’d love to,” Chloe gushed before I could even open my mouth.

  “Fantastic. Meet me outside by the back door in fifteen minutes? We’ll walk over together.”

  We agreed and said our goodbyes. “Oh, Mylanta,” Chloe squealed as we headed down the hall toward the back door. “We’re going to have drinks with real life actors.”

  “They’re just people, Chloe.”

  “I know. But they’re really hot people.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh.

  We exited the back door to a crowd of eager fan girls. They looked disappointed to see two normal women. We slipped through the crowd and out the narrow alley behind the theater. Not far from the alley entrance, we found a bench and sat down to wait for Adam.

  We didn’t have long to wait. The back door opened, and Simon and Adam strolled out. They were immediately swarmed by screaming fan girls. Okay, slight exaggeration. They weren’t swarmed, and there was no screaming. In typical British fashion, the women lined up and politely took turns getting autographs and taking pictures with the two gorgeous men. I was pretty sure they were only there for Adam, but nobody was bothered having the delicious Simon in the picture with them.

  There were only a couple women left, so Chloe and I headed over to the alley to meet the boys. By the time we were nearly to the entrance, only one woman was left.

  “Hello, sexy,” I heard her say in a sultry voice. She was not talking to Simon. I saw Adam freeze.

  “Adele.” He turned slowly and gave the woman a stiff smile. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  I was frozen in place, clutching Chloe’s arm like I might fall over. This Adele woman was beyond beautiful, with glossy dark hair and alabaster skin, not to mention that despite being a size zero, she had curves in all the right places. Her outfit—a form-fitting dress that hugged every curve and a pair of heels so high they made her legs look ten miles long—was clearly meant to be provocative.

  I recognized her, too. She’d been in enough films on both sides of the pond to garner as much recognition as Adam had. More, probably, since I knew who she was. In fact, to say she was a perfect ten was an understatement. She and Adam looked like an ideal match. I felt myself wilt.

  “I heard you were in town,” Adele said, giving him a pouty look, one I could never pull off in a million years. Not without looking like a bloody idiot. “Why didn’t you stop by to say hello? I’ve missed you.”

  “That’s nice, Adele,” Adam said. “But I’ve made my position quite clear. It’s over between us.” They’d dated?

  I caught the flash of anger before she schooled her expression. “Oh, please. Why can’t a couple of old friends get together now and again? For old time’s sake.” She gave him an innocent smile, practically fluttering her impossibly thick eyelashes.

  “I don’t see why.”

  She gave a light laugh, laying her hand on his arm possessively. I wanted to rip that arm off and beat her with it. “Why, to talk, of course.”

  “We’ve nothing to talk about,” Adam said, pulling away, headed toward the street. He and Simon still hadn’t seen Chloe and me.

  “Adam, where are you going? I said we needed to talk.” Adele’s voice sounded almost whiney. How annoying.

  He turned around slowly to face her. “And I said we have nothing to talk about,” he bit out.

  “Sure we do,” she said, her voice a low purr. “We need to talk about us, Adam.”

  “There is no us, Adele. I’m not sure there ever was.” Then he turned around and continued toward the street, ignoring her.

  “She still after you?” Simon asked, voice low. “Does she not give up?”

  “Unfortunately not.”

  And that’s when Adam looked up and saw us. I think he knew we’d heard everything. “Kate. Chloe.” His expression was tight. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it,” Chloe said breezily. “Stuff happens, right? I mean, the stories I could tell you about my exes.” She batted her eyes at Simon before looping her arm through his. “How about you, Simon? You got any good war stories?” She deftly turned him toward the pub, giving Adam and I our space.

  “I really am sorry, Kate. Things have been over between Adele and me for months. She just...” He sighed and shook his head.

  “She’s just a pain in the ass?”

  He laughed. “Yeah. Adele is used to getting her way. Getting everything she wants.” There was something bitter in his tone.

 
“And you aren’t cooperating.”

  “Definitely not. She and I are ancient history. I want more in my life than what she can offer.”

  “Tell me about it?”

  As we strolled toward the pub, he told me about how he and Adele had met on a film set. How they’d seemed like the perfect match. The epitomical power couple. “I can’t quite put my finger on when it all went wrong,” he said, “but one day I suddenly realized she was the last thing I wanted. Maybe it was the day she snapped at an extra as though he were so far beneath her, he was practically scum. Or maybe it was when I noticed she treated the wait staff at restaurants like rubbish. But most likely it was the day a little girl stopped us on the street and asked for Adele’s autograph. She actually shoved by the child and her mother, practically knocking them over.”

  “Oh my god.” I didn’t know what else to say. The woman sounded like a nasty bitch.

  “It was as though I woke up and realized she was shallow, vain, and not a little cruel. So I broke it off. She was furious. Not sad or heartbroken, but angry in a way I’d never seen her. She told me I was a fool, and she’d been sleeping with her director most of the time we were together. She said a lot of other nasty things, too.” He shook his head. “I knew then I’d done the right thing. I want something more in my life. Something real.” He gave me an intimate look that warmed me right to my toes. Then he tucked my arm in his and changed the subject to happier things. I forgot all about the beautiful bitch and focused solely on Adam.

  The pub was hopping with theater folk and locals alike. Few tourists found their way into the White Hart despite its close proximity to the famous Leicester Square. The place had a dodgy, dilapidated air about it, at least until one stepped inside. Even then it wasn’t exactly top of the line as pubs went, but the beer was cheap, the food decent, and the atmosphere one of friendly comradery. I felt strangely at home.

  Simon and Kate had already found a table and got us drinks, so we sat around shooting the breeze and getting more than a little tipsy.

  “So, Adam,” Chloe shouted across the table in order to be heard above the loud buzz of conversations around us, “what made you decide to do a play?”

  “I wanted a change, you know,” he shouted back. “There is nothing quite like immediate feedback from the audience, or the buzz of knowing there’s no safety net if you screw up. No extra takes. No editing. Sink or swim. I missed that. It’s been a long time since I studied Shakespeare and walked the boards, so in a way, it was a homecoming.”

  “Awesome.” Their chatter and laughter swirled around me. I joined in from time to time, but mostly I just enjoyed being with them and in the hub of excitement.

  A couple hours and a couple beers later, we finally made our way out of the pub and down the street to the Tottenham Court Road Station. Since we were all headed the same direction, except for Simon, we hopped on the next Central Line headed for Notting Hill while Simon got on one going the opposite direction. Adam sat next to me, his thigh pressed up against mine, his arm around my shoulders, while Chloe sat opposite us, chattering in her usual animated way.

  As the Tube pulled into Adam’s station, he leaned down and gave me a long, hard kiss right in front of Chloe and everybody. Lightning zinged from where his lips touched mine right down to where my toes curled in delight.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he whispered. And then he was gone.

  The Rocket Scientist

  IT’S NOT EVERY GIRL who can claim to have dated a genuine rocket scientist. In fact, I never imagined I’d be one of them. His name was Jeremy, and believe me, I was floored when I found out. I guess I didn’t expect to meet a real life rocket scientist, let alone date one. I kind of wish now I hadn’t.

  I met him outside the bus station on a cold night in early spring. He strode past me as if he had places to go and people to see and no time for nonsense. Then he stopped, did an about face, and the next thing I knew, I was being chatted up big time.

  He wasn’t handsome in the traditional sense. His hair was a little too thin, his eyes a little too close set, and his body a bit on the skinny side. But he had charisma in spades.

  He was a lot more outgoing and chatty than I expected from a science type. I know that sounds like I’m making judgments, but honestly, I’ve known a few of them in my time. None of them were what you’d call people oriented. In any case, before I knew it an hour had gone by, I’d missed four buses, and my feet were numb from cold. He finally let me go, but only after extracting both my phone number and a promise of a date the following evening. I guess he wasn’t wasting any time.

  That first date was to the movies. I told him which ones were playing, and he picked the film he liked the sound of, which seemed a little backward to me since he’d been the one to ask for the date, but hey, I was a modern(ish) woman, right? We got to the ticket counter and suddenly his wallet was missing. Like an idiot, I went ahead and paid for both of us, even though I was pretty sure I’d just been had. If that wasn’t enough, he complained during the entire movie.

  “This is ridiculous,” he whispered loud enough for people several seats away to hear over the explosion of an SUV. “That’s not even scientifically possible. Motor vehicles don’t explode on impact like that.”

  Embarrassed, I shushed him. It lasted all of five minutes.

  “Oh, please. She’s only known him ten seconds,” he snapped, spoiling the kissing scene for both me and everyone around us. As everyone turned to glare, I was determined that would be our last date.

  The next morning he called and apologized for his behavior, blaming it on a bad day at work and begging to let him make it up to me. I wanted to say no, but I reminded myself of my new mantra to give people a chance. Everyone had bad days and did stupid things, including me.

  The second date was at a pub down the street from where I was staying with Chloe. It had pool tables on the upper floor, top forties on the sound system, and cheap, watered-down booze on tap. We played a game of pool, all the while laughing and talking about everything from sci-fi movies to annoying sibling stories. I couldn’t believe what a great time I was having, especially after the movie incident. After so many horror stories, finally I was having fun. I’d met a decent guy.

  And then it happened.

  After our game of pool, he went downstairs to get us drinks. Like many pubs along the High Street, the pub turned into a nightclub after ten, and it was packed with half drunk, scantily clad twenty-somethings. When twenty minutes passed with no sign of my date, I went downstairs to find him flirting with a buxom blonde bartender.

  I was angry. He was on a date. With me. And yet he was blatantly flirting with another woman. I wanted to put my foot down in a way he’d never forget, but old habits die hard, so instead I asked politely why he was flirting when he was on a date.

  “Don’t you know you get served faster if you flirt?” he laughed, ignoring my irritation. “It doesn’t mean anything.” Which made me wonder how much of what he did and said “didn’t mean anything.”

  Twenty minutes wasn’t exactly “fast” to my mind, but I let it go. Maybe he was telling the truth, and it was just my insecurity rearing its ugly head. I needed to be more understanding.

  Drinks finally in hand, we found a quiet(ish) corner and settled down. Another couple was seated nearby and soon the four of us began to chat. Things were looking up again until a completely wasted eighteen-year-old nearly fell into my lap. His friend apologized profusely and tried to drag him away, but my date was on his feet and in the drunk guy’s face before I could say, “No problem.”

  There was a lot of yelling from my date about how rude the drunk guy had been. (It was an accident.) How he’d been disrespected. (He wasn’t the one who’d had a drunk guy land in his lap.) And so on and so forth. He even dragged the man outside and tried to start a fight until the bouncers broke it up.

  I was beyond embarrassed. Angry, too. I mean what the hell? He was more concerned with how he looked to a bunch of dr
unk strangers than how I felt. I gathered up my things to go. Unfortunately he got back and accused me of disrespecting him by leaving after he’d stood up for me.

  “You didn’t stand up for me,” I snapped. “You only care about yourself.” And with that I stormed out of the pub and grabbed a taxi home.

  You’d have thought that would be the end of it, but no. Several weeks later I ran into him again outside my Tube station. After acting as though nothing had happened and greeting me like a long-lost friend, he suggested we have a little one-on-one session.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “What?” He seemed genuinely confused.

  I shook my head and walked away. Some men just don’t have the sense God gave a turnip.

  Chapter 11

  I’M FAIRLY CERTAIN I floated all the way home. All I could think about was Adam. And that kiss. Every look, every touch, every stroke of his hand over mine. If I wasn’t careful, I was in very real danger of falling for this gorgeous man in a serious way. I still couldn’t understand what he saw in me, but I shoved those niggling self-doubts to the back of my mind and focused on the positive.

  Adam had kissed me.

  As I started up the front steps of my building, a girl appeared at the top of the stairs leading from the basement flat. She walked away without glancing at me, high heels clicking on the pavement, short skirt swishing across bare thighs. Like the others I’d seen, she was young—early twenties—stylish and thin. She passed under a streetlamp, and I saw she had pale blonde hair cut into a choppy bob. Very chic. I couldn’t wait to tell Kev.

  I let myself in the front door and dashed up the stairs to our flat. Kev was in the kitchen making a cup of tea. He’d obviously just come home and was still wearing a pair of perfectly pressed black slacks. Unfortunately, that was all he was wearing. His pale torso, a little on the slender side for my taste, practically glowed in the light overhead. I could actually count the freckles sprinkled across his chest.