Kiss Me, Stupid Read online

  I had several hours before the class, and I found myself suddenly at loose ends. What to do? Try something else on my list.

  As I leaned over my bathtub to turn on the taps, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. Dear heaven, I looked a fright. My hair was past the point of needing a touch-up, the gray clearly showing through the blonde. I needed a hair appointment immediately, and I knew just the man for the job.

  “OH, SWEETIE, YOU GOT here just in time. These split ends. Have you ever seen anything so tragic?” Kev Baker, Kate’s former flatmate, flipped up a chunk of my hair and waved it around. His blue eyes were round with horror. Even his hair seemed shocked, the strawberry locks standing nearly straight up. “This is dreadful. What have you been doing to it?”

  “Uh, washing it?”

  He tsked. “Honestly, you should have come to me sooner. Let’s see if we can get you sorted out for your big date tonight.” He flipped the black cape around me with a flourish.

  “It’s not a date,” I said.

  “Closest you’ve been to it in a while, I’ll bet.”

  I hated to admit he was right. The last time I’d been on a date was over two years ago. Embarrassing, but true.

  “I’m going to a dance class,” I said defensively. “But I want to look good.”

  “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that, honey. Believe me,” Kev said, grabbing a strip of foil in one hand and brandishing a pot of yellow goo in the other. “Leave it to me. I’ll have you looking fabulous in no time.”

  Chapter 4

  THE DOORS OF THE TUBE whooshed open, and a sea of humanity poured out onto the platform of Notting Hill Gate Station. As a seasoned Londoner, I didn’t gawk or hesitate, but flowed along with them toward the long escalators stretching upward.

  As I got on the first step, someone jostled me from behind. I turned to glare at the offending party only to find myself staring instead. His hair was dark, nearly black, and his skin a warm golden that didn’t come from the sun. He was cut lean, just the way I liked them, his neat suit of charcoal gray setting off broad shoulders and emphasizing his slim waist. Green eyes rimmed with lush inky lashes gazed at me with warmth and humor. I swear my breath left my lungs in a whoosh.

  “Sorry.” He gave me a wry grin, which made him even more gorgeous. That jaw line, those cheekbones. They would make angels weep in envy. “I need to learn to watch where I’m going.”

  I tried to speak but nothing came out, so I cleared my throat and tried again. “No worries.”

  He smiled again, making my heart pound in my chest so hard, I feared he could see it. I whirled to face the front. As soon as I hit the top, I took off as quickly as I could, pushing my way through the gates to the outside. I turned to catch a last glimpse of him, but he was already lost in the crowd.

  I could have kicked myself. Why hadn’t I said something? Something intelligent, that was. Like what? He’d clearly not been interested in me. Looking like that, he probably already had a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend.

  I shook my head and continued on my way, shoving thoughts of gorgeous mystery men out of my head.

  I PAUSED NERVOUSLY inside the door, smoothing a hand over my dress to make sure it hadn’t rucked up. The pulsing rhythm of salsa music swirled around me until I wanted to tap my foot in time. I touched my hair, marveling at the silky texture. It had been so dry and brittle lately, but Kev had done something to it that made it smooth and shiny. And then he’d insisted on doing my makeup. I swear he’d taken off at least ten years. For the first time in ages, I felt young, beautiful, and vibrant.

  Maybe I should have flirted with the mystery man in the Tube station. It couldn’t have hurt, right?

  “You here for the class?” A woman stopped next to me, smiling widely. Her dark hair, streaked liberally with silver, was done up in a sleek chignon with a bright red rose clipped in it. Her peasant blouse was the exact same color, contrasting nicely with her alabaster skin, while her swirly skirt was red, green, white, and yellow stripes. She was wearing a pair of professional black salsa shoes.

  “Yes,” I said cautiously. “Are you the instructor?”

  She laughed merrily. “That’s a fancy word. I’m the teacher, that’s all. I’m Marlena. The class is five pounds. You can pay Rodrigo at the bar.” She nodded toward the long bar, where several people had gathered and were chatting. I noticed she had a musical accent, possibly South American, though I couldn’t place it more specifically than that. “Then come on in and join us. See you inside.” She ducked through the doorway and disappeared.

  Making my way to the bar, I waited patiently while Rodrigo took care of those there before me. When it was my turn, I handed him a five-pound note. “For the salsa class.”

  He took it with a nod and smile, and turned to the next person. Clearly dismissed, I walked into the room where the music pulsed.

  It was a large space about the size of a school gymnasium. In the center was a square dance floor, with a stage up front for what I assumed was bands and such. Large pillars lined the edge of the dance area, the space on the other side of them filled with tables and chairs. Most of them had been claimed with coats, handbags, and street shoes. Bottled water and plastic cups containing sodas and alcoholic beverage littered the tables. A couple people were already on the dance floor, practicing moves or stretching. Others had grouped in clusters, chatting. Clearly most everyone here already knew each other. I felt decidedly out of place.

  The music stopped, and Marlena strode gracefully to the middle of the room. She clapped her hands loudly, and people began to drift toward her. I quickly found an empty chair to leave my coat and purse, and joined everyone else.

  “All right, people,” Marlena said. “Welcome to beginners’ salsa. This is our very first night of an eight-week course. Some of you have taken this class before, some not. We’re going to go at a nice pace so everyone can learn, okay?”

  Everyone nodded. A couple women at the edge of the crowd looked as nervous as I felt. We shared awkward smiles.

  “My name is Marlena Infante. I am originally from Cuba.” That explained the accent. “I moved to the States when I was a teenager. I lived there for many years before I meet my husband and move here. London is favorite place in the whole world. And now I want to share my love of salsa with you.” She stretched out her arms and graced us with a warm smile. “Okay, I want everyone to line up. Two lines. Men on this side, women on that side, facing each other.” She pointed, and we scurried to take our places.

  I found myself standing across from a man who looked to be in his mid- to late-thirties, with close-cropped brown hair and nice hazel eyes behind a pair of stylish glasses. He was wearing a gray Henley shirt and a pair of green khakis that fit him well. He was nicely built. Not crazy ripped, but not overweight or anything. His shoulders were broad and his hands nicely shaped. He offered me a smile, which brightened up his face. He was nowhere near as gorgeous or exciting as my mystery man, but he certainly wasn’t hard on the eyes. I smiled back. Maybe this whole salsa thing had been a good idea.

  Marlena led us through some simple steps, clapping out the beat for us to follow. After a few run-throughs, she had us do it to music. I found it surprisingly easy, quickly picking up the rhythm and flow of the movements. My partner, however, was having no such luck. He kept screwing up and getting off-beat, apologizing profusely each time. I kept encouraging him.

  Midway through the class, Marlena called break. The dancers scurried to the tables to down their drinks. My partner stepped forward and offered his hand.

  “Hi,” he said, his voice a pleasant baritone. “I’m Owen Smythe, and I’m a rubbish dancer.”

  I laughed and took his hand. “Deb Hart, and I wouldn’t say I’m much better.”

  “Oh, you are,” he said fervently. “You most assuredly are.”

  We chatted a bit until class started again, surface things, like what we did for work (he was in IT) and where we lived (he was in Harrow, where Sarah lived, but he worked near Not
ting Hill). As we talked, I felt a slight pull of attraction. It wasn’t that he was the hottest man I’d ever seen, but he was certainly attractive, appeared to be intelligent, and seemed to be a genuinely nice guy. It had been awhile since I’d met anyone like that. So he wasn’t my mystery man, but he was real. And he was here.

  Marlena clapped her hands and called us back. The rest of the evening passed in a whirl of swirling skirts, thumping music, and Owen’s smile.

  THE NEXT MORNING I lay awake staring at the ceiling. I was still slightly buzzed from the previous night. The class had been amazing, and Owen had definitely flirted. I’d left for home on a serious high.

  But as I lay there, reality started seeping in. I let out a loud groan, but there was no one to hear me. The neighbors had already gone to work, and the flats around me were empty. My flat was empty, too. I’d never realized it before. I used to have a cat, but then I developed allergies and had to give her away. I’d cried for a solid week until my mother bought me a goldfish, which I’d promptly killed. I avoided pets after that.

  “Oh, my gosh, what was I thinking?” I asked the room in general, clapping a hand over my eyes.

  I’d quit my job. Why had I done that? Nancy wasn’t that bad.

  Okay, she was that bad. In fact, she was worse. But that was no reason to quit my job with no plan, no forethought. I must have lost my mind.

  I stumbled out of bed and went straight to my laptop, where I logged into my bank. I needed some reassurance. My account balance looked good, but I couldn’t sit around doing nothing. I needed to figure something out. I needed to decide what I was going to do next, what I was going to do with the rest of my life.

  Sighing, I made my way blearily into the kitchen and busied myself making a cup of tea. Tea made everything better.

  Once properly fortified, I decided I needed a serious sit-down with Sarah. She always had great ideas. She could be a Negative Nancy from time to time, but mostly she was encouraging and practical and thought of things I couldn’t. I dialed her number at work.

  “Sarah Hastings,” she answered in a crisp, efficient tone. I imagined her perched behind her desk, her red hair up in a tidy bun.

  “It’s Deb. Can you talk a minute?”

  “Oh, hey, sure. Roger’s out of the office this morning. What’s up?” Roger was her boss. I’d always been a little vague on what he did, but he was frequently out of the office in meetings, traveling, or for no reason I could ascertain.

  I quickly explained my sudden feelings of doubt. “I know in my heart I did the right thing. I’m just...”

  “Having a meltdown?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Let me think.” There was a pause, and I could almost see Sarah twirling a pencil between her fingers. “Tomorrow is Saturday. Let’s meet for lunch at The Castle in Harrow. We’ll hash everything out then.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I agreed.

  “Good. Gotta go. Roger left me an enormous pile of papers to file.”

  “Exciting. See you tomorrow.”

  I hung up feeling marginally better. But in the meantime, what was I going to do the rest of the day?

  My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I found myself clicking on a property search website and typing in “Notting Hill.” My house wasn’t even on the market yet, but suddenly I couldn’t wait to move.

  Chapter 5

  THE CASTLE WAS PROBABLY the most popular pub in Harrow, where Sarah lived. It sat on a slight hill and had views of the valley below. It had a rather Victorian charm, with high ceilings, leaded-glass windows, and wide floorboards stained dark. One of the dining rooms boasted a cozy fireplace, while padded benches surrounded the bar. On nice days, one could take the numerous steps up the side of the hill out back to a small garden above the pub, where picnic tables awaited customers eager for a bit of fresh air.

  It was drizzling outside, no surprise, so Sarah and I stayed in, enjoying a late lunch. We chatted about possibilities for a new direction in my career, discussed the logistics of selling my house, and winged about Nancy and her special brand of crazy. As we talked, the shadows lengthened until the sun sank beyond the horizon and the barman turned on the lights. Locals began trickling in, hovering around the bar with pints in their hands. The low, mellow murmur of voices soon rose to an excited roar as the beer flowed freely.

  I got up to get another drink and promptly ran into someone, his drink nearly sloshing over the both of us. “I’m sorry.” I glanced at the man’s face, my eyes widening. It was Owen from salsa class. He grinned at me.

  “Deb. Wow. I can’t believe you’re here. Is this your local, too? I thought you lived out near Guildford?”

  “Oh, I do,” I assured him. “It’s my friend’s local.” I nodded toward the bench where Sarah sat, watching us intently. “That’s Sarah. I’m out visiting her for the evening. You?”

  “I’m here celebrating my friend’s birthday. Tom!” He turned and waved at someone in the crowd. “Come meet Deb.”

  The man who stepped forward nearly took my breath away. He smiled, full lips quirking up at the corners, and leaned forward to kiss my left cheek. His lips were soft and velvety, breath warm on my skin. His scent swirled around me, dazzling my senses. He was quite possibly the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my entire life, and this was the second time we’d run into each other. It was my mystery man from the escalator.

  “Lovely to meet you, Deb,” he said, and I shivered. His voice was about ten thousand times sexier than Owen’s. Hell, he was ten thousand times sexier than Owen. Unfortunately, he also looked young.

  “Happy birthday,” I said when I finally found my breath.

  “Thanks.” Tom’s grin widened.

  “Big three-O,” Owen said. “Can you believe it? You’re getting old, mate.” He let out a bellow of laughter.

  Tom just smiled. “You’d know.”

  Crap. Thirty? That was it? I suddenly felt like a total cradle robber. He was way too young for me, more’s the pity. I tried to pretend his nearness wasn’t affecting me.

  “Deb, I have a great idea. You should come celebrate with us. We’re going dancing later.” Owen grinned as if it were the best idea ever.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t want to horn in on your celebration.”

  “No, come on. It’ll be great,” Owen insisted. “You should see this woman dance, Tom.”

  Tom’s gaze intensified, and I suddenly felt fluttery. “You should definitely come with us, then.”

  I flushed a little. “I’m with Sarah.”

  “She can come, too,” Owen said. “It would be great. You don’t mind, do you, Tom?”

  Tom shook his head, his smile widening. “The more the merrier.”

  “Okay, I’ll ask Sarah if she wants to come.”

  Sarah didn’t. “I’ve got to get home to Dan and the kids, otherwise I would. But you should definitely go.” She glanced over to where Owen and Tom waited for me. “I think it’s time you cut loose and had some fun. Get out of your rut.”

  We said our goodbyes, and I rejoined Owen and Tom. “I’m good to go as long as I get to the Tube station before eleven. Don’t want to miss the last train to Guildford.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Owen assured me. “Just have some fun. Forget the time. I’ll make sure you get home.”

  I gave him a look. “Seriously? Guildford is a long way from here. Surely you don’t plan on driving out there after you’ve been drinking?”

  “Of course not. You can get a cab.”

  I snorted. “Do you have any idea how much that will cost?” I couldn’t spend that kind of money on a cab. I didn’t have a job, for goodness sake. Of course, I wasn’t going to tell him that.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll cover it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m a gentleman. Of course I’m sure. Now, let’s go, shall we?”

  I nodded and followed the two men outside, where a cab was already waiting. A woman in a short red dress
was standing next to it. “About time. Come on, before the club fills up and we can’t get in.”

  Once we were all settled, introductions were made. Turned out the woman’s name was Poppy. She was adorable. And she was barely twenty-six. I was starting to feel really old.

  “Oh, it’s so lovely to meet you.” She shook my hand across Tom, who was sitting between us, his thigh firmly pressed against mine. I had to remind myself it meant nothing. The backseat was a little on the small side. “How do you know Owen and Tom?”

  “Owen and I are in the same salsa class. I just met Tom tonight.” Tom gave me a knowing look. I guessed he remembered our meeting on the escalator, too, but there was no way I was bringing that up with Poppy. “How long have you two been together?”

  She stared at me a moment, then burst out laughing. “Me and Tom? We’re just friends.”

  Really? How could that even be possible? I looked from her to him and back again. They nodded. They seemed quite chummy for only being friends, and I didn’t see how she’d missed his serious hotness factor, but maybe it was true. And what did I care anyway? He was far too young for me. I was going to keep reminding myself of that. Maybe it would eventually sink in.

  The cab dropped us off in front of O’Neill’s, one of Harrow’s other pubs on the High Street. During the day it was a typical Irish pub, but on Friday nights, it turned into more of a nightclub with throbbing music and pulsing lights and too many bodies dressed in too little clothing. It wasn’t really my scene, but the whole point was I was supposed to be trying new things, right? Besides, since taking the salsa classes, I’d discovered a love of dance I never realized I’d had before. I always thought I’d be rubbish at it. Club dancing was just another kind of dancing.