The Expat Diaries: Misfortune Cookie (Single in the City Book 2) by Michele Gorman Read Free Book Online Page B

anatomy wrong.
    He nods. ‘Tail, yes.’
    Before I can stop myself I ask him, ‘What is it used for?’
    Now why can’t I just leave well enough alone? I’d hate to make him mime impotence, or constipation, or–
    ‘For kidneys. Good for kidneys.’
    ‘Oh, I see.’ Good to know, should a case of honeymoon cystitis ever strike. And since Sam arrives in two weeks, I just might find myself here again.
     

Chapter 4.

     
    I haven’t come down with cystitis yet. Instead, I’m suffering from a backwards case of dater’s remorse. I don’t mean that I’m filled with regret having just woken up next to a halitosis-filled mouth-breathing troll. I mean that I’m filled with regret because I shouldn’t be on a date with Sam on Stacy’s first night in Hong Kong. She’s sitting alone in my diminutive apartment, surrounded by her worldly belongings, while I sit atop The Peak with my boyfriend quaffing Chardonnay. I am a Bad friend. Capital B, small f (very small f).
    It was a real Sophie’s Choice moment in the terminal this morning when they both arrived. My breath caught in my throat when I saw him. And then I saw her. But it was Sam. And Stacy. Both coming towards me. Who to kiss first? Was I the kind of woman who’d choose a man over my best friend? Or to side with the sisterhood when my boyfriend was puckered and waiting? Stacy had just flown 9,000 miles. I hadn’t seen Sam in nearly three weeks, and I was in love with him. I hadn’t expected that kind of soul-searching in Terminal A.
    The decision was made for me when Stacy beat Sam by a nose. ‘Oh my God,’ she’d said, hugging me as I caught Sam’s eye over her shoulder. ‘That flight was like a million years long, I can’t believe I’m finally here!’
    ‘Welcome to Hong Kong, Stace! And this is Sam.’ He stood a little shyly beside me, reaching for my hand. Then he kissed her cheek, and she blushed. Actually blushed.
    ‘Hi, you,’ he said to me, enveloping me in his arms. His lips were magic. Just seeing them, imagining, remembering their remarkable abilities, made it hard to keep from panting. He kissed me with his whole mouth, soft and slow, so sensual, his hand holding, then caressing the back of my neck and pulling me closer, keeping me firmly with him. His other hand explored my jawline, our bodies pushing against each other. Kissing him was like being in a sensory deprivation chamber; I was aware of only my body, and its reaction to him. Somewhere in the back of my mind my mother reminded me that there were hundreds of people who may not care to see us humping each other in Arrivals. I respectfully asked her to shut up.
    ‘Ehem.’
    Right. Stacy. ‘Sorry,’ I said after our last (well, third to last) kiss. ‘Are you ready for Hong Kong? Though you must be exhausted. You should probably take it easy tonight.’ Even as I said the words I was plotting to ditch her in my apartment. Bad friend, capital B, small f.
    The fact that I feel so guilty isn’t nearly enough penance. When I shuffle off this mortal coil, Saint Peter will scoff at me and slam shut the Pearly Gates. And I’ll deserve it, because I should not be having the time of my life, holding Sam’s hand, gazing at what might be the most gorgeous view on the planet.
    Think Fiji, Hawaii or one of the Caribbean jewels like St Lucia. Put the Manhattan skyline on the shore, and wire up all the buildings with jaw-dropping illumination so that the whole scene lights up like a pinball machine. Finally, build a restaurant with panoramic views atop one of the green-carpeted mountains. That’s The Peak. It’s supposed to be one of the most romantic places on earth, but surely that depends on your date. The troll with the bad breath still wouldn’t stand a chance here, whereas Sam could have his way with me in a Tesco. It’s all a matter of perspective.
    At the moment my perspective is trained on Sam. I’ve just told him my news.
    ‘What? How? When? Congratulations! When do you