The Expat Diaries: Misfortune Cookie (Single in the City Book 2) by Michele Gorman

call you tomorrow at work, okay? Thanks, see you, bye, bye.’ I swear that girl is so forgetful she could literally misplace her virginity. ‘Sorry, Stace, what was I saying?’
    ‘You were promising not to sleep with your boss, before Chloe interrupted us,’ she says pointedly. She’s never liked Chloe, and at this point probably never will. I assumed that because I love Stacy, and I love Chloe, that Stacy would love Chloe. But affection can’t be transferred between friends like inky hand stamps. If only it had been as easy as licking them both and rubbing them together. I wish Stacy would get over this jealous little snit she’s nurturing. We’re twenty-seven, not seven. Chloe is all the way back in London and Stacy lives here with me. She should be a graceful winner (yes, I’m calling myself a prize). But she won’t even admit she has a problem with Chloe, let alone acknowledge that she shouldn’t.
    ‘Right,’ I say. ‘I’m definitely not going to sleep with Josh. First of all, he has absolutely no interest in me. Second, he’s kind of funny looking. Definitely not attractive.’
    ‘How funny looking?’
    ‘Well, he’s skinny, and tall, and pale. His face is sort of drawn, and all weather-beaten, and oddly wrinkly. He must have spent too much time in the sun. He looks like he’s in his late thirties.’
    ‘Does he have good teeth?’ Graced with a blinding grin, Stacy’s got a dental obsession.
    ‘Uh, yes, his smile is nice. Very open. Dimples too, between the wrinkles.’
    ‘He sounds sexy.’
    ‘Actually, I was being kind. He’s really nice, but definitely rather ugly.’
    ‘Ooh, he’s sexy-ugly then. You know what I mean, like Billy Bob Thornton or Steve Buscemi. Not conventionally handsome but with that je ne sais quoi.’
    ‘Billy Bob Thornton is je ne sais gross.’
    ‘I’d sleep with him,’ she says through a wicked grin.
    ‘You have odd tastes. No, Josh isn’t sexy. Just funny looking. And his hair. Well. It’s mad. It’s too long and it sticks up in all directions, straight off the top of his head. He must use gel. You know how I feel about gel on a man. And he dresses like a nineteenth-century dandy. He actually wore a cravat today. Anyway, it’s a moot point. He could be the best-looking man in the world but I’m in love with Sam. I can’t even imagine looking at someone else.’
    ‘Really? Not even him?’ She gestures to a group of young men eyeing her up like she’s the last pudding on the fat farm buffet.
    ‘They’re interested in you, Stace, not me. Oh look, one’s breaking away from the pack. He’s coming over. Bold move.’ He has the swagger of the smug, which reminds me of something Laughing Gas Rachel told me. She said the women here aren’t backwards about being forward. She made it sound like they’re not above hog-tying a man and dragging him back to their place. I object to this, not because it’s unladylike, but because it artificially inflates a man’s ego. A guy with a dinky winky is king among the eunuchs. Meanwhile we fight each other for the pleasure of mediocrity. It’s unfair.
    ‘Hello ladies. Having a good evening?’ he says, staring at Stacy.
    ‘Great, thanks,’ she says. ‘I’m catching up with my friend. It’s been a long day. Enjoy your night!’ Somehow she manages to sound dismissive and friendly at the same time. She’s a master. I always overshoot the mark when I try the same thing. Either the guy latches on like a tick or runs away to tell his friends about the bitch he just met. Candy-coated rejection is a real balancing act.
    ‘Stace,’ I say when he’s left. ‘He was cute. Didn’t you want to talk to him?’
    ‘Nah, there’s plenty of time for that. I’m here with you. We’re celebrating. That’s more important.’
    This is a True Friend. Capital T capital F. She’d never leave me alone on my first night to go to The Peak with her boyfriend. I wonder if I’ll feel guilty about that for the rest of our lives.