Kat French - My Perfect Stranger - A hilarious love story by the bestselling author of One Day in December

Tash tapped the package in her basket. ‘Meet my new boyfriend.’

Honey glanced away. Glittery red hearts dangled throughout the store like a love grotto, although the dummies clad in crotchless knickers and peephole bras made it more ‘sex den’ than ‘romantic arbour’.

‘What is all this stuff?’ Nell murmured, wide eyed as they passed through a heavy velvet curtain. She picked up a dark string of beads and wrapped them around her wrist. ‘I didn’t know they did jewellery.’ She twisted her arm to admire them. ‘These would be perfect with my new purple dress.’

Tash laughed. ‘Yes. How thoughtful of them to make their bum beads multi-purpose.’

Nell yanked them off, her cheeks a good match with the violet beads as she tossed them down. ‘That’s revolting.’

‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, girlfriend.’ Tash raised a knowing brow.

Nell sat down and crossed her ankles, the image of a prim school marm. ‘I think I’ll wait for you here.’

‘’Kay. But just so you know, you’re sitting on a sex couch,’ Tash winked.

‘Christ!’ Jumping up, Nell smoothed her hands down her navy pencil skirt. ‘Is nothing normal in this place?’

‘This is normal, Nell. Simon would probably love to see you in crotchless knickers.’

‘He most certainly would not. He’d tell me to return them because there was a bit missing.’

Tash shook her head and huffed. ‘You know, I think he probably would.’

Honey slid the handcuffs she’d been examining off her wrists and grinned. Simon and Nell were the perfect couple. Childhood sweethearts. Mr & Mrs Vanilla. He’d probably have a heart attack if Nell wore anything more risqué than M&S white cotton. ‘Come on, Nell, let’s get you out of here. Tash, we’ll meet you next door in five.’

‘So, Honey. About the orgasm thing,’ Tash said as she slid into the booth in the crowded bar ten minutes later. Honey sighed.

‘Jesus, Tash. Don’t start. I really don’t need to talk about this.’

‘Okay, okay, you’re right,’ Nell soothed. ‘But … when you said you don’t, you didn’t mean you never have … did you?’

Honey reached for her wine in resignation. ‘It really doesn’t bother me.’

‘Well, it should. It’s bad for your health, if nothing else.’

‘No, Tash. It would be bad for your health. I don’t miss what I’ve never had.’

‘Are you one hundred per cent bona fide certain that you never have?’ Nell asked.

‘Jesus, Nell. If she had one and missed it then there really is something wrong with her.’

Honey cleared her throat.

‘Err, I’m still here, remember?’

‘I just don’t get how you can’t once you’re in the heat of the moment, to be honest,’ Tash said, looking genuinely perplexed. ‘You must have been sleeping with the wrong men, Honey.’

‘It’s no one’s fault,’ Honey shrugged.

‘Do you think you’re getting too wound up about it and then that makes it impossible to relax enough for it to happen?’ Nell frowned.

Honey shook her head. ‘Please … just stop? I’m not wound up, and I’m perfectly relaxed. I don’t expect it to happen, and it doesn’t happen, so let’s just move on, okay?’

‘I can’t believe we’ve been friends for ten years and you’ve never mentioned this.’

‘That’s because it’s honestly no big deal.’

Nell and Tash reached for their own glasses with something dangerously close to pity on their faces.

Tash narrowed her eyes. ‘When did you last flirt with a man?’

Honey twisted her bangles around, a jumble of gold and bright-coloured metals. Men worth flirting with were thin on the ground in her day-to-day life. She briefly entertained the idea of flirting with Eric the Lech who occasionally came in to the charity shop she managed, but the idea turned her stomach. He already tried to squeeze her bum most days as it was. One flicker of encouragement from her and he’d have her round to view his ancient Y-fronts over an episode of Antiques Roadshow in his sheltered accommodation. No.

‘You can’t remember, can you?’

Honey shook her head and sighed. ‘I just don’t meet men I could flirt with. I spend all day serving old dears, and on the rare occasion I meet anyone fanciable they always turn out to be dickheads.’

‘You’ve just been with the wrong men,’ Nell soothed.

Honey couldn’t argue. The few men she’d slept with wouldn’t win any awards for technique, but deep down she knew it was more than that. She’d simply been born without the orgasm gene. Fact.

‘Let us pick someone for you,’ Tash said.

‘No way!’ Honey could just imagine the men her friends would come up with; jet-set playboys with perma-tans on one side, trainee teachers in jesus creepers on the other.

‘You know what you need?’ Tash swayed her glass in Honey’s direction. ‘A specific. Something to sort out the men from the boys.’

‘I’m not with you.’

‘Well, take me. My specific is money. No money, no Tash.’

‘You are so shallow.’ Nell laughed.

Tash shrugged. ‘I prefer to say realistic.’

‘Well, I’m not fussed for rich.’

‘No, but there has to be something,’ Tash said.

‘Good father. That was my specific.’ A faraway smile kissed Nell’s lips, doubtless thinking of Simon and their year-old baby daughter. She’d never known her own father, so Simon was her lover, friend and hero all rolled into one.

Michael Bublé crooned something sentimental from the speaker behind Honey’s ear. ‘Reckon you can fix me up with Michael Bublé?’

‘Tall order, chick.’ Tash sat up straight in her chair. ‘But … that has just given me a great idea for your specific.’ She paused, sparkle eyed. ‘You need a pianist.’

Nell laughed. ‘Where the heck is she supposed to find a pianist around here?’

‘Hey, if you can rustle me up the Bublé or Robert Downey Jr, I’m all for it,’ Honey said.

‘Think about it. All those hours of practising scales would make a man talented with his hands.’ Tash warmed to her theme. ‘And only clever, sensitive men would bother to learn the piano.’ She sounded too certain for anyone to question her logic.

‘Tash’s right, Hon,’ Nell chimed in. ‘You need a pianist.’

‘Well I don’t know any.’

‘Not yet …’ Tash winked. ‘But you will.’

‘Er … how?’ Honey reached for the wine bottle.

‘No idea.’ Tash pushed her glass towards Honey.

Nell grinned. ‘We need to check out dating sites.’

‘No way!’ Honey sloshed wine onto the table in panic. ‘There’s no way I’m signing up for online dating.’

Tash and Nell eyed each other. ‘Of course not,’ Nell said. Tash coughed.

Honey narrowed her eyes. ‘Have you got your fingers crossed behind your back?’

Nell shook her head and uncrossed her fingers.

‘I can’t even think of any other famous pianists, let alone regular joes.’ Honey frowned.

‘Elton John?’ Tash suggested.

‘He’s gay. And married. I don’t want married. Or gay.’

‘Liberace?’

‘Great. Dead and gay.’

‘Right,’ Nell intervened. ‘So we’re looking for straight, breathing pianists with a thing for boho blondes.’

‘And gorgeous,’ Honey said. ‘He has to be gorgeous.’

‘Well, I think it’s genius,’ Tash said. ‘In one easy swipe you’ve managed to eliminate ninety-nine per cent of the male population, leaving only a small pool to fish in for the catch of the day.’

Honey laughed and shook her head to dislodge the image of herself in waders reeling in an unwilling Michael Bublé. ‘A fishy pianist. Every girl’s dream.’