A Glasgow Kiss

by Sophie Gravia

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance

Synopsis

There's nothing romantic about dating...

A Glasgow Kiss [n.]
A headbutt or a strike with the head to someone's sensitive area

Meet Zara Smith: 29, single and muddling her way through life as a trainee nurse in Glasgow. With 30 fast approaching, she's determined to do whatever it takes to find love - or at least someone to sext! Cheered on by best friends Ashley and Raj, Zara embarks on a string of dating escapades that are as hilarious as they are disastrous. From online dating to blind dates, hometown hook-ups to flirty bartenders, nothing is off limits.

But when Dr Tom Adams, aka Sugar Daddy, shows interest, it's a game-changing moment. Zara has had a crush on Tom since her very first day at the aesthetics clinic she works at part-time. As things heat up between them, Zara can't help but wonder: is this it? Or is it another disaster waiting to happen?

Filthy, hilarious and painfully relatable, Zara Smith is Bridget Jones for the millennial generation, from the writer of the Sex in the Glasgow City blog. Fans of Fleabag, Girls and Lucy Vine will love A Glasgow Kiss.

Readers can't get enough of A Glasgow Kiss:

'The story is relatable to at least 99% of the female population. It was heartwarming to know I'm not the only female who checks 'read' receipts and 'last active' on WhatsApp and social media platforms. I cried with laughter throughout the full book and the ending is soo fitting.'

'A group of us are all reading this at the moment as part of our newly formed and made up book club and honestly we couldn't have chosen a better book to start with... this is serious belly laugh, snort out loud material... we can't put it down!!! EVERY GIRL NEEDS TO READ THIS!!!'

'I loved this book so much, I couldn't put it down and finished it in two days. I laughed so much and it was definitely what 2020 needed! I hope hope hope there's a sequel on the cards - can't recommend enough!'

Release date: April 26, 2021

Publisher: Orion Publishing Group

Print pages: 320

Sample

Name: Zara SmithAge: 29Location: GlasgowInterested in: MalesZodiac sign: Leo

Biography: My name is Zara, I’ve been single for around five years now. My hobbies include hill walking, good food, and lots of cocktail drinking! No kids, own house, living life to the fullest. I’m looking for someone to share similar interests with and finally settle down!

God, that was difficult, cringeworthy, and incredibly dishonest of me. I never anticipated online dating at this age. I always envisioned myself married in my mid-twenties and to at least be thinking about having kids now. I didn’t even contemplate that finding a guy to commit to me would be an issue. Then some clever cunt invented the internet, and now no one in Glasgow seems to want a monogamous relationship anymore. With vast access to so many stunningly beautiful and available women out there, I don’t blame a guy for not wanting to settle for me,- Zara, the skint student who recently used a scrunchie to wipe her arse because she couldn’t afford toilet roll.

I mean, I’m not saying I don’t enjoy physical relationships. I absolutely do. It’s just that I have the weird female issue that if anyone touches my vagina, it will latch onto them like a fucking Venus flytrap. I admit that whenever I get intimate with a guy, I stalk them for months afterwards on any social media platform I can access, secretly praying for their return to my lonely vagina. Even if they were terrible, deep down, I am willing to settle.

Now, nearing the end of my twenties, reality has set in and the panic has begun. Yes, I’m very much single, with no one to text or sext. I spent ten agonising years of my life completely infatuated with a Glasgow ned who would use me occasionally for weekend hook-ups, well, until he met a younger, prettier model and married her instead. Of course, by the time I finally realised just how pathetic I was being and felt ready to move on I was completely past the ‘hot’ stage of my life and any confidence I had in regards to speaking to another man was gone. My sell-by date is approaching a lot quicker than I anticipated and the fear of being left on the shelf (having missed out on casual dating, with the skinniest days of my life a distant memory) has officially become my reality.

The continuous pressure from my family to fulfil society’s goals of marrying someone before my ovaries freeze over has encouraged me to join the ever-growing trend of online dating.

Ping.

God, it was barely 8am on a drizzly Thursday morning in April and I was already receiving messages on my new dating app, I hadn’t even uploaded an image yet. Maybe I wasn’t the only desperado left in this city after all.

Ping.

Jesus. I couldn’t help but smile at what very little attention I was getting. I had been craving it for long enough. With my usual punctuality problems I left my apartment that morning while beginning the ten-minute journey along the crisp, wet Glasgow street, stepping over the deeper puddles in a desperate bid not to dampen my favourite Primark shoes. I smiled at the occasional familiar face that I recognised from my morning rush to get to work.

‘Morning,’ I shouted over a loud engine while eagerly waving to my boss as he pulled up beside me in his top of the range Bentley. Trying hard to pick up the pace and get in the door before him to ensure I wasn’t last in – again.

Individualise. The sign suddenly lit up the street, and I knew Ashley my best friend, must have got in before me. I worked part-time in a chic aesthetics clinic, which supported me through my degree. I’d be a fully-fledged nurse in a few months, but for now, this was the perfect job.

‘Oh my God, so much chat!’ Ashley exclaimed as she sprang from the counter, completely ignoring Raj as he walked in behind me.

‘Dave didn’t come home again last night. I told him if this happens one more time, then that’s it. Can you believe that?’

The thing is, I could believe it. Every shift recently, I listened to Ashley’s make-up and break-up dramas. I nodded in agreement as she continued her story, though I zoned out occasionally, admiring her long, blonde, artificial locks. She was dressed in a tight black dress good enough to wear on a night out, but she’d look pretty in any setting, with the brightest green eyes and the best set of Turkish veneers you had ever seen. On the other hand, I was in my Individualise printed logo top that was going grey and misshaped from being washed so many times. I didn’t have any time for makeup this morning because I got caught up over-analysing my dating profile.

Standing opposite Ashley now, I felt inferior. I knew even on a good day, I was not the best ambassador for this job—given my lack of lip filler and face that moved with every expression. However, I comforted myself with the thought that I was less intimidating for clients as they walked through the door to a chirpy Subo lookalike opposed to a pristine Insta model like Ashley. I found it natural to build great relationships with them and could advise them on the newest treatment packages we had to offer at the clinic with a non-judgemental approach.

Ashley helps promote and market the clinic as she has such a large social media platform herself. When the clinic opened, she saw a vacancy for a receptionist and spoke to Raj about getting me a job. He hired me over the phone, and I’m sure he was expecting a candidate much more glamorous than myself, but I got the job and had been there for three years. Raj and Ashley run the clinic together full-time, and I help out on Thursdays and Fridays on the desk. Raj was laidback, and we all got on exceptionally well. He specialised in Botox and skin procedures and worked for the NHS as a plastic surgeon as well as his private clinic work. His clinic was thriving since Ashley got involved in marketing and promoting his brand. Raj’s best friend Doctor Tom Adams, who specialised in lip/cheek fillers, worked in the clinic every Friday. This was undoubtedly my favourite day of the week as Tom was fucking hot! Ashley and I immaturely called him Sugar Daddy!

Sugar Daddy—or Dr Adams or Tom with the Dong—was older than me. Mid-forties I’d say—tall, muscular, kind, quite arrogant, charming, and most definitely single. Ashley and I stalked his social media regularly, and there was never any indication of a girlfriend. We attempted to drop it into the conversation at times with Raj, who laughed and called him the Royal Gigolo (a reference to the hospital they both worked in, Glasgow Royal Infirmary, as well as, no doubt, the hundreds of nurses he slept with). My nursing degree couldn’t come quickly enough if I could pull surgeons like him at the end of my training. Ashley admired him too, and from the minute he walked into the clinic on a Friday, we’d giggle and pout like Kerry Katona on speed. Tom had such a flirtatious manner you couldn’t resist, and the kind of perfect, symmetrical smile that’s totally disarming. Not to mention the size of his bulge in the scrubs he wore—that one-eyed monster greeted you at the door. When he was on shift, it was difficult to think of anything else.

The majority of the morning, when we weren’t attending to clients, was spent deconstructing and then railing against Dave’s treatment of Ashley. When she’d exhausted herself with that topic, I found a quiet time to tell her:

‘So, I made an online dating profile.’

‘Shut up! Shut up! Let me see!’ she shouted, approaching me.

I’d forgotten how loud she could be. I blushed slightly as two clients were waiting only a few metres away, listening intently.

I began to explain while trying to encourage her to whisper.

‘I literally created it before work. I haven’t uploaded any photos yet. I feel too embarrassed—like I don’t want to catfish anyone, but I want a decent picture? I know lots of people do it now but I have never …’

‘Shut up! Firstly, you’re not a catfish at all! Why are you even embarrassed? It’s socially acceptable these days,’ she replied. ‘I’ll help you choose your pics.’

Ashley grabbed my phone out of my hand, and I began to feel uncomfortable at my poor selection of photos as she scrolled judgingly through my camera roll. I cringed at a few selfies from over her shoulder praying I had deleted my earlier arsehole pic that was to establish if my piles had returned. Thankfully it was gone, and I instantly felt reassured as Ashley was kindly nodding, admiring my photographs.

‘Oooft, look at you! You want to appear approachable but slightly standoffish. Funny but not too funny, like their mate. Aim to look natural and do not put unrealistic filters on your pictures.’ She spoke another language to me, but as she carried on explaining the rationale behind each statement, I began to understand. The dating scene was most certainly a game. In a world of hearts and crosses, I suddenly realised that first impressions counted more than ever, and it was time for me to be savage with my own standards.

I decided I would wait until I was home to upload my pictures, giving myself time to evaluate Ashley’s advice. I had never online dated before; in fact, I had never been on a date with a complete stranger and the thought of arranging to meet and having awkward chat or feeling uncomfortable made me squirm. I was well aware my Facebook profile photos might have looked like showstoppers. But in reality, I showed far too many teeth when I smiled, my stomach wasn’t quite so flat and my arse wasn’t quite so peachy. So perhaps a few natural pictures were a must. Mental note: do not upload too many with a duck pout or Snapchat filter.

I walked home much slower than this morning’s journey. The rain had stopped but the streets still appeared damp from before and the sandstone buildings looked soaked through. Everyone seemed to be rushing around but there was only one thing on my mind: men. I suddenly felt like online dating could open up my boring, non-productive life and for the first time in years, I felt confident that I was going to meet someone. I strolled home with an optimistic grin on my face and a new bubble in the pit of my stomach.

After much deliberation, I began choosing a selection of photos from nights out in trendy Glasgow bars, to partying at Ocean Beach. After searching online ‘what type of photographs attract men?’, I chose one of me standing in Central Park. According to Google, this quickly suggested a few important things: that I was well travelled, up for an adventure, and financially had my shit together.

What a lie.

I also began searching vital information into Google ‘Interesting topics of conversation on a first date’ and ‘the best opening conversations in online dating’. I was intrigued but terrified at this newfound world I was about to be part of, and after spending almost six hours planning and prepping my online profile, it was complete. As I lay across my sofa, I began swiping, initially feeling overwhelmed but also empowered. I was making cut-throat decisions based purely on someone’s physical appearance. I felt powerful, invigorated—and judgemental as fuck. Still, this way of selecting a potential match was strangely fun and highly addictive.

Nope, too short. No. Nice, but shit job. YES, YES. Oh, bald, fuck no.

I was caught up in a world where I was in charge. I felt like Kim Kardashian with the pick of the bunch even though, behind the screen, I was sitting with stained PJs smelling of body odour with a hairy top lip that resembled more Kanye than Kim.

Before I knew it, I began matching with potential suitors, but no one immediately grabbed my attention. For the moment, I was still completely engrossed in the swiping, so replying to any messages seemed more like a hindrance than anything else. It only took a short while before I established which men actually wanted a genuine relationship, to get to know me, as opposed to the ‘shagger’ variety Ashley warned me about. The shaggers seemed to send heart or wink emojis initially and then made reference to my breasts or blatantly asked, ‘What are you looking for on this?’

Not the same as you, thanks. I mean, at least put a bit of effort into it.

Filtering the good from the bad seemed complicated and superficial, based entirely on looks and a few sentences, but I enjoyed the process regardless. Hours passed, and as much as my body wanted to sleep, I continued swiping. I hoped to see someone I knew to immaturely screenshot their profile to my friends, or find love at first sight and call this experiment a success. My eyes felt dry and tired from staring intently at impeccable pecs and grey joggies for most of the night.

Ping.

Mark: Did you know, some female penguins engage in prostitution, performing sex acts in exchange for pebbles?

I couldn’t help but reply to this message as I was both disgusted and impressed he knew such random facts.

No, I was unaware of this fact, but thank you for enlightening me that penguins are, in fact, dirty wee bastards! I replied, feeling witty and curious.

He was typing …

Yes, I would say they are, as here is a more morbid fact, they have been known to rape each other when they die! Anyway, how’s things?

Wow. That was some introduction, and already I couldn’t help but feel captivated by Mark. He certainly caught my attention. I mean, who could ignore an interesting necrophilia conversation? I found myself replying to Mark regardless of my fatigue with a satisfied smile on my face. I felt sick, apprehensive, but excited with each reply as the night went on. His photos were cute and genuine. There were no enticing dog images or posing with endangered species, only him, on the occasional night out with friends and one of him doing a speech at an event. He had dark hair, pale skin, and large, chocolate-brown eyes. I usually go for tall athletic men, and Mark was 5ft 10, which towered above my petite 5ft 3 frame. Still, I typically prefer men in the 6ft something category. However, something was drawing me to Mark, and I was willing to make an exception.

The thought of arranging to meet up with him was far too much for now, but I knew from the constant message flow we would be heading in that direction very soon. What if this all went wrong? What if he ends up a serial killer? He did make a dodgy joke about penguins after all.

I didn’t know if this was all a massive mistake, but I had to take a risk for once. The modern world seemed to be evolving into virtual relationships, and there was one thing for sure: I didn’t want to be left behind.

A few days of texting Mark later, he started sending me voice notes. Whenever I heard his voice, I could feel the flutters travel from my heart to my vulva like shocks of lightning. It sounded deep and he had a good range of vocabulary. He seemed well educated but swore quite frequently which made me smile. I always had a thing for a bad boy and with every curse he would turn me on. I was overcome with excitement every time I saw his name appear on my screen, like a love-struck teenager, and I could tell he felt the same. He had invited me for drinks that particular evening at 6.30pm and I had agreed. I was in a love bubble, and I hadn’t felt like this for a while—then every so often reality hit: You haven’t even met this cunt, Zara. He could be a murderer. I knew I had to speak to Ashley.

I spent a little longer getting ready for work that day as it was Sugar Daddy’s shift. I wore skinny black jeans and a white crop top, which crossed over at the front revealing minimal cleavage. Raj wasn’t too fussed about what we wore as long as we looked clean and professional. My black hair was hanging flat down and as useless as I was with a pair of straighteners, I attempted to add a little wave to avoid looking like Cher for the rest of the day. I headed out the door with my small coffee cup and phone tightly gripped in my hand, waiting not so patiently for Mark to text.

When I got to the salon, Sugar Daddy was sitting on the white leather reception sofa with his long muscular arms hanging over the back, chatting to Ashley. His dark hair looked like silk and was casually pushed back at the top effortlessly. Ashley was dressed up more than usual, and I couldn’t help but think she must have got up at 5am, at least, for the amount of makeup she had on. When I put my bag on the desk, both of them smiled and in sync said, ‘Morning.’

Tom stood up and gestured to his chair.

‘Here, have a seat, we still have a few minutes before our first client. How’re things?’

I couldn’t help but blush as I sat down. He immediately sat back on the sofa beside me, and I could feel his warm body slightly press against my arm. I made eyes at Ashley, and we both sniggered at one another.

‘I’m really well, Tom. How are you?’ I said.

‘Yes, good thanks. I was thinking about you driving in here today. How long have you got left at uni? It’s bizarre I haven’t seen you in the hospital on a placement actually.’

Wow. Tom was thinking about me? If I wasn’t on such a high from Mark, that comment alone would have been the most exciting thing to happen this entire month.

‘Erm … I only have a couple of months left. It’s quite scary actually.’

When I said that out loud, I realised how close I was to graduating, which made my stomach twist. I had always wanted to be a nurse. My mother is a senior nurse manager for NHS Glasgow and encouraged me to choose the profession. I only took this long to do it because I didn’t want her to dictate my life choices. However, she was right, and I absolutely love caring for people. I feel so comfortable and content in the hospital environment. On the other hand, the coursework was more troublesome, I had spent many sleepless nights over the past three years writing essays good enough to pass the course. With the written work completed, I was simply waiting for a date to begin my final placement before being awarded my degree.

Tom was such an enthusiastic listener, sitting there with that intense eye contact. Whenever he spoke to someone, he gave them his undivided attention, and it never failed to make me flustered.

‘A couple of months, certainly is soon. We may still cross paths. I’ll keep an eye out for you at work.’

His voice sounded sincere, although it had a generic private school tone, which wouldn’t usually attract me. However, combined with his cheeky mannerisms and a vast array of compliments, not to mention his high-flying career, he could weaken any girl at the knees. He got up and headed into the clinic room to start prepping for the first client. Ashley and I made small talk until he shut the door, then we both burst out laughing like randy teenagers.

‘Is it just me, or is Sugar Daddy getting hotter?’ she asked.

I couldn’t disagree with her; his confidence just oozed from his masculine frame. He was fucking incredible.

‘He was thinking of you driving in? Mate, what the fuck?’ Ashley whispered, still giggling.

‘Aww, shoosh you … If he only knew we think about him every day!’ I whispered back.

The clinic had its usual volume of traffic. Ashley was in her element taking before and after photos, revealing each client’s new face. When it quietened down, I finally explained to her I had a date that night with Mark. When I said it aloud, it began to feel real, and I suddenly felt like I was going to vomit. I hadn’t had a date for over eighteen months, and even then, it was with an ex and it was only a formality as we both needed sex at the end of it.

‘What are you going to wear?’ she asked.

I suddenly realised how unprepared I was. I had no new clothes or time to buy them. I’d spent longer worrying about that morning’s outfit for Sugar Daddy than my actual date. What do you wear on a casual drink date? My anxiety started creeping up on me and I began to doubt everything. My face looked puffier than usual. What if he thought I was fat? My thick dark eyebrows had started to grow in, and I was beginning to resemble Chewbacca. Fuck, I don’t think I can do this, I thought.

‘You need to chill out, it’ll be fine. Just ask. . .