Free Love... From Both Sides (A laugh-out-loud romantic comedy) by Nick Spalding

the road and helped him carry his ridiculous rubber plant and bag of shopping over as well.
    ‘It’s okay. I’m fine!’ he says, still clutching the over-sized plant in front of him protectively, like I’m going to attack him at any moment. ‘Are you alright?’
    ‘Yeah. Just embarrassed is all. I really am very, very sorry.’
    He finally puts the pot plant down, having decided I’m not about to jump on him like a rabid spider monkey.
    As he stands up, there’s a light of recognition in his eyes.
    ‘Hey! Weren’t you at that stupid speed dating thing down The Cheetah Lounge last month?’
    Oh terrific!
    Humiliation piled on humiliation.
    Not only does this bloke – who I’m starting to realise is really quite attractive, despite his obsession with potted green flora – think I’m a lunatic with a ballistic moped, he also knows that I’m a hideously single lunatic with a ballistic moped.
    ‘Yes,’ I admit. ‘I remember you too. Glen Artichoke, isn’t it?’
    ‘Ah… that might have been a bit of a fib.’ He extends a hand. ‘My name’s actually Jamie Newman.’
    I offer a smile still laced with apology and take his hand. ‘Laura McIntyre. I wondered if that was a made up name at the time.’
    ‘Yeah. Call it an insurance policy against any psychopathic women out there.’
    That’s a very nice smile you’ve got, Jamie Newman. Congratulations.
    ‘We never got a chance to talk did we?’ I say, remembering how the awful evening had ended.
    ‘No.’ Jamie looks a bit guilty. ‘That may have been my fault. I set the sprinklers off having a fag in the toilets.’ Guilt changes to pride. ‘That was my last cigarette, actually. It seemed appropriate to quit at that point.’
     
    Jamie Newman and I spend a good ten minutes at the side of the road chatting, before I have to stifle a yawn.
    Much as I’m enjoying speaking to what appears to be an intelligent, charming man, I am now virtually dead on my feet from near exhaustion. I can also feel blood trickling down my leg from the scrape and I need to get home to apply some TCP as soon as possible.
    Not wanting to let this fish off the hook I decide to take a chance.
    ‘Look, I have to get home before I fall asleep in the street, but maybe I could buy you a drink sometime?’ I ask. ‘You know, by way of an apology for nearly killing you with a doll’s house?’
    The smile he gives me makes my heart beat faster.
    ‘That’d be lovely.’
    I give him my number, which he programs into his mobile. He promises to give me a call in the next few days.
    ‘Will you be okay riding home on that thing?’ he asks, pointing at the moped, which now has a lovely fresh dent down one side to go along with all the others Charlie has inflicted on it.
    ‘Oh yes. I’ll be fine!’ I reply with more than a touch of bravado, and jump back onto the infernal contraption.
    I just hope I can ride away without crashing into the nearest lamppost…
    Having cinched the crash helmet up as tight as it’ll go, I turn the key in the ignition and look back at Jamie, who is once again holding his rubber plant. It doesn’t look like he’s planning on throwing it at me this time though.
    I give him a wave, which he returns awkwardly - and I pray to all the gods in the universe that the moped behaves itself as I twist the throttle and ride away.
     
    Happy thoughts manage keep the Vespa upright all the way back to the flat.
    I barely notice the car horns and screeching tyres that mark my uncertain progress.
    I’m fortunate the local constabulary aren’t out in force. Any copper would probably run out of ink in his pen filling out all the penalty notices it would take to cover everything I’m doing wrong.
     
    So there you go Mum.
    I thought you had to dress like a high class prostitute and go clubbing to find a man - when all it really takes is a day old set of work clothes, a knackered moped and a hit and run.
    Whether Jamie Newman calls me or not is another thing. Let’s just