The Kiss Quotient Read online

  A JOVE BOOK

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2018 by Helen Hoang

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  A JOVE BOOK and BERKLEY are registered trademarks and the B colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Hoang, Helen, author.

  Title: The kiss quotient / Helen Hoang.

  Description: New York : JOVE / Berkley, 2018. | “A JOVE book”—Verso title page.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017061141| ISBN 9780451490803 (paperback) | ISBN 9780451490810 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH: Women mathematicians—Fiction. | Asperger’s syndrome—Fiction. | Escort services—Fiction. | Man-woman relationships—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Romance / Contemporary. | FICTION / Contemporary Women. | GSAFD: Love stories.

  Classification: LCC PS3608.O1775 K57 2018 | DDC 813/.6—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017061141

  First Edition: June 2018

  Cover design and illustration by Colleen Reinhart

  Background equation texture by Marina Sun / Shutterstock

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  Dedicated to my family.

  Thank you, Ngoại, Mẹ, Chị 2, Chị 3, Chị 4, Anh 5, and 7, for being my safe place.

  Thank you, Honey, for loving me, labels, quirks, obsessions, and all.

  Thank you, B-B and I-I, for letting your mama write. You are the best thing I have.

  Acknowledgments

  They say writing is a solitary task. And that’s true. You sit down, and you write alone. But this book never would have come so far without the help and support of many, many, many people.

  This book, in this form, would not exist if I hadn’t had the opportunity to participate in Brenda Drake’s Pitch Wars contest. Thank you, Brenda and the Pitch Wars team. You’re doing an amazing thing. (If you’re an unpublished fiction writer, you should really check out pitchwars.org.) The contest connected me to my wonderful mentor, Brighton Walsh, who has had an immeasurable impact on my life. Not only did she help me improve my writing, but she guided me through this wild journey toward publication and became a true friend. Thank you, Brighton, from the bottom of my heart.

  Thank you so much to all my critique partners for taking time to read my work. Ava Blackstone, you were my very first writing friend. You gave me courage and confidence, and I’m super lucky to know you. Kristin Rockaway, you read the first crappy draft of this book, and your feedback helped me get into Pitch Wars. Michael and Stella’s first kiss is better (more awkward, lol) thanks to you! Gwynne Jackson, you fantastic human, thank you for being there. You are honest, patient, and kind, and I’m keeping you forever. Suzanne Park, I don’t know where to start with you. You are a truly generous person, so damn funny, and you get me. Jen DeLuca, I’m grateful I got to have a mentee sister during Pitch Wars and super glad it was you. I am envious of your incredible writing and try to emulate it. ReLynn Vaughn, thank you for your honesty and encouragement and including me in Viva La Colin so I could meet Ash Alexander and Randi Perrin. You ladies are so fun. A. R. Lucas, I’m endlessly entertained that I wrote your doppelganger in Stella. Shannon Caldwell, thank you for telling me you read the whole book in one night—I walked around grinning for hours. Jenny Howe, thank you for letting me send you my progress updates to stay on track. C. P. Rider, we need to go to Denny’s again!

  Thank you to the Pitch Wars mentee class of 2016. You are an incredible group of people. Right now as I work on these acknowledgments, a few of you are writing with me in our Am Writing Group. Ian Barnes, Meghan Molin, Rosiee Thor, Laura Lashley, Tricia Lynn, Maxym Martineau, Alexa Martin, Rosalyn Baker, Julie Clark, Tracy Gold, Tamara Anne, Rachel Griffin (I still want to name a book Calculust!), Nic Eliz, Annette Christi, and so many others have been there to flip virtual tables over rejections and cheer for successes. You guys make this writing thing even better. Thank you to Pitch Wars mentor Laura Brown. I wasn’t your mentee, but your kindness has always stuck with me.

  Thank you to the San Diego chapter of Romance Writers of America. Demi Hungerford, Lisa Kessler, and Marie Andreas, a lot of my writing and revising gets done during sprints with you. Tameri Etherton, Laura Connors, Rachel Davish, Tami Vahalik, Tessa McFionn, and Janet Tait, you are one awesome pack of women, and you always make me feel welcome. Extra thanks to HelenKay Dimon for leading our chapter’s April Writing Challenge, during which I wrote most of the first draft of this book.

  Thank you to the Autistic Women’s Association for helping me meet other autistic women like myself. The people I’ve interacted with in our Facebook group are some of the sweetest, most considerate individuals I’ve ever known, and it’s an incredible experience knowing I’m not alone, that there are others who share my same challenges and eccentricities. Harriet, Heather, Elizabeth, and Tad, among many, you ladies were a great support as I learned more about myself and autism, and eventually attained a diagnosis. Thank you for your friendship.

  Special thanks to my incredible agent, Kim Lionetti, for being patient with me, fighting for me, and making dreams come true by finding The Kiss Quotient a home.

  Thank you, Cindy Hwang, for seeing potential in this book and being absolutely wonderful. Kristine Swartz, Jessica Brock, Tawanna Sullivan, Colleen Reinhart, and others, you have been a pleasure to work with. Thank you, Berkley, for helping me share another perspective with readers and literally fight hate with love.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Readers Guide

  About the Author

  { CHAP+ER }

  1

  “I know you hate surprises, Stella. In the interests of communicating our expectations and providing you a reasonable timeline, you should know we’re ready for grandchildren.”

  Stella L
ane’s gaze jumped from her breakfast up to her mother’s gracefully aging face. A subtle application of makeup drew attention to battle-ready, coffee-colored eyes. That boded ill for Stella. When her mother got something into her mind, she was like a honey badger with a vendetta—pugnacious and tenacious, but without the snarling and fur.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Stella said.

  Shock gave way to rapid-fire, panic-scrambled thoughts. Grandchildren meant babies. And diapers. Mountains of diapers. Exploding diapers. And babies cried, soul-grating banshee wails that even the best sound-canceling headphones couldn’t buffer. How did they cry so long and hard when they were so little? Plus, babies meant husbands. Husbands meant boyfriends. Boyfriends meant dating. Dating meant sex. She shuddered.

  “You’re thirty, Stella dear. We’re concerned that you’re still single. Have you tried Tinder?”

  She grabbed her water and gulped down a mouthful, accidentally swallowing an ice cube. After clearing her throat, she said, “No. I haven’t tried it.”

  The very thought of Tinder—and the corresponding dating it aimed to deliver—caused her to break out in a sweat. She hated everything about dating: the departure from her comfortable routine, the conversation that was by turns inane and baffling, and again, the sex . . .

  “I’ve been offered a promotion,” she said, hoping it would distract her mother.

  “Another one?” her father asked, lowering his copy of the Wall Street Journal so his wire-framed glasses were visible. “You were just promoted two quarters ago. That’s phenomenal.”

  Stella perked up and scooted to the edge of her seat. “Our newest client—a large online vendor who shall remain nameless—provided the most amazing datasets, and I get to play with them all day. I designed an algorithm to help with some of their purchase suggestions. Apparently, it’s working better than expected.”

  “When is the new promotion effective?” her father asked.

  “Well . . .” The hollandaise and egg yolk from her crabcakes Benedict had run together, and she attempted to separate the yellow liquids with the tip of her fork. “I didn’t accept the promotion. It was a principal econometrician position that would have had five direct reports beneath me and require much more client interaction. I just want to work on the data.”

  Her mother batted that statement away with a negligent wave of her hand. “You’re getting complacent, Stella. If you stop challenging yourself, you’re not going to make any more improvement with your social skills. That reminds me, are there any coworkers at your company who you’d like to date?”

  Her father set his newspaper down and folded his hands over his rounded belly. “Yes, what about that one fellow, Philip James? When we met him at your last company get-together, he seemed nice enough.”

  Her mother’s hands fluttered to her mouth like pigeons homing in on bread crumbs. “Oh, why didn’t I think of him? He was so polite. And easy on the eyes, too.”

  “He’s okay, I guess.” Stella ran her fingertips over the condensation on her water glass. To be honest, she’d considered Philip. He was conceited and abrasive, but he was a direct speaker. She really liked that in people. “I think he has several personality disorders.”

  Her mother patted Stella’s hand. Instead of putting it back in her lap when she was done, she rested it over Stella’s knuckles. “Maybe he’ll be a good match for you, then, dear. With issues of his own to overcome, he might be more understanding of your Asperger’s.”

  Though the words were spoken in a matter-of-fact tone, they sounded unnatural and loud to Stella’s ears. A quick glance at the neighboring tables in the restaurant’s canopied outdoor dining area reassured her that no one had heard, and she stared down at the hand on top of hers, consciously refraining from yanking it away. Uninvited touches irritated her, and her mother knew it. She did it to “acclimate” her. Mostly, it drove Stella crazy. Was it possible Philip could understand that?

  “I’ll think about him,” Stella said, and meant it. She hated lying and prevaricating even more than she hated sex. And, at the end of the day, she wanted to make her mother proud and happy. No matter what Stella did, she was always a few steps short of being successful in her mother’s eyes and therefore her own, too. A boyfriend would do that, she knew. The problem was she couldn’t keep a man for the life of her.

  Her mother beamed. “Excellent. The next benefit dinner I’m arranging is in a couple months, and I want you to bring a date this time. I’d love to see Mr. James attending with you, but if that doesn’t work out, I’ll find someone.”

  Stella thinned her lips. Her latest sexual experience had been with one of her mother’s blind dates. He’d been good-looking—she had to give him that—but his sense of humor had confused her. With him being a venture capitalist and her being an economist, they should have had a lot in common, but he hadn’t wanted to talk about his actual work. Instead, he’d preferred to discuss office politics and manipulation tactics, leaving her so lost she’d been certain the date was a failure.

  When he’d straight-out asked her if she wanted to have sex with him, she’d been caught completely off guard. Because she hated to say no, she’d said yes. There’d been kissing, which she didn’t enjoy. He’d tasted like the lamb he’d had for dinner. She didn’t like lamb. His cologne had nauseated her, and he’d touched her all over. As it always did in intimate situations, her body had locked down. Before she knew it, he’d finished. He’d discarded his used condom in the trash can next to the hotel room’s desk—that had bothered her; surely he should know things like that went in the bathroom?—told her she needed to loosen up, and left. She could only imagine how disappointed her mother would be if she knew what a disaster her daughter was with men.

  And now her mother wanted babies, too.

  Stella got to her feet and gathered her purse. “I need to go to work now.” While she was ahead on all her deadlines, need was still the right word for it. Work fascinated her, channeled the furious craving in her brain. It was also therapeutic.

  “That’s my girl,” her father said, standing up and brushing off his silk Hawaiian shirt before hugging her. “You’re going to own that place before long.”

  As she gave him a quick hug—she didn’t mind touching when she initiated it or had time to mentally prepare for it—she breathed in the familiar scent of his aftershave. Why couldn’t all men be just like her father? He thought she was beautiful and brilliant, and his smell didn’t make her sick.

  “You know her work is an unhealthy obsession, Edward. Don’t encourage her,” her mother said before she switched her attention to Stella and heaved a maternal sigh. “You should be out with people on the weekend. If you met more men, I know you’d find the right one.”

  Her father pressed a cool kiss to her temple and whispered, “I wish I were working, too.”

  Stella shook her head at him as her mother embraced her. The ropes of her mother’s ever-present pearls pressed into Stella’s sternum, and Chanel No. 5 swirled around her. She tolerated the cloying scent for three long seconds before stepping back.

  “I’ll see you both next weekend. I love you. Bye.”

  She waved at her parents before exiting the ritzy downtown Palo Alto restaurant and walked down sidewalks lined with trees and upscale shops. After three sunny blocks, she reached a low-rise office building that housed her favorite place in the world: her office. The left corner window on the third floor belonged to her.

  The lock on the front door clicked open when she held her purse up to the sensor, and she strode into the empty building, enjoying the solitary echo of her high heels on the marble as she passed the vacant reception desk and stepped into the elevator.

  Inside her office, she initiated her most beloved routine. First, she powered on her computer and entered her password into the prompt screen. As all the software booted up, she plopped her purse in her desk drawer and went to fill
her cup with water from the kitchen. Her shoes came off, and she placed them in their regular spot under her desk. She sat.

  Power, password, purse, water, shoes, sit. Always this order.

  Statistics Analysis System, otherwise known as SAS, automatically loaded, and the three monitors on her desk filled with streams of data. Purchases, clicks, log-in times, payment types—simple things, really. But they told her more about people than people themselves ever did. She stretched out her fingers and set them on the black ergonomic keyboard, eager to lose herself in her work.

  “Oh hi, Stella, I thought it might be you.”

  She looked over her shoulder and was jarred by the unwelcome view of Philip James peering around the door frame. The severe cut of his tawny hair emphasized his square jaw, and his polo shirt was tight across his chest. He looked fresh, sophisticated, and smart—precisely the kind of man her parents wanted for her. And he’d caught her working for pleasure on the weekend.

  Her face heated, and she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “What are you doing here?”

  “I had to pick up something that I forgot yesterday.” He extracted a box from a shopping bag and waved it at her. Stella caught sight of the word TROJAN in giant capital letters. “Have a nice weekend. I know I will.”

  Breakfast with her parents raced through her mind. Grandchildren, Philip, the prospect of more blind dates, being successful. She licked her lips and hurried to say something, anything. “Did you really need an economy-sized box of those?”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, she winced.

  He smirked his assholest smirk, but its annoyingness was softened by a show of strong white teeth. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to need half of these tonight since the boss’s new intern asked me out.”

  Stella was impressed despite herself. The new girl looked so shy. Who would have thought she was so gutsy? “For dinner?”

  “And more, I think,” he said with a twinkle in his hazel eyes.