Shari Low - My Best Friend’s Life

The important thing, though, is that putting out so quickly wasn’t a bad idea because he loved the fact that I was so adventurous. He says that he’s never met anyone like me before and it was meant to be, and that’s why he just had to have me right there and then. I could definitely tell he’s not the kind of guy who normally pulls stunts like that because he was so embarrassed afterwards that he got all shy and left really quickly to get back to work. But–and here’s the really great bit–I’m seeing him again tomorrow night. And, even better, he told me to forget sending the flowers to that Roxy girl–says from now on the only girl he’ll be sending flowers to is me. Except, I don’t really need them since I’m allowed to take home the ones that are about to go on the wilt, but I didn’t want to tell him that–thought it might spoil the moment .

This is it. I’ve got a feeling about him–I finally think I’ve found the one decent straight bloke left in London…

Just hope the girlfriend doesn’t take it too hard when he breaks it off with her tonight…FOR ME! Yasmin Le Bon, eat my pants! Dxxx

Ginny. Day One, Sunday, midnight

Ginny pushed the key into the door, thumped it open with her shoulder, then hobbled through, dragging the trolley case behind her. Style was all very well but you could go off a fashion item really quickly when you had to lug it up a flight of stairs late at night while balancing on one shoe. And, naturally, she’d managed to get the only cab driver in London who didn’t want to talk, wasn’t in the least bit helpful, and ejected her at such speed that she’d left the broken heel on the seat. That was the superglue plan scuppered then.

None of this would ever happen to Roxy. Roxy could walk a tightrope in six-inch heels, the cab driver would have been falling over himself to help her, and he’d probably have been so enraptured by her divine sodding goddess-ness that he’d have carried her case to her door.

As she stepped into the hall a barrage of sounds accosted her. She vaguely recognised the music–it was that bloke…the weird-looking one…erm, Beyonce’s boyfriend…what’s-his-name? She racked her brains. Crazee. Lazyee. Note to self: brush up on contemporary music artists–there was more to life than those collections of number-one hits that Woolies sold for a fiver.

She dumped her handbag and the trolley case on the hardwood floor, careful not to scuff the sheen on the cream silk walls. She’d always loved Roxy’s place. On the floor were rich, thick planks of glossy solid oak, the walls were lined with a light vanilla suede, and hanging from the ceiling was a stunning, simple crystal and chrome chandelier that struck the perfect balance between class and contemporary. The light, the space, the beautiful pastel prints on the walls, there was something so uncluttered and simple about it–especially when juxtaposed against the chaos that was Roxy’s perpetually melodramatic existence.

And it was clean. Spotless. Although that probably had less to do with Roxy’s domestic skills and more to do with Bogna, the Polish cleaner who charged fifteen pounds an hour and came complete with an overwhelming aroma of Eau de Domestos.

‘Hi. Are you… okay ?’

Ginny snapped her head around to see a blonde with Rachel Hunter’s legs and Dolly Parton’s mammas staring at her like she didn’t know whether to scream or dial the emergency services.

‘Erm, yeah, hi. I’m Ginny, Roxy’s friend. I’m, erm, staying here tonight,’ she stuttered, toe-curlingly aware that she was windswept, dishevelled, her hair was sticking to her contraband lip-gloss and she was only wearing one boot.

But at least she had manners, she thought, as she haltingly held out her hand to shake Miss Amazonian Breastfest 2007.

Her action was met with a shrug, and only then did Ginny notice that the blonde’s hands were full. One tub of strawberries, one aerosol can of whipped cream, one bottle of champagne, two glasses. Didn’t anyone just go to bed with a cuppa and a good book any more?

‘Hey, Ginny–what are you doing here?’

She did her best not to gasp out loud as Jude, Roxy’s flatmate, appeared from his room with only a towel covering his modesty. He threw his arms around her and lifted her up in a bear hug. Big mistake. When he plonked her back down she lost her balance and folded like a sofabed. ‘One shoe,’ she explained weakly, getting back on her feet. ‘It’s a long story–I’d tell you but those strawberries will be past their sell-by date by the time I’ve finished.’

He grinned and Ginny felt her one good knee go weak. God, he was beautiful. His dark blond hair fell down to his shoulders, every muscle was rounded and defined, his square jaw was on the Brad Pitt side of Buzz Lightyear and the green eyes…oh, good Lord, they could make a girl swoon, sweat and remove her knickers all at the same time. He was, quite simply, a fine specimen of manhood. But then, most male strippers were. Except the ones who did social-club hen nights and thought The Full Monty gave them a lifelong licence to flash milk-white, flabby bodies in the break between the bingo and the buffet.

‘Ginny, this is my girlfriend, Cheska.’ He pointed at the Amazonian with the penchant for late-night berries. ‘Cheska, this is Roxy’s friend Ginny.’

‘We’ve, erm, just met,’ Ginny said with a nervous smile. Shit, what was the protocol for this? The only people she ever met in her mother’s hallway were the parish priest and the bloke who collected money for the Salvation Army. Oh, and that Ann Summers party planner, who seemed to be popping in regularly.

‘Anyway, erm, so, didn’t Roxy call to tell you I’d be coming?’

His blank face answered the question. Bugger. Typical bloody Roxy. She’d promised that she’d let Jude know and make sure it was okay with him.

He picked up the apprehension on her face and grinned. ‘Hey, look, don’t worry, it’s fine. It’ll be great to have you here. Are you just staying the night?’

‘Erm, a month?’ she announced tentatively.

‘Okay, so what have you done with Roxy? The Priory? A rich bloke? Or am I going to see her picture on Crimewatch ?’

‘No, she’s staying at mine for a while. You know, to get her head sorted out.’

‘And there was me thinking she’d never go out of a ten-mile radius of Joseph, Daniel Galvin and Harvey Nicks,’ he said with a grin.

She’d forgotten about his teeth. He could have a part-time job as a product tester for the Hollywood Smile Company.

Ginny switched her focus back to Cheska. Body like that, legs like those, the waist-length shiny locks…She may only have been in the city for an hour but Ginny knew a pole-dancer when she saw one.

‘Well, it was nice to meet you,’ Cheska said with a smile. ‘I’ll just head for bed, early start tomorrow morning. Have to be in Chambers by seven o’clock.’

Ginny suddenly had a vague notion that she’d seen Cheska before. Her powers of recall raced to catch up. Of Course! Wasn’t she the lawyer who was on the six o’clock news every night, going in and out of court at the side of the soon-to-be-ex-wife of a Sixties band legend? The divorce was proving messy, slanderous and keeping the whole nation entertained. And the tabloids had already made a poster girl of the gorgeous lawyer with the stern ‘No Comments’.

Ginny stopped herself from her habitual tutting and rolling of the eyes. Oh, the injustice. Cheska was a lawyer–those looks and a brain too. That should be illegal.

‘Gin, you know where everything is. Roxy’s room is in there, if you’re hungry help yourself in the kitchen–we share everything.’ Ginny fleetingly wondered if that included those strawberries, the cream and the champagne…licked from his naked torso. Jesus, a couple of hours since she’d left home and already her ovaries were sending filthy thoughts to her brain.