Sexy Berkeley (1)

Sexy Berkeley

Sexy Series
Book One

Dani Lovell

Copyright 2013 Dani Lovell

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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

The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following, mentioned in this work of fiction: Veuve Clicquot
Ponsardin, The Palm Restaurant, Santa Monica, Manolo Blahnik, ‘Mad Men’, ‘Don Draper’, W Hotels and Residences, Drai’s Nightclub, iBooks, iPod, Apple Store, Virgin Atlantic, ‘Magic Mike’, Ray-Ban, Shutters on the Beach Hotel, Airbus, Paulo Nutini and ‘Last Request’, Paulo Nutini and ‘Loving You’, Dom Pérignon, Barney’s, The Grove Hotel Hertfordshire, Enigma, Pure Moods, Smoke City and ‘Underwater Love’, The Grove LA, Nordstrom, Christina Aguilera and ‘Candyman’, Hanky Panky, Ralph Lauren, The Palazzo LA, Jason Mraz and ‘I’m Yours’, Stella McCartney, Dolce&Gabbana, Valentino, ‘James Bond’, Chloe, ‘Shallow Hal’, Neiman Marcus, Deakin&Francis England, Bentley.

CHAPTER ONE

FRIDAY 14TH SEPTEMBER

An unwelcome breeze and a car door slamming, disturbs me from my precious, deep sleep. I grumble, snuggling back into my duvet, trying to ignore the pain pulsating through my forehead. The comfort of the warm covers cocooning me isn't enough to soothe the nausea seizing my body.
Sleep... go back to sleep
. If I open my eyes, this nasty, sick feeling will become all too real. It's so strangely cold... and really,
really
bright.

"Bea," a voice whispers from behind me. Please,
please
let this be a dream, no one is allowed to pull me into reality, the reality where I run for the bathroom and vomit violently before spending a day nursing a sickly headache and over-sensitive stomach. 

"Bea." Ugh. There it is again, calling my name.

"No," I groan, my voice hoarse, "shh."

"Bea, I've brought you a drink, you should come inside now, doll."
What?

I reluctantly force my eyelids apart, why
is
it so bright? It takes a moment to focus as the pain thumps through my skull, but I quickly realise that I'm on the balcony, wrapped in my duvet, curled up in a deck chair.
How odd.

I look to my left to find Clare smiling sweetly at me, with a big glass
of water and a headache tablet. "Clare," I whimper, closing my eyes, hoping for some instant relief from the horrendous nausea. 

"Take the tablet, doll, drink this and go inside to bed. I'll lock up here, I've got to go to home and get ready for work."

"Shit!" I sit bolt upright in my chair and my hand instantly cups my head as I slink back down, immediately regretting the over-zealous movement. "Shit, work..." I grumble, my eyelids falling again, "I just need five more minutes, okay?"

"No, Bea, you're not in today, just go to bed. Don't forget though, you need to be up and ready to leave by about noon." Clare's voice is so gentle and calming, I've no idea what she's talking about, but I'm in no fit state to care.

I scrunch up my face and attempt to open my eyes again to look at her. "Can't move. Feel sick."

Clare pops the headache tablet in my hand and holds the water in front of me. "It's really early, Bea, you'll feel fine in a couple of hours."
She helps me up and I stumble through the lounge to my bedroom. Crawling onto my bed slowly, bringing my duvet with me, I curl up like a baby. Clare lies next to me and gives me a big hug, so comforting in the world of poorly I'm living in right now.

"I'm off now honeybun, have a fab time. I'll miss you, but don't worry about anything
here; I've got it under control."

"Huh?" I grunt, half asleep.

"I'll call you in a bit."

~~~~~~~

There's an annoying noise. So annoying.
What the hell is it?
It needs to shut the fuck up and let me sleep. Its persistence wakes me fully, and I quickly realise that it's my iPhone, vibrating on the bedside table. 

"Mmm," I answer.

"Morning, sleepyhead, how are you feeling?" It's Clare, sounding too bright and cheery for this hour of the morning.

"Mmm," I respond, "ok, what time is it? Why are you calling so early?"

"Bea, it's ten forty-five, you need to get up."

"What? What's going on? What day is it?"

Clare sighs, long and loud. "Oh lordy, ok. Listen, don't panic, but its ten forty-five and you need to leave your apartment at twelve for the airport."

"Fuck!" I sit bolt upright. "Airport? Oh my god, we booked me on a flight to LA last night, didn't we?"

"We did, doll. Tilly has hopefully left your apartment by now; she's got a cab coming to our place at noon."

"Oh my god, it's all coming back to me now, did I pack everything? Can you remember? Where's my passport? Why aren't you hung over?"

"Bea, calm down, your passport is with everything else, in your broken handbag. I went to bed much earlier than you two, and you know what I'm like, I rarely get a hangover I can't handle."

"Oh Clare, you're so lucky." I hold my head and pray to god that this is one of those hangovers that gets gradually better throughout the day, as opposed to those that do the exact opposite.
"Thanks for waking me up Clare, I better call my parents and let them know I'm going away, hopefully they'll keep an eye on my place for me while I'm gone."

"Ok, love, well if you need me to come by and check on it, let me know."

"Thanks, doll, you're a star. And thank you for looking after everything at work; I can't quite believe I'm about to jet off to the States!"

"Have an amazing time and send me the odd text to let me know what the pair of you
is getting up to. I'm so jealous, wish I was coming with you."

"I wish you were too, we'll miss you."
Ending the call, I stumble to the kitchen to start making tea, and realise that I have no bloody cups or mugs because I smashed my entire crockery collection during my shit-hole of a day yesterday.

I think back to how it started; rather an exciting day really, the last day of moving and my first night in my very own apartment. Clare and Tilly - my two best friends - were coming over in the evening for their first visit since I bought the place, and I was
so
looking forward to it.

The morning was standard, the second half
of the day, however, was total, utter cow-crap. I had an appointment with two of the most awkward in-laws - ever, arranging their son's wedding cake. They hated everything, liked nothing, and were outrageously rude for the entirety of the meeting.
Bastards
.

That kicked off my hideous afternoon; I dropped a whole batch of newly decorated cupcakes that I'd made for the window display, the handle of my handbag snapped, I left the keys to my new apartment at work so had to make anothe
r journey to work and back, someone scuffed my beautiful new car in the car park, and to top everything off, the box of brand new, posh crockery that my parents had bought me as a housewarming gift, tumbled dramatically out of my car to the ground, smashing everything inside to smithereens.
Joy
.

I decided that
lying down on the tarmac in the foetal position, wailing, probably wouldn't be an ideal first impression for the new neighbours, so resorted to sitting on the cold, tiled floor of my new kitchen, savouring the flavour of a huge glass of Cabernet. I remained there until my girls arrived.

So, as I have no cups and need my mandatory morning cuppa, I search about the apartment and decide to make do with a brand new porcelain toothbrush pot. There's no way I could get ready to leave for the airport without tea. It works quite well, all things considered.

I call my parents whilst moving the contents of my handbag into a less broken one. My dad tells me to cancel the cab; he'd rather take us to the airport himself, which is perfect. He's also giving Uncle William a call, I'm not entirely sure what he does at the airport, but sometimes he pulls some strings to get my parents upgraded to premium economy. I'm not expecting anything, though, I'm sure the flight will be fully booked already.

About an hour later, we're almost at Heathrow airport and I can't quite believe that I'm about to jet off to LA! This is one of the most random things I've ever done. Luckily, with the help of a few litres of water, my hangover has almost vanished, too.
Almost
.

Last night - what I can remember of it - was fantastic fun, and just the release I needed after that complete pig of a day. When the girls finally arrived and pulled me from the kitchen floor, I flung my arms around the pair of them, so excited to welcome them into my new home for the first time. I hadn't wanted them to see it before it was all finished and I had officially moved in.

"Happy new apartment!" Tilly sang, handing me a bag full of Chinese take-away. She grabbed my newly refilled glass from my hand, before barging past me to start her self-guided tour. Clare and I walked into the kitchen and she waved two bottles of wine in the air.

"Vin rouge darling, où est le... bottle opener?"
 she asked in the most 'British' French accent possible. 

"Oh
, you do have a way with the French language Clare," I respond, my voice laced with amused sarcasm. "I've already got one open, I couldn't wait. Or..." I paused to open the fridge, slowly pulling out a bottle with the tell-tale yellow label. "Veuve?" I asked, peering through my lashes, knowing how much the girls love their champagne.

"Did someone say Veuve?" Tilly appeared at the kitchen door, grinning from ear to ear. "Bea, the place is stunning, I love, love, love it! And yes to the Veuve, please." She looked at her watch and gasped.
 "Tell me you're recording it, because if you're not, we're missing precious moments of Don Draper's mean sex appeal."

I laughed, "Mad Men is on record and Don is waiting for us as we speak."

"Well done Bea, excellent work."

Clare picked up the bottle of Veuve Clicquot and the bag of food while I took three champagne flutes from the cupboard. Tilly grabbed the cutlery and we strolled into the ample living room to make ourselves comfortable on the floor around the large coffee table.

"Oh, it's gorgeous in here Bea, so spacious," Clare said, taking her time to soak in the whole room.

"Um, any chance of a plate?"

"Gah, don't even go there," I rolled my eyes, "we'll have to eat straight from the boxes like we did in the old days, you would not believe what happened after I got home." I continued to tell the girls about the stresses of my evening.

"God, Bea, you've had a shitter of a day, poor you. You've moved in here and haven't taken a day off for weeks, thanks to me. Please take some time off now that I'm back, enjoy your new apartment, go away somewhere. It's my turn to take over Bear's for a bit and let you relax."

Bear's Cakery is our beloved business, set up about three years ago and going from strength to strength. Clare and I decided to set up shop together and it's the best thing we've ever done.

"Thanks love, I'll have a few days off soon, my birthday is coming up so maybe then. You excited for your trip Tils? When are you off?" I turned my attention to Tilly whilst popping the champagne and pouring it into the tall champagne flutes.

"Tomorrow! Whoop whoop!" Tilly sang, waving her hands in the air, "I'm going to Hollywood baby, yeah!"

"You must be so excited!" Clare enthused. "To new apartments and trips to Hollywood! Cheers!"

We spent the next hour focusing on Don Draper, scoffing Chinese food and enjoying the cool, crisp bubbles. This is something that the girls and I have always enjoyed, ever since we met in college. We hit it off straight away and have remained the best of friends.

Once the drool fest had finished and the bottles of champagne and Cabernet Sauvignon were exhausted, we cracked open one of the bottles of Temperanillo that the girls brought over, and got cosy on my plush new sofas.

"
So
, Tilly! I must know what happened with that guy you had a couple of hot dates with, I haven't had a chance to chat with you about him and Clare wouldn't tell me anything! You need to tell me before you go away, don't leave me waiting for the juicy goss!"

Tilly took a long swig of wine before entertaining us with a blow by blow account of her rendezvous with the man with the amazing apartment and hideous sex.
"Oh for the love of god," she closed her eyes and shook her head, "if a man is going to be smoking hot, have a super sexy bachelor pad and kiss like a god, you'd think he'd know a vagina from a fucking arm pit." She cupped her forehead with the palm of her hand and shook her head in mock despair. "It was, without a doubt, the worst sex of my entire life. I literally wanted to run for the hills within about three minutes."

Clare and I fell about, howling at Tilly's hilarious rendition of her night from hell
with the smoking hot bachelor. "Oh Tilly, that poor man," I cried.

Tilly looked at me like I'd just grown two heads. "That poor man?" she cried. "What about me? I'm the one who had to lie there afterwards, with him draped over me like some sort of beached whale, telling me how beautiful our 'connection' was. Yuck. If something is going to put you off a guy, shitty sex labelled as 'a beautiful connection' is gonna be it."

The tears poured down my face, my laughter turning into silent bursts of air, shooting from my lungs involuntarily.  I had to put my wine down on the table for fear of spilling it on my perfect new sofa. Snorting, muscles temporarily malfunctioning, I had to roll onto the floor and wait for the fit of hysteria to subside.

"I told you," Clare managed, between fits of giggles, "you had to hear that from her mouth."

"Well, I'm glad you two find my repulsive experiences so amusing," Tilly piped up, trying to keep a straight face.

"Oh come on Tils," I manage, "that was hilarious."

"Well maybe now, it most certainly wasn't at the time while I was trying to get out of there!"

By the time we opened the next bottle, we were well and truly plastered. My stomach muscles ached from the laughter and I was successfully ignoring the red wine spillage on my cream lounge carpet.