Hot Girl Summer

by Sophie Gravia

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy; Literary Fiction

Synopsis

Ava, Rebeka and Grace have been best friends forever.

Ava has hit rock bottom since she split up with her husband. It's hard enough being a Scot in London without being broke to boot!

Photographer for a women's magazine, Rebeka is tired of working on the fluff pieces. She knows her affair with the boss is going nowhere, so why can't she stop herself?

Grace was top of her class in law school, but for a long time now has settled for being a barrister's wife. Her life may seem outwardly perfect... but if she's honest, it's also SO boring.

When a reunion brings them together, they realise it's time to shake things up... and have some fun again!

From the breakout bestselling author of A Glasgow Kiss, Hot Girl Summer is the laugh-out-loud, uplifting standalone novel about three women who realise that when life gets messy, it's time to turn to your friends. Available to pre-order now.

Release date: July 18, 2024

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 336

Sample

‘Are you sure you want to do this again?’ Adam asked, breathing heavily as I tore down the zip of his washed-out hoodie and pushed him against my small wardrobe.

I ignored his ridiculous question. Of course I did, I was horny. And I needed to feel better after another petty argument with Johnny.

‘Ava,’ he repeated, more seriously this time, ‘are you sure? It’s the middle of the day.’

I took a step back. ‘What the fuck, Adam?’ I demanded, flustered at the interrogation. ‘Do people not have sex in the middle of the afternoon now?’

He nodded and a soft smile reappeared on his face. I always enjoyed his face. He was a handsome guy, after all. Reliable, kind, a bit hipster, and he was always there when I needed him. I watched him begin to strip down. I took a few steps back, accidentally standing on one of my daughter’s Barbie dolls, and stumbled onto the bed, rubbing my foot a little.

He sauntered towards me, naked. Adam’s body was thin, toned and tanned. His father was Tunisian and his mum from Camden, so he had an exotic cool-guy vibe. He was vegan and teetotal, so in the long term we would never work, but his body on top of mine felt amazing for now. We began kissing slowly and passionately, and I shut my eyes as I sank into it. I felt his hands lift the floaty shirt I was wearing and caress my tits. Jesus, it felt good to be touched.

‘You are so beautiful, Ava,’ he whispered.

I wanted to tell him to be quiet, to get inside me and start drilling me like a jackhammer, but I smiled politely instead. Then I lowered my underwear to my ankles, fumbling to kick them off entirely. I could feel his dick hard against my stomach, and I waited eagerly for it to slip inside me so I could finally forget trading insults and ridiculous accusations with Johnny, even if it was only for a few sweaty minutes.

His fingers ran down my stomach, slowly teasing their way past my belly button until they were circling my clit.

‘Yesss,’ I moaned. Finally.

‘More?’ he asked, his cockney accent almost drying up my fanny instantly.

Please God, stop this man from talking. ‘Mmmm …’ I mumbled, not wanting to have any more conversation.

He began pushing his fingers in and out of me, hard then slow, bringing them back up, then rubbing my clit some more.

‘Oh, God, yes! Keep going!’ I begged. Why do they always move their hand when they get to the good bit? I wondered.

He was hovering above my body, smiling as my face jerked while he finger blasted my hole.

The thing about Adam was he was a great neighbour. He was always there when I needed a chat or a decent Wi-Fi connection, and he was great with my daughter, Georgie. We’d only started having sex the past few months, after I drank a bottle of wine and knocked at his door one night. Afterwards, I’d ignored him in the hallway for a few weeks until my hungry hole demanded more attention. He was nice, but I wasn’t ready to commit to anyone. Not since my marriage broke down, not since my husband and I took a break and I suddenly, out of no where, became a single mother. Deep down, I think he knew that too.

I could feel his fingers smashing into me, hard and fast.

‘Keep going, don’t stop!’ I whispered, feeling my body warm with desire.

‘I am, baby. How does that feel …’

His voice trailed off. I was suddenly aware of an uncomfortable odour taking centre stage in the bedroom.

What the fuck is that?

I sniffed.

Had he just farted? Was this cheeky bastard letting rip while fingering me in my own home?

I watched his warm smile suddenly fade. I knew he smelt it too.

Act natural, Ava. It will disperse and you can get back to business, I thought. I mean, the cunt does eat a lot of veg.

His hand motions became slower and I noticed his neck twitch with agitation.

Jesus, it was getting stronger, more potent, more extreme. Then I was aware of his hand, inside of me, coming to an abrupt halt.

Fucking hell. My room smelt like the fucking sewers. I sniffed the air discreetly and felt my stomach lurch.

‘Adam?’ I asked cautiously. He looked down at me, as if snapping out of his thoughts. ‘Did you just let rip or something?’

He sat up, pulling his hand from my vagina. ‘No!’ He paused. ‘It was you!’

‘It was not fucking me!’ I screeched, completely offended. I tugged down my shirt with one hand and held the other up to my nose, masking the odour.

Adam scanned the room, looking concerned, and then suddenly jumped back when he clocked his fingers.

‘Ava!’ He threw his hand in the air, as far away from his face as possible.

‘What?’ I yelled back in a panic. He was making so much fuss but I couldn’t see anything on him.

Slowly and hesitantly, he brought his fingers closer to his nose and sniffed.

‘Ohhhh, Ava! It is coming from you!’ He sounded horrified, and I could see his small stomach clench as he tried not to retch all over my bedroom. I watched his brick-hard dick shrivel to the size of a raisin in a moment.

‘Stop! Stop! It’s not fucking me!’ But I was suddenly aware of a dampness between my legs. A brown liquid began running down my thighs.

I turned my back on him straight away, feeling my heart pound. It can’t be me. But he had been down there for a good few minutes before this happened – surely I would have had some warning? Reluctantly, I skimmed my hand down.

With one small whiff, my insides curdled.

WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?

Trying not to visibly gag, I turned to Adam, who now had tears streaming from his sad eyes.

‘Leave, please!’ I said.

‘Ava, wait. Are you OK?’ he asked as I shooed him out of the room.

Am I OK? I thought. What a fucking question, Adam. My insides are rotting, and you’re asking if I’m OK. Of course I’m fucking not.

‘Adam,’ I breathed heavily, needing to get to the bottom of this by myself. ‘Please leave my flat now!’

He nodded, looking relieved at the thought of fresh clean air, and began gathering his things.

I could feel myself shaking. What the fuck was happening to my body? I felt sick. Did I have an STI or some kind of severe vaginal infection? Or – I shuddered – cancer?

‘Ava?’ he asked, interrupting my overdriven mind.

‘What?’ I shouted, now panicking.

‘I’ve heard that certain times of the month can interfere with the pH balance downstairs …’ His eyes lowered to my groin. ‘It can even get messed up, like after birth and stuff, but there’s herbs and vitamins women can take that—’

‘My vagina is fine, Adam,’ I cut him off. ‘You and your wee vegan-herbed hands have obviously caused a reaction, and she doesn’t like it. It has nothing to do with being a bloody mother! Georgie is almost five. Now fuck off!’ There was thunder in my voice and he scampered away.

As soon as the flat door closed, I raced for the shower. I began scrubbing my vagina, investigating every crease thoroughly. In pure desperation, I dumped a big dod of Head & Shoulders on my loofah and went to town.

I could smell the strong odour mixing with the perfumed shampoo.

Nooooo, why won’t it go away?

Eventually, I placed a soapy finger inside. That was when I felt something weird. Oh no. It felt spongey, but hard. I pressed on it a little and felt more stench water leak down my leg.

Oh Christ. What is that?

It must be a tumour.

I squealed loudly as brown discharge ran freely down my leg.

This is it. The end. No more Ava Little. Georgie will be motherless. Johnny would no doubt move on and I’d be forgotten about once and for all.

I hopped out of the shower and sat on the toilet seat. What should I do? My wet foot tapped nervously on the floor. I’ll have to call an ambulance. Or is that too dramatic? Apart from the smell, I don’t have any other symptoms. Maybe I should call Johnny? But I didn’t want him to look down on me even more than he already did. I could just imagine his condescending voice on the phone: Another drama Ava has concocted in her head.

He would think I was lying, because of the argument. He’d think I was making it all up because I asked to go on the trip to the Lake District that he’d planned for himself and Georgie. He wouldn’t believe me. I’d need concrete medical proof that I was ill. Seriously ill.

OK, what about a taxi? Yes, that’s it. I lifted my phone from the windowsill and Ubered myself a car to St Thomas’s Hospital. I fired on jogging bottoms and a jumper, scraped my long dark hair into a messy bun and raced down the close to await the car’s arrival.

Standing out in the fresh air in the centre of London on a busy afternoon made me contemplate everything. My life. My shit existence. I was only thirty. How could this be the end? How could I be ready to die with no legacy? I felt my heart pounding. What the fuck was happening to me? Who could I call? Who would care? How would I even admit this to anyone?

The Uber pulled up, and I got inside.

‘To St Thomas’s then, love?’ the driver asked as I shut the door.

‘Yeah, please,’ I replied, leaning against the window, grateful to the cold glass for cooling me down.

As the Uber through the London traffic, every set of lights seemed to turn red on my arrival, and every biker on the road seemed to overtake us. Hurry the fuck up! I glanced at the meter, praying I had enough in my bank to cover the cost. I felt my foot tap nervously as we sat stationary, then toddled through the centre of London. Was I being dramatic? I wondered. I really couldn’t afford a taxi fare, and I knew how much this journey would set me back, but if it was a matter of life and death …

Then, I felt my jogging bottoms dampen with whatever was leaking from inside me. Shit, am I haemorrhaging?

‘Do you want the main entrance for visiting, darling?’ he asked as the old dusky building came into sight.

‘Erm … no. The A&E entrance, please.’ I could hear my voice shake.

‘Call it forty, love,’ he smiled towards me, and I nodded as I pointed to the app and gave a thumbs up.

‘Thanks again,’ I said when the cab halted, immediately lunging for the car door, hoping to air it out for a few seconds for the unlucky cunt who was in here next.

I felt overwhelmed, dizzy, and nauseous.

How can you be fit and well, in your early thirties, about to get your Nat King, then the next minute you’re fighting for your life?

As I entered A&E, I scanned the busy waiting room. Luckily, there were no familiar faces – just rows of people with cuts and bruises, some holding sick bowls to their chins. I gulped down hard and stood in line, waiting to be triaged.

‘Next here, please!’ one of the younger receptionists eventually called.

I approached her station, aware of my jogging bottoms feeling damper with each step.

‘Name?’

‘Ava. Ava Little.’ I looked over my shoulder, triple-checking I didn’t recognise anyone.

‘Date of birth, Ava?’ She was staring at the computer screen, typing as I spoke.

‘The thirty-first of July, nineteen ninety-three.’

‘And that makes you …?’ She lowered her glasses, looking at me for the first time.

‘A Leo.’ I managed a polite smile back.

She didn’t seem impressed. ‘What age, Ava?’

‘Sorry.’ I cleared my throat, too distracted to take a rid neck from any of this. ‘Thirty.’

‘Ah, here we are. And you still live in Kensington?’ she asked.

I felt a wrench in my gut. I hadn’t lived there since Johnny and I split a year earlier, but I nodded back, not ready to update any records with the shit-tip living arrangement I had now.

‘So, what’s the problem, Ava?’ she asked.

I paused. How would I explain this?

‘Ava?’

‘I think … I think I might be haemorrhaging.’

Her face fell, and she began typing quickly. Shit, even she looks worried. ‘OK. So, what makes you think that?’

‘I think my friend has ruptured a tumour inside of me, and now I have a lot of stuff leaking from, you know …’ I cleared my throat again. ‘Down below,’ I pointed to my groin, feeling my cheeks flush, aware of the busy waiting room.

She nodded, then stood up. ‘A lot of blood?’ she asked.

I shrugged my shoulders.

‘Ava?’

‘It could be, I’m not sure. I’m sorry!’ I felt my bottom lip tremble.

‘Wait there, pet, I’ll get a nurse to take you through!’ She walked through the back as I stood waiting, cheeks and fanny clenched, hoping not to spill my vile vaginal juice on the floor.

A few minutes later, I was escorted to a cubical and asked to lie on a trolley. My hands were cold and my body was trembling. I looked up at the ceiling and stared into the bright lights. Maybe I should call Mum and Dad? But they’d moved back to Glasgow a few years ago and I knew they would panic, not being close by. Maybe I could call Grace? But my sister’s husband was still best friends with Johnny, and I knew he’d contact him immediately.

A young, handsome doctor entered my bay and smiled. ‘Hello, Ava! I’m Dave, one of the junior doctors covering tonight. So, do you want to tell me what’s brought you here today, love?’

He was poised and ready to take notes. I sighed, doubting that this poor man was ready for the smell that would put him off vaginas for life.

‘I was ready to …’ I paused, feeling myself blush, ‘with my friend, and …’

He paused his note-taking. ‘Sorry, you were ready to …?’

‘We were about to be … you know … intimate.’

Dave’s shoulders tensed as he began writing again.

‘And he put his fingers inside me – with a lot of force, to be quite honest – and he’s ruptured something. There is now a piece of me come loose internally, like, inside my vagina, and I don’t know if it’s septic or something. I’m unsure if it’s a tumour, Dave, but whatever it is, he’s done a lot of damage, and the smell is just vulgar!’

The doctor tilted his head, looking utterly confused. ‘OK, let’s start again – slowly. I’m not sure if it’s your accent, but take a breath, calm down and tell me: before your intimate moment, did you have any other symptoms of being unwell?’

I thought hard about the past few weeks. Truthfully, I hadn’t felt well for months. Maybe even years. Probably since Georgie was born. My life changed overnight and I have never been the same since.

‘Any sickness, for instance?’ Dave prompted.

I nodded, not wanting to divulge that it was probably the bottle of Barefoot I was consuming most nights to fall asleep.

‘Temperature?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘And just to formally check – your friend, he didn’t put any objects up there that could be trapped?’

‘Eh, no! He bloody well wouldn’t dare!’ I gasped.

‘Just have to check, Ava, I’m sorry. OK, I’ll get a nurse in here to carry out some routine observations and blood work, and I’ll ask the gynaecologist on call to pop down and give you an internal examination. How does that sound?’

I nodded back. ‘Yeah, OK. That’s fine, thanks.’

Half an hour later, after having blood tests and being hooked up to a cardiac monitor, a young female gynaecologist was ready to examine me.

‘Ava, just relax now. Open up your legs when you are ready and pop them onto the stirrups, please.’

Immediately, the smell began filling the room again.

‘You’ll feel some cold gel, and I’ll insert the speculum. It will feel similar to a smear test, OK?’

Every muscle in my body tensed as I felt the cold equipment squeeze inside me.

‘Relax, Ava. Keep your knees flopped to the side,’ she advised in her posh English accent, but my stomach was churning. She angled the speculum and turned on a pen torch.

I couldn’t relax, the smell was getting stronger.

‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry! That’s the smell,’ I explained, wholly mortified.

‘Hmm …’ She cleared her throat. ‘Pretty pungent, eh?’

I was horrified and terrified all at once.

‘Do you see something, Doctor?’ I asked, lifting my head. My dignity had been well and truly shredded to pieces.

‘Hmm, I have,’ she replied. ‘Just relax, please; lie back down, I’m trying to manoeuvre it.’

‘Manoeuvre what?’ I called out.

The next few seconds seemed like hours as my question went unanswered and my anxiety sky-rocketed while the doctor became completely engrossed in my vagina. She pushed and prodded inside of me. The bottom of my stomach cramped, and I felt completely violated.

Eventually, she pushed herself away from me on her tiny rolling stool, muttering, ‘Nope! I’m sorry. It’s just too large!’ As she removed her gloves, I could see her gasp for breath, having been holding it while she was nose-deep in the stench. ‘Ava, I’m afraid you have a tampon stuck inside of you. It’s caused an infection in your cervix. It looks like it’s been there for at least a few months.’

‘What?’ I exclaimed, feeling relief flood through me. ‘It’s just a tampon?’ I laughed a little as I felt blood rush back to my face. I thought I was dying. I thought I was writing my last will and testament – not that I’d have anything of value to leave anyone, besides my wedding rings and Doc Martens.

The doctor gave me a sharp look. ‘This can be very serious, Mrs Little. It can cause toxic shock syndrome and, from the size of it, you’re lucky it hasn’t.’

‘Toxic? Wait, what do you mean size?’ I sat up, trying to remove my legs from the stirrups so my vagina wouldn’t be such a prominent fixture of the room.

‘It looks to me that it’s about the size of a small plate and has wedged itself right into your cervix.’

‘A dinner plate! Jesus Christ,’ I laughed a little at the thought. How did I not feel it?

‘We are going to have to take you to theatre, tonight.’

‘WHAT? Wait, theatre! An operation? For a tampon?’ I felt myself begin to panic once more.

‘Don’t worry, we can fix this. OK?’ She came closer, braving the stench once more to give me a reassuring look. ‘I’ll take you to surgery, remove the tampon and give you a washout. You’ll be home with some antibiotics in no time. But your observations and blood tests show your inflammatory markers are up, so this is causing an extreme effect on your body. It needs to be removed as soon as possible.’

I was speechless. I had never undergone surgery before.

‘I’ll get you prepped, and one of the nurses will notify your next of kin. I think …’ She reached over and grabbed my notes. ‘It’s your husband, isn’t it?’

‘No! No! Please, don’t call him!’ I begged. ‘We’re not together anymore.’

‘OK, well I have to notify someone.’

‘Call …’ I raced through everyone in my head, but since Johnny and I split, I had no one. My friends were his friends, and even my best friends I’d gradually distanced myself from.

‘We need to inform someone, Ava. You’ll require a general anaesthetic for this procedure and will need someone to stay with you afterwards to ensure you’re OK.’

I didn’t know how to tell the doctor I genuinely had no one.

‘Perhaps your parents?’ she asked.

I shook my head, still trying to take everything in. ‘They live in Glasgow, I don’t want to worry them.’

‘Well, who else?’ she rushed me.

‘OK, right, erm … Can you call … maybe my friend Rebeka? She should come.’

I scrolled through my phone, reading Beka’s number aloud to the doctor. I hadn’t seen or spoken to her in almost two years, but she was my only true friend. Don’t get me wrong, when I had good days or was numb from my third bottle of Pinot, I occasionally interacted on Facebook, liking the odd picture of her living her best life, socialising in the best bars and clubs of London. Beka had recently sent me an invite on Messenger to our high school reunion, which I gave a courteous thumbs-up reply to, knowing there was absolutely no chance I’d turn up. Apart from that, there was nothing. No communication. Well, not like we used to have.

‘I’ll give her a call for you,’ the doctor smiled kindly towards me.

Fuck, what will Beka think? I covered my face as I felt cold tears trickle down my cheeks.

The doctor patted my shoulder and left the room.

How could you be so stupid, Ava? I wondered. You could have died! Fuck, I might still die. I’m going into surgery! My mind was racing, thinking of Georgie. Her little smiling face, her sweet dimples, her smell, everything that I could have done in the past year to be a better mother, to give her healthier memories of me. She didn’t deserve a mum who was so depressed that she couldn’t even deal with a fucking menstrual cycle. I felt sick. I wanted to hold my daughter, tell her I was sorry and try again at being there. Try again at being a mother. Try again at being a wife.

The doctor re-entered the cubical a few minutes later.

‘Your friend is on her way. Let’s take you down now, and you can see her when you’re out.’

I gulped nervously. ‘Doctor, wait, will I be OK?’ I asked.

She held my hand and smiled. ‘Everything has risks, but we’ve got this in time. You will be OK, Ava.’

I nodded, grasping her hand and feeling utterly terrified.

‘Thank you.’

‘Ava, Ava, can you hear me?’

Even through the thick drowsiness, her voice was instantly familiar. I tried to open my eyes, which was a struggle, because they felt like they had dumbbells taped to them.

‘Fucking hell, babe,’ she giggled, with slight relief. ‘You gave me a proper fright!’

Beka’s friendly Essex accent brought a fleeting smile to my face, but my eyes squinted at the bright strip lighting above, and I scrunched them closed immediately.

‘Ava, babe, can you hear me?’ she repeated.

I noticed the worry in her voice and made an effort to nod back, still groggy from surgery. My head felt like a giant block of cement. ‘Am I OK?’ I croaked out. My body felt tender.

‘Yeah, yeah, hun. The doctor said everything was removed and cleaned out. You no longer have—’

‘A smelly fanny,’ I blurted, still struggling to open my eyes.

Beka laughed loudly. ‘Exactly! Hey, do you want to sit up and drink water or something?’

I nodded out of politeness, but all I wanted to do was sleep. Pressing my hands into the stiff hospital mattress, I pushed myself up until I was in a slumped sitting position. I could finally see my oldest friend properly. Her shiny blonde hair bounced as she spoke, floating down her back like silk. Her grin was as bright as ever and she hadn’t aged a day.

‘There we go! You’re back with us, babe.’ She rolled her heavily painted eyes in relief.

‘I’m sorry they called you, Beka,’ I whispered, shrugging my shoulders.

‘Why?! I’m not!’ She grabbed hold of my hand. ‘I was assisting my boss with a shoot and the models were sassy little fuckers.’

Rebeka had been a photographer at Inner Me! magazine for years, shooting top-class models posing in designer clothes. Being so close to glamour rubbed off on her; I remembered how she was always name-dropping celebrities and attending star-studded events.

‘But I did wonder …’ She paused.

‘Wonder what?’ I asked, sipping the stale water.

‘Why didn’t you call your sister? Grace would want to be here, hun.’ Her bright eyes searched me, and I glanced back down. ‘I mean … I would call her, or at least let her know you’re here. But I haven’t spoken to you in so long, I wasn’t sure if you guys had fallen out or something.’

‘No, no. Of course we haven’t fallen out. She’s my twin.’ I laughed lightly. ‘But Steve is also best friends with Johnny, and I didn’t want him to know I’m here. It would just be something else he’d bring up to me in an argument.’

‘What? The fact that you’re unwell? Everyone gets sick, babe.’

I nodded. Ever since Johnny and I had separated, he’d griped with everything I did and how it would affect Georgie, from talking too much slang, to drinking too much wine, to not looking for work, to looking for work when I should be spending time with our daughter.

‘Does Johnny know you’re here? Are you two still …’ She paused, not knowing how to word our break-up.

‘Still over? Yep. The longest break in history,’ I shrugged, feeling my eyes tear up.

‘That’s just the anaesthetic, babe. It gets you emosh! Saw it on TikTok.’ She winked at me and I agreed, smiling back a little.

‘We had another bust-up today. He’s visiting his mum in a couple of weeks in the Lake District soon and I thought he’d ask me to go. It’s part of our summer tradition.’

‘What a cunt. Is she sti. . .