Page 48 of Punt

I smirked at my reflection in the glass sliding door before I tugged it open and stepped outside. The view across the bay was stunning.

For once, I hardly noticed. My mind was doing a flash mob routine, without the music. Thoughts tumbled over each other. Brandi, Ashley, work. Even pranks took up a part of my thoughts, but not too much. Everything else was more important right now than those. Bam would be ashamed of me.

I turned back toward the kitchen, and my phone. Should I have told Ashley I was busy? Ishouldbe working out, watching replays, or going over the weekly menu with Bernice.

The last was virtually pointless. She knew how much I needed to eat and of what. She had the balance down to a fine art. All I needed to do was turn up and eat it. And avoid eating too many burgers at Waves. She factored those in too. Who needed a dietician when I had Bernice? I should pay her more.

I drummed my fingers on the screen door.

Was it too late to tell Ashley not to come? The thought of her in my house complicated things even more.

I stepped back inside and tripped on the threshold. At the last moment, I grabbed the door to keep from falling.

By the time Bernice stuck her head out of the corridor that led to the laundry, I'd straightened up as though nothing happened.

King of playing it cool, that was me.

"A car just pulled up out the front." Bernice gave me a suspicious look, then jerked her head toward the front door. "Want me to get it?"

The doorbell sounded.

"No, I'll get it, thanks." I closed the sliding door behind me and headed inside. "Are you finished for the day?"

"Yeah, your dinner is in the fridge." She disappeared without another word.

I groaned. Cold dinner usually meant salad. Anything hot, she left in the oven until I was ready to pull it out and eat it. Sometimes I forgot and it burned. She didn't need to know that.

I glanced at the security screen. The display showed the front of the house, just outside the door.

Ashley stood on the doorstep, bag over her shoulder, slightly distorted by the camera angle. She looked up at the camera and smiled nervously.

The flash mob in my head moved down to my chest and stomach. Whatever dance they did, it involved a lot of stomping and throwing of arms. And a missed beat or two. Not to mention a shot of extra blood in approximately the region of my dick.

I unlocked the door and pulled it open. Tall, thick and heavy—the door, not me—it opened on well oiled hinges, with little effort on my part.

"Hey," I greeted eloquently.

"Hey," she replied.

At least we communicated on the same sophisticated level.

"Come in." I stepped back, even though the doorway was wide enough for three or four people walking side by side.

I closed and locked the door behind her, but not before I glanced outside for paparazzi. Either they hid behind the hedge again, or they weren't out there.

"Is everything okay?" I led her down to the sitting area and waved her toward the couch. "Please, sit."

"Hmmm? Oh, thanks." Her eyes were wide. She looked around her, taking everything in.

Oh yeah, my house is huge and decorated like a lifestyle show. The after version, not the before. You wouldn't find mould, dry rot or mildew in this place. Sometimes I forget how fancy it is. It's just the place I live. Once in a while, like now, I saw it through the eyes of someone else.

Every time, I was amazed I could afford a place like this. Hard work, a bit of luck and a whole lot more hard work, paid off. At least, for me it had.

"This is…nice." She settled down on the couch and placed her bag at her feet.

"Yeah, it's comfortable." I shrugged. "You didn't answer my question. Is everything okay?"

"Uh." She hesitated. "I don't think so."

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