Page 71 of Justyce
Bianca steps out of the way and motions me in. My bare feet pad across the French oak rincon flooring and I walk down the white walled hallway until I reach the kitchen and dining area.
It looks exactly the same. The thick, light colored beams stand proudly in place as splashes of blue art lacquers the walls. I move toward the granite breakfast bar and pull out a leather stool, admiring the shiny new stainless-steel appliances and the mixed blue cladding splash back. It seems Bianca had made some alterations since acquiring the property.
Bianca pulls up a stool beside me and my attention turns to her. “Tell me what the fuck is going on, Kenzi. You rock up sweating, panting, and with no damn shoes.” She screws her nose up at no shoes. “Not to mention I’ve been calling your mum nonstop. The woman isn’t even sick and that’s the whole reason you flew your ass back to Dana Point. When I asked about you, she said she hadn’t seen you, which we both know is a load of wank. You better open that pretty mouth and tell me what I need to hear or so help me god…”
The front door squeaks and I blanch. My eyes dart from Bianca to the hallway and I jolt out of the stool, causing it to fall back onto the timber floor.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Bianca demands, her eyes flickering from me to the door.
“Who is that?” I hiss.
“Are you expecting someone?” she questions.
Betrayal coats every pore on my body and I feel like I’m going to be sick. “You called him? How could you do that to me!”
Bianca looks at me incredulously. “What are talking about? Called who?”
“Sweet girl, I’m home,” comes the deep timber voice and I feel myself flush.
“In here,” Bianca sings out, looking at me with annoyance.
I’m operating on flight or fight mode and I don’t know whether I should run through the back of the house and avoid this confrontation or stay exactly where I am. The latter prevails and my feet are rooted to the floor, refusing to move.
A tall and handsome man with blonde shaggy hair rounds the corner and I watch his smile drop when he sees me. His boardshorts are slung low on his sun kissed flesh and I can’t stop my eyes from roaming over his hard, inked chest.
Pushing my hair behind my ears, I look to Bianca and clear my throat.
“Hey baby,” she says smiling at the stranger. “Kenzi, this is my…”
“Boyfriend. I’m the boyfriend.” He grins a roguish grin as his eyes devour Bianca’s form and I feel like I’m intruding on the moment.
“I−ah−shit, I didn’t know,” I say sheepishly. “I’ll catch up with you another time, B.”
Bianca’s attention shifts back to me. “Like fuck, Kenzi. Sit that phat ass down. We need to talk. Nate, baby, can you give us a moment?”
“No worries, baby, I’ll be out at the pool if you need me.” He winks at her then turns to me. “Nice to finally meet you, Kenzi. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I listen to the sound of his feet fading and when I’m certain he’s out of earshot I turn to Bianca. “Boyfriend? Since when?”
She blushes and bends down to pick up the stool I threw to the ground. “It’s new.” Bianca shrugs her shoulders. “Stop deflecting. Tell me what the hell happened.”
“Have you got anything to drink because we’re going to need it.”
Bianca saunters toward the fridge, her hips swaying from side to side as she pulls open the door and presents a pitcher of mojito.
“That’ll do.” I smirk.
She grabs two glasses and I follow her up a flight of washed-out white timber stairs to the second floor. When she takes me to a room we spent so many nights in as teenagers, nostalgia blankets me and I smile.
“You didn’t change anything in here,” I muse.
“Why would I? This room is the bomb,” she teeters.
I stand in the center of the bright flamingo pink room and sigh. If only I could rewind and go back in time, to a time when we lay in this horridly pink theatre room and watched movies and talked shit while we were highly intoxicated.
I shake my head when I see the pink felt on the pool table. I remember when she first asked her mum for it, or rather threw a tantrum until her parents agreed to have one made for her.
As if on cue, we both step toward the pink fluffy rug, grab a beanbag and sink into the softness. “Well?” she asks.
