Women's hair just fascinates me. That's not some freaky pervert thing - I'm just kind of in awe of the stuff.

I mean, my hair is just on my head. It's there and it's curly and wiry and I kind of hate the stuff, but that's neither here nor there. Men's hair is just hair. It's there and unless you have some real God awful eighties rocker do or a mullet or something, you can't go too far wrong. Women… it's straight, it's curly, it's up, it's down, it's short it's long it's five million different things depending on what whim she had when she got up this morning. It's riveting to me.

Let's take an example… oh, say, Miss Chelsea. She would be the obvious example because she's sitting here in my bed with me and I'm playing with her hair. She assures me her natural hue of blonde is still visible on her head through the highlights, so I'm guessing it's the darker kind of honey caramel colour that's sitting under the brighter, more sunshine blonde. The shades aren't a million miles apart as I'm peering through her hair at the streaks, but I bet she'd look real different if her hair was totally natural. This fascinates me, because my hair is just a colour (I messed with blonde bleach in my teens, but never again). It's just one colour. Chelsea's hair, as I alternately comb it through with or curl it around my fingers, is about three or four different shades, and I think more than one is there without the help of chemicals.

It's so soft. Soft is a word for Chelsea, I think, if I want to describe her physically. She's got that softer roundness to her figure that normal sized non Hollywood stick figure women have, which also makes her softer to squeeze. The eyes are a warm brown, not striking 'jumps out at you' eyes but all the more inviting for that. Her face is oval shaped with a little filling out, her features not so well defined as they'd be if she were fifteen pounds lighter but with that comes a more approachable look.

Fuck, I had better not be stupid enough to voice that 'fifteen pounds lighter' thought any time ever. It's amazing how much stuff guys think of as compliments to a girl that females would just take as total insults. You can guarantee that anything to do with weight is a total disaster area, a complete no entry zone. Even 'did you lose weight you look slim' can turn into 'oh so I was fat before' in some women's minds.

But I was talking about hair… Chelsea's is nice. It's long but there are lots of choppy layers cut into it, which are providing more amusement for me right now than if it were all one length. I have a short attention span sometimes.

"I don't get it…" Chelsea is frowning at the screen as she delicately plucks a kernel or two of popcorn from the blow and slips them past her lips. "How is he time travelling?"

"Umm…" I squint at my TV, as if that'll help. The reason I'm playing with her hair right now is that this movie totally lost me about five minutes in. "Something to do with paper being flat and linear but if you fold it you can make two points meet. I don't know."

"I think we made a mistake picking a movie you have to concentrate on." Her nose wrinkles up in the cutest way as her head props back against my shoulder with a sigh.

"It's true, I think if you look away for more than thirty seconds you miss crucial plot points." I finally remove my hand from her hair to take some of the popcorn from the bowl propped in her lap. My other hand is resting in a nice warm spot on her stomach.

Our idea to go to dinner and a movie turned out to be a no go. I'm still not entirely sure what the reasoning behind this was, but I think it was something to do with the foul mood she was in earlier. It was not pleasant for onlookers and even Trace said she was acting like a "pre menstrual bitch," direct quote. What started this mood off I'm not sure, but there were mutterings about Kennedy, Sophie and older sisters who needed to butt out of her career or lack thereof. Apparently Chelsea was so eager for guy time tonight because the women in her life are all pissing her off.

Well score for me, I ain't complaining.

Instead, I ordered Thai take out and got a DVD from Blockbuster. The DVD in question is Déjà Vu starring Denzel Washington, a fine actor if ever there was one but the movie is too much hard work for post coital chilling out in bed. Somewhere between the dinner table and the couch for the movie things got out of hand. For a moment there I was pissed at myself that this happened again while she has STILL got herself out of going on an actual date with me, but then this lazing around together after thing is fresh and new and far more couple-like. Does that count?

Either way she's naked and in my bed, and that can't be a bad thing. It's kind of nice with us just holed up under the covers, her sitting up against my chest and me with free rein to stroke my fingers over her arms and stomach. She's chilled out and has reverted back to her usual cool Chelsea self rather than that witch-y harridan who was masquerading as her earlier. Women are wonderful when you're having sex with them or being cute and romantic with them or just joking around making each other laugh, but they're not so great when they get into a bad mood and have one of those turns as the Bitch Demon From Hell. That is never attractive.

"I meant to ask you about my to-do list for tomorrow…"

Oh joy, work talk - the instant mood killer. "Yeah?"

"Do you honestly pay seventy five bucks for a wash and wax you could do yourself thirty times over for maybe fifteen bucks worth of supplies?"

"That car is huge and I lose patience." I shrug slightly, relieved that this wasn't a bigger thing but still not seeing the issue.

"Maybe if you didn't buy big ass gas guzzling trucks bigger than you ever need… I thought you said you were environmentally friendly, anyway?" She tosses a piece of popcorn at me which I manage to catch in my mouth with aplomb, making her giggle.

"Hey, when the Prius starts looking more like a real car, I'm all for that."

"You celebrities and your causes. I tell you, Bono and Bob Geldof are the only sincere ones out of the whole damn bunch of you."

"You saying Sophie wears fur?" I joke. The latest buzz with her rightful employer is the PETA ad she just posed for.

"She doesn't wear fur but do you honestly think Manolo Blahnik doesn't use leather?" Chelsea scoffs as she crams a huge handful of corn into her mouth. So much for all those ladylike bites she was taking.

"I can't say I'm too up on Manolo Blahnik. I can't walk in heels," I joke.

She reaches a hand up behind her to pat my cheek condescendingly, before she heaves another big sigh and rolls onto her side - though thankfully she's mindful of Justin Junior and doesn't squish him while she's at it. "Okay, I'm officially bored of this movie. Let's do something else."

Hmm, what could I possibly do in bed with a naked chick besides watch a movie? Let me think…

***

"Dude, it's like a porno flick just came to life in your front yard," Trace tells me with wide eyes.

"What, you're expecting some guy to come up to her and ask if she wants a look at his hose?"

Trace gives me a solid thump in the arm for that, but still raises his beer to mine in salute. "To excellent views."

"To excellent views," I clink bottles with him and we continue to watch Chelsea washing my car like the total perverts we are.

You could also say we're lazy ass perverts since neither of us has lifted a finger to help her. Well, this all kind of started this morning when Trace walked into the kitchen to find me and Chelsea there. We weren't in any compromising positions or anything like that but she had bed hair and she was in my clothes and it really didn't take a genius to work out which room she'd stayed in last night. Anyway, Trace couldn't possibly let an opportunity like that slip and she couldn't possibly stand that conversation, so she started one on my car washing bills. Trace took my side, so she eventually said she'd wash the damn thing herself and then we'd see there was no difference (I don't think this was totally altruistic, she also said it was a good tanning opportunity).

One quick phone to Rachael for permission to raid her closet later (Rachael usually lives in my guesthouse but is currently elsewhere), and I have a buxom blonde in shorts and a bikini top washing my car. Trace and I refuse to help her on principle. Well, we told her it's the principle that this is her point to prove and we won't help, but actually it's the principle of being lazy and just wanting to sit and sun ourselves on the lawn with some beers, watching her lose the bet. Oh, yeah, the bet involved is over who does the cooking for the small, intimate pool party I'm having tonight. I'm happy to man a barbecue but all those salads and stuff bore me.

The best part was when the spray gun came out of the hose while she was rinsing the windshield and she got totally drenched. Trace even gave me a high-five for that one. The only way this could get better is if there were more foam and girls involved.

"So…" Trace looks critically at me. "I take it since she was here this morning the date went well?"

All is okay for us to talk about her, she's out of earshot. "What date? We ended up staying in."

Trace snorts. "You are such a fuck buddy."

"What?"

"You are totally her fuck buddy. And you're paying her. Dude your life is pathetic."

Now it's my turn to give him a good punch in the arm, but he barely flinches. Everybody may think Trace is a short little lap dog just because he was my PA, but the guy is stronger than people give him credit for. I like to say he's taller than everybody in all the ways that count, even if they will rag on his height.

That doesn't stop me hating his short ass self when he makes these brutal assessments of my life situation though.

"I am not a fuck buddy."

"Fine, you're her friend with benefits."

"Am not!"

"Then why the hell are you struggling to get the woman out on a date with you?"

I groan, hiding my face in my hand for a second because he is painfully right. "Explain to me how I can get Britney Spears, Cameron Diaz, Jessica Biel and Monica Greenwood out on dates within like half an hour of meeting them and I can't get some normal chick out on a date even after she's fucked me?"

"Never say that to her or she'll break your face," is his evaluation of that comment.

"No shit, Sherlock."

Trace shrugs and takes another swig of Corona. "I'm just saying dude, maybe you got to start thinking that this chick only wants you for one thing and you're either fine with that or you let it go."

Through narrow eyes, I study his demeanour. He seems matter of fact enough, but the guy has already told me how pissed off he was that I hooked up with her. Do I smell ulterior motives here? "You sure you're not saying that because of you and her?"

He smacks me upside my head for that, making my cap fall off. It's a good thing I had a bottle and not a glass or it would have fallen into my beer. "Don't you know me better? Besides, it's not like it'd do me any favours either way since I'm not even a friend with benefits, I'm just a friend."

Heh, he can be just as brutally honest about himself too. That's what I like about this guy; he tells it like it is and he doesn't bull shit, even when it comes to his own issues. I retract everything I said about possible ulterior motives. This guy is as honest as the day he was born, which is a quality I treasure in a best friend. I treasure it particularly since I have to deal with all this two faced fame shit, being in this game and living in this town.

"You're probably right," I admit. "But I think I can break her."

"Real romantic choice of words there," he snorts.

I give him a quick nudge as I see Chelsea walking over, and we both fall silent. Trace catches my eye and we both smirk, realising we were simultaneously checking out her legs. The pervert comment probably bears repeating. As Chelsea reaches us, she throws her soapy sponge in my face and sits her still damp self down on Trace's lap. The second she does he starts yelling and squirming in protest.

"Shit woman you're cold!"

"I know." Hah, she totally did that on purpose. I guess maybe she twigged that we were ogling her or something.

"Now I'm all wet!" He complains loudly. "And right in the…"

"YES, well," she says before Trace can go any further with that sentence. "I have to let it dry off before I can wax it. What are you two boys talking about?"

"What we think you should cook for dinner this evening," Trace grouches before caving in and giving up his fight, becoming still and letting her stay on his lap.

"Oh no my friend, you will be doing the cooking," she says as she swipes my beer from my hands and takes a sip. "Oh, by the way, I'm very particular about my steak. Just bear that in mind."

"Speaking of which, who have you invited?" I ask. I like to know who will be invading my house well in advance. Matt, Nick, Marty and Eddie will be coming of course as will Nanci and Sky, a couple of my dancers. Marty said he'd bring a couple more of our mutual friends and I told Chelsea to bring some people.

"Umm… Kennedy can't make it so I'm dragging my sister out and making her leave the kids with my brother in law for the night."

"And your sister is…?"

"Lisa," she reminds me. Wait, wasn't her sister one of the people she was bitching about last night? Hmm, guess she was more easily forgiven than Kennedy. "Sophie can't make it either but she says have fun and don't do anything she wouldn't do. Though she said that doesn't narrow it down much."

What, she invited Sophie? Oh well, I guess it's not like she's actually coming. I cannot work out the relationship those two have at all. One minute she seems like she hates her and the next it's like she's her BFF or whatever that term is. I can't keep up. I mean, me, I got Trace and we're solid, I got Rachael and we're solid, I got lots of friends and we're all solid. I don't understand how girls can do all this rollercoaster shit with their pals - it's bad enough doing it with the opposite sex. Friends are supposed to be the calm place.

"Oh, and Justin, I took a call from Johnny earlier and he says he's set up some meetings over the next couple of days with… I can't remember. It was whichever record company is hosting your new label. And he told me that before you start whining about being on vacation I have to tell you these meetings are crucial and these men are busy."

"Fine," I grouch. Whining is exactly what I was about to start doing but I guess she put the kibosh on that. I'm on a break, damn it.

"Just so you know he's faxing me through the final details but there's a good chance I won't make it because me and Sophie already have a ton of meetings this week."

"Fine," I grouch again. It's not fine, I hate that I have to share my PA. You can call me a spoilt brat if you want and maybe you're right, but I'm used to things being mine and mine alone. I don't deal well with things being out of my reach or having to be shared. Maybe it comes from being an only child -well, my mother's only child if not my father's.

"Big day coming up soon, huh?" Trace asks. She nods and he bounces her on his lap like she was a small child. "You nervous?"

"Don't ask me that or I might vomit."

"Well you can get off my fucking lap then!" He kind of pushes her over, and she would have fallen on the floor if I hadn't caught her before she hit and dragged her onto my own lap. I shoot Trace a look of disapproval before understanding what he meant about her being cold. Those wet shorts are unpleasant to have sitting across your legs.

"So I can vomit all over J but not you?" She asks Trace with a glare for nearly dumping her ass on the lawn.

"Yep." He toasts to that.

"Ass," I tell him.

"Your point being?"

We're interrupted by his phone going off. He takes a look at the screen and even as he answers with "hello" he's standing up and moving away from us, back towards the car and out of earshot. Chelsea shifts on my lap and loops an arm around my shoulders, trying to find a more secure position.

"He usually run away when he gets phone calls?" She asks.

"Nope."

An evil glint lights up her eye. "You think he has a lady friend he doesn't want us to know about?"

I laugh. "Maybe. So how's my car looking?"

"Way better than if you'd paid seventy five bucks for it," she snorts. "It's a good thing you're not from my family or you'd be suffering my father's lectures on unnecessary spending."

"Hmm," I say, non-committal, not liking the subject. "So are you going to need to go back to your apartment for anything or are you just going to keep raiding my cousin's closet?"

"I don't mind borrowing bikini tops but I draw the line at the bottoms - you might as well borrow somebody else's panties." She looks disgusted by the notion. "I'll scoot back when I go to pick up Sky."

"Oh, have you got the directions to his place?' I ask. Sky normally hitches a ride with Eddie but he's coming from elsewhere today, and my PA kindly agreed to go get him.

"In my bag," she nods affirmatively.

Chelsea gives my arm a quick rub and we fall into companionable silence with her on my lap and my arms locked around her waist. Her arm is comfortably around my shoulders and this is nice. On the plus side, this isn't benefits. Wait… does the occasional display of affection still count in the friends with benefits scenario or is it something a little more and fuck could I sound more like a woman?

"Are you staying tonight?" I finally break the silence to ask her. I can't help it as my gaze falls to the floor and my Nike flip flop clad feet.

"Umm… how late is this party likely to go?" She asks. Not exactly the unequivocal yes I was going for.

"One am at the earliest, occasionally we've done all nighters."

"I'll pack some pyjamas."

There I was kind of hoping she'd want to stay even if we were wrapped up by ten, but I guess I'll take what I can get if it looks like progress.