Deranged Delusions

1. Just Around the Java Bend

“Watch where the hell you’re going, bitch!”

“Fuck you too, man!” I shout at the man sitting in his big Mercedes just off of Madison Avenue. At this moment I’m not a woman who needs to be honked at, and then called out in front of dozens of tourists and high end Manhattenites. As of this moment I’m dangerously balancing eight coffees in their egg crate holders, and a bag of muffins in one hand while the other is trying to secure my purse and get my cell phone out at the same time. So what if I ran out into the street when the signs were flashing ‘Don’t Walk?’ I’m on a tight schedule dammit and if I’m late there’s going be hell to pay.

My phone starts to ring, as if the bastard knows I’m running a second behind schedule. It’s just like him to do that too, he’s always impatient and at times like these I wonder why I stay around.

Luckily, I manage to get my phone up to my ear without spilling anything on the dirty New York streets. Call it experience, I guess. “Lauren Walters speaking.”

“Lo-ho, where the hell are you? We sent you out hours ago!” his voice hollers over the phone before he laughs loudly at something someone over on his end said. I groan softly, I hate that nickname with a fiery passion and I roll my eyes as I hurry down into the depths of the subway, praying to God and his Son I don’t lose reception. Last thing I need isfor him to think I hung up on him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Timberlake, but you sent me at least twenty blocks away from the studio and there’s mid-morning traffic. I should be back to the studio in at least twenty-five minutes…”

“Well step it up a notch Walt, I’m not paying you the big bucks to fuck around in the city! We need our java so we can get the creative juices flowing!” he says shortly into the phone before the line went dead. I roll my eyes again and held the phone between my teeth as I try to get my metro card out of my pocket.

What an asshole.

But it’s a day in the life of Lauren Walters, Personal Assistant, Party Planner, and Damage Control to none other than Justin Randall Timberlake, the hottest entertainer on the planet. Too bad he thinks the same exact way and has no problem letting you know he’s hot shit.

So why, do you ask, am I working for him? Well the pay is good and it gets my name in with all the right people. My ultimate goal is to not run out in the middle of the day and get coffee for belligerent producers and singers or is it to call cabs for highly intoxicated guests at parties. No, I want to be an executive at a recording company or at least work within close proximity to a record executive. But working with the spoiled boy of JIVE is the best I can do right now and I’ll just have to suck it up until I get a promotion.

Too bad Justin loves me. And no, he doesn’t love me in the ‘I-want-to-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-with-you’ way, quite the contrary. He says I keep him ‘grounded’ and he says I’m ‘funny.’ Well if you think my absolute dry humor and ability to be a complete smart ass funny then by all means keep me around. The pay’s good and I enjoy watching him make an ass out of himself. It keeps me entertained when the going gets rough in my life.

I graduated from Stanford with a degree in Business with an emphasis in Entertainment. Not like you care, I’m sure you just want to know about Justin and who he’s fucking just like the rest of the world (yes, its still Cameron, sorry ladies). But guess what, this is the little bit of me time and you’re going to hear it, okay? I got that nice diploma in my hands in 2003 and I haven’t looked back. And yes, I’ve been working for Justin ever since.

But, you start to say, isn’t Trace Ayala Justin’s assistant? No. Trace is Justin’s bitch, there’s a huge difference. Trace is Justin’s business partner and best friend and therefore he gets the comforts of Punking Justin without getting fired and also mingling with the celebrities at parties. I have to work in the background and make sure the things Trace does for Justin actually gets done. Trace is Justin’s personal assistant like my big toe is the Queen of England. But it makes for a cute little story, Justin doesn’t forget about his childhood friends, he brings them along for the ride and loves them unconditionally.

Yeah right, tell that to the rest of the people who know him and they’ll laugh at you in the face. Trace is only around because he can put up with Justin and his shit. I’d be lying if I said Justin was the sweetest guy on the face of the planet. On the contrary, he is a bona fide, grade A, one hundred percent stuck up asshole – and that’s being polite.

So here I am, on the New York Transit System, trying to get back to the studio with enough time to spare before Justin gets on my ass about running late. I’m not Moses; I can’t part the sea of traffic and pass through it with the coffee held high like it was the baby Jesus. Oh sorry…two different Testaments. I was never good with religion. The barista thought I was absolutely insane when I showed up with my orders and rushed to the front of the line, which was wrapped around the building.

“Um, the line starts back there,” the girl had pointed out and I almost wanted to choke her before I leaned forward across the counter, trying to ignore the hundreds of death glares I was warranting from the myriad of disgruntled New Yorkers who just wanted their coffee so they could get to work.

“I don’t think you understand who I work for. You see, I’ve got a very moody pop star waiting for me at the recording studio and I need to get back there as soon as possible. If you could get these started for me,” I began and I pulled out a list, yes a list of what Justin and company wanted for their morning java jamboree.

“Look sweetie, unless he’s Justin Timberlake or Michael Jackson or something I can’t help you…”

“Funny you should mention Justin Timberlake…” the girl looked at me like I was a complete idiot.

“Fine, I’ll go to the back of the line. Consider yourself lucky that this is the only place he likes to get his coffee from,” I said as I pointed threateningly at the girl, “but after I inform him about the way you treat his personal assistant I doubt we’ll be coming here any longer.”

I huffed to the back of the line, trying to ignore the looks of pity and hatred from the customers. I even heard one woman mutter to her co-worker ‘Poor dear, she must be one of those junkies from Central Park. We should slip her a five on our way out.’

Which is funny seeing as I don’t look anything like a street performer nor do I look insane. Although now I do seeing as I’m running behind schedule. Wonderful. He was going to ridicule me and make me look like an incompetent fool in front of all his producers, which wasn’t a good thing seeing as his record company hired them all. Just great.

Ten minutes later and I’m rushing down Broadway with the coffees and muffins still in hand. I nod a quick greeting to the doorman as he lets me in and I continue my hurried scamper towards his block of recording studios he had set aside for this particular session.

I burst through the doors, expecting wild applause or some sort of greeting but seven pairs of eyes were focused on the individual in the recording booth. Why there needs to be such a large amount of people in such a small room I never know. Only three of the people in here are actually producers. Trace is here, dicking around on his Blackberry, compliments of Justin. Cameron sitting next to him, watching her boyfriend with adoring eyes and Eric and Mike, his security guards, are taking up an entire couch that should seat four. There’s nowhere left for me to sit so I just place the coffee and muffins on the table and stand to the side.

“Lo-ho!” a voice shouts over the speaker and I jump, bumping into the table, causing one of the coffees to slosh over the top a bit. The last thing I need is to march back up twenty blocks to go get one coffee. I could hear the producers grumbling to themselves as they pressed button after button, flipped switch after switch. Apparently my appearance had ruined what seemed to be a perfect recording of vocals, amazing.

“Here’s the coffee you ordered and the muffins as well,” I explain as Justin left the booth, the enormous headphones situated around his neck as he licks his lips hungrily at the coffee and muffins sitting at the table. I stand there next to the table and he stood at the other end, still eyeing the coffee and looking at me with expectant eyes. “What?” I asked.

“Well aren’t you going to pass it out?” he asks me and I swear to God I almost told him to fuck off then and there. Is he too lazy to walk the three feet over to the table to grab his damn coffee? I had to distribute all eight coffees around the room like a damn waitress? I’m not getting paid to do this.

Sighing heavily, I pick up one of the egg carts filled to the brim with iced coffee and began to read off the slanted writing on the plastic cups. Eric and Mike were simple enough; they just ordered simplistic iced coffee. They each nod in thanks and took their drinks before they continue to talk about whatever it is bodyguards talk about. I’m not going to bore you with what everyone else ordered, I wouldn’t want to be bothered so why should you?

But of course when I got up to Justin and gave him his venti Chai Green Tea Latte he looks at me with disdain and shakes his head. “You got this from the New York Coffee Shop didn’t you?” he questions and I murmur a ‘yes’ in response. It was where he told me to go so I went. You see, when Justin Timberlake tells you to jump you say, ‘how high?’ and then you do it. No questions asked.

“I didn’t want it from the New York Coffee Shop. I wanted it from the New York Coffee Company Shop. You went to the wrong place. Everyone stop drinking their coffee, Lo-ho has to go back and return these and make sure I get my money back.”

What. The. Hell?

“And I don’t want a Chai Green Tea Latte anymore. Get me a Caramel Macchiato from the NY Coffee Company and then go pick up a Tazoberry with Cream at Starbucks. Thanks Lo-ho,” and with that he hands me his Latte and turns around, heads back into the studio, joking around with the producers while everyone looks at me expectantly. Trace started to laugh and looks at me as if I’m the biggest idiot on the planet before he went back to checking his emails on that damn Blackberry.

Reluctantly, I gather everyone’s coffee and make my way out of the studio. I throw away the coffee. There’s no sense in going back to that coffee joint again. They didn’t accept my claims of being in the know with Justin Timberlake when I was in there almost an hour ago and they wouldn’t believe me when I come back with half drunken coffees, claiming that Justin hadn’t been happy with the outcome.

At least he didn’t say anything about the muffins.

***

I have a confession to make: I love Disney movies.

No joke, I have a slight obsession with them, just don’t ever tell my people that because they would never let me live that down. I mean can you imagine that getting out? Me, Justin Timberlake: hottest musical act on the planet, loving Disney movies? It’s laughable, its preposterous, but I love every single bit of animation that goes into those damn movies.

Call me a kid at heart but I can’t get enough of the catchy tunes, pop culture references, and morals that go into each film. This obsession hasn’t been with me my entire life. I think it started once I went solo, which is a good thing because I think Chris would never let me live it down. Everyone would know about it and I’m kind of glad that only a handful of people know about my slight…infatuation with Walt Disney and his band of colorful cartoons.

My mom knows because, let’s face it, she’s my mom, she pretty much knows everything about my business and me. Trace and my security know about it although they’ve been sworn to secrecy. Sometimes Trace uses it to his advantage. He wants to get into a club and I don’t want to go – he brings up Bambi and how I cried my damn eyes out every time his mom was killed. I have no choice but to get up and go because really, US Weekly would have a field day. I would never be able to live those gay rumors down if it was publicly known.

Cameron knows but she thinks it’s the cutest thing since Dakota Fanning so I’m safe on that front. She says it brings out my sensitive side and we’ll watch Beauty and the Beast or some other Princess movie that she finds so damn appealing. But why am I ridiculing her? Last time I checked I’m the one who had a problem.

Unfortunately one more person knows about my secret love of the classics and it’s someone who could probably use it to her definite advantage. Yeah, Lo-ho knows about my guilty pleasure and she doesn’t let me forget it. Actually, she’s my main supplier so I can get my Disney fix. And I can’t believe I just made a metaphor comparing Disney movies to drugs. But its true, and Lauren is my Disney Dealer.

She goes on eBay and Amazon and goes to different video stores to pick up various movies for my viewing pleasure. Trace wouldn’t be caught dead picking up a chick flick let alone a cartoon movie with fluffy animals talking, dancing, and singing all over the place. So I leave it to Lauren to brave the storm of five year olds wanting to get the same movie as me and she never disappoints.

I own them all.

Granted they’re under lock and key whenever I’m at home and I keep them very well hidden while on tour. And no, I’m not going to tell you should there be the slight chance that you get on my tour bus. I only watch them when I’ve got me time and I can easily tell you that I don’t get that that often.

Life has been pretty hectic these past couple of months. My record label has been getting on my back with heading back into the studio and I’ve been doing just that. They want something by the fall of next year and I’d love to give it to them and there’s not a doubt in my mind that the fans want it too. Because let’s face it, in the day and age of fat, gnarly rappers who have retainers bedazzled and studded more than the jeans I wore back in the boy band days, I am the hottest thing to hit the market.

It’s true. I mean what self respecting woman would want to fan girl all over a guy who wears mouth guards embellished with precious stones? I believe in putting those jewels on women and not throwing them in my mouth. Please, I might be young but at least I know how to treat a lady. None of this grill nonsense. Besides, my mother would kill me and Trace would want a matching pair with his phone number or something inscribed in it so when he smiles girls can jot down his number. But Trace is a pimp.

And Trace the Pimp is pissing me off right now.

“Would you pick a fucking ring tone and stick with it?” I shout at him from my position on the couch. I’m channel surfing and I can’t find anything good, and Trace blaring Tupac and Snoop Dog from his phone isn’t helping me decide on TRL or Law and Order.

“Sorry man, you know picking the right ring tone is an important decision. An incoming tone tells you everything you need to know about a person,” Trace explains as he passes the rap and goes straight to some classic rock. If I hear ‘Shook Me All Night Long’ one more time I think I’m going to scream.

“Are you getting all philosophical with me and shit?” I ask as I land on CNN. More on the war in Iraq, not so fascinating. Where the hell is Larry King? He interviewed me a while ago you know. It was pretty sweet. They talked about it in Shelby Forest for about two months before they went on and on about the Barbara Walters interview. Gotta love it.

“No,” Trace says defensively, “I’m just saying you learn a lot about a person by their ring tone. For example, what’s yours right now?” I roll my eyes not believing Trace actually wants to talk about this. I have a date with Cameron in an hour and I want to get some quality television viewing in before we go out for dinner.

“Humor me, Justin, c’mon.”

“Fine. ‘My Style’,” I say finally giving in. I know if I evade the topic of conversation Trace will persist and I really can’t deal with him annoying me right now. I’m just not in the mood to deal with it.

“See that’s easy,” he explains casually as if he’s all of a sudden an expert on the inner psyche and how its related to personalized ringers, “You like to get down and funky, you’re in with the new, and you like to hear yourself all the time. So that makes you half fun and out going and the other half a self centered bastard. But you’re a nice guy most of the time,” Trace adds with a laugh as I frown in his direction. He has a point, I love the song but then again, I helped produce it and was a featured vocalist so what isn’t to like about it, really?

“And what have you picked?” I ask him as he continues to search through his plethora of tones. Thank God I don’t pay for his phone bill, the dude probably has at least two dozen downloaded ring tones that probably cost him close to two dollars a pop.

“Haven’t decided yet,” he replies casually. The sudden slamming of the front door indicates that someone else has decided to announce his or her presence at my home. I know it isn’t Cameron because she has full access to my garage even though she wouldn’t be able to park her car inside. My cars and bikes take up all available space. So who could it be?

“Oh hey Walters,” Trace quips from his seat at the mini bar that I have set up in my entertaining room. I sit up and watch as my extremely flustered looking personal assistant and party planner comes stalking into the room, cell phone in hand and a pissed off look contorting her features. Well something was amiss, “Did you get my phone call?”

“Yes I did, and the last time I checked Ayala you weren’t the multi-platinum recording artist. If you want someone to pick up your damn dry cleaning go do it yourself,” she bites back before she looks at me, her big blue eyes demanding an explanation out of me. I don’t know why she’s freaking out about Trace and dry cleaning or why she’s looking at me as if I’m the guilty party in the apparent dry cleaning fiasco.

“What?”

“Justin,” she begins, letting out an exasperated sigh, “How many times do I have to tell you that you cannot call me and expect to put together a party for one hundred and fifty people in less than a week?”

“Well the last party I asked you to do you managed to pull it together,” I begin to argue. Really all I want to do is have a small party celebrating the start of the holiday season. Is that so much to ask? Apparently it is because Lauren looks like she’s about to pass a kidney stone right in the middle of my entertaining room.

“Yeah, barely. Can you reschedule it for another time?”

“Out of the question Lo-ho,” I say grumpily. Who does she think she is, Trace? She can’t come in here and tell me when I can and cannot have my party! Is she nuts? I’m starting to get annoyed seeing as I’m getting hungry and Cameron’s running late. I wish Lauren would just shut her trap and start with the planning but apparently she wants to fight me on this. Doesn’t she know that you can never win a fight against me? She’s just wasting time.

“I don’t think you realize the preparation that has to be put into parties,” Lauren begins again and I hold up a hand to respond when Trace suddenly opens his mouth to interject.

“What’s your ring tone, Lauren?”

I wish Trace would learn when to shut the fuck up.

“What?” she asks incredulously as her attention is taken away from me and onto my best friend. Okay, lets focus on the issue at hand here, my party; not what Lauren Walters’ ring tone is.

“Your ring tone, what is it?” Trace asks again and I can feel my patience growing short. He can be so damn annoying sometimes, thankfully he’s short so I take pity on him most of the time.

“I didn’t brave traffic on the 10 to come here and discuss ring tones, Trace. I’m here to ask why Justin has to have a party for one hundred and fifty people in five days when no preparations have been…”

“Excuse me,” I interject, “I’ve already called or emailed or talked to all the people and so far everyone says they’ll be there.”

“Great,” she says sarcastically, “You know Justin sometimes you have no…”

“Let’s not go there Walters. You’ll regret whatever it was you were going to say to me later.”

“Which is why she should answer my question and tell us what her ring tone is!” Trace added and I want to laugh at the predicament Lauren has found herself in. Sometimes I feel sorry for the poor girl and the way she has to deal with my shit. But hey, she’s stayed this long I don’t think she’s going to leave anytime soon. I mean seriously, who wouldn’t adore working for me?

“Is the survival of the world depending on my answer?”

“Yes,” Trace and I reply at the same time and Lauren rolls her eyes. I’m expecting something entirely embarrassing like angry chick rock that you’d only get from lesbians or fans of Lilith Fair, or maybe an embarrassing television jingle, or even worse, the horrid Nokia ring tone that used to be on everyone’s phone. If she has that one, I’m firing her on the spot.

Lauren opens her mouth to protest but Trace throws her a demanding look and I back him up. Bro before Lo-ho, always. “Why do you want to know?” she asks finally able to sidestep Trace’s commanding gaze.

“Because it’s a window into your soul,” Trace explains dramatically and Lauren rolls her eyes yet again. I swear if she keeps doing that her pupils are going to get stuck in the backside of her head.

“Fine,” she says finally giving in. Its easier that way, you just can’t win with Trace and I, “It’s ‘Under Pressure,’ are you happy?”

“You listen to glam rock?” Trace asks his mouth open in shock.

“If you must know its classic rock. Queen happens to be my favorite band, that’s my favorite song of theirs and…”

“Save us the novel Walters,” I interject as I inspect my fingernails before giving her a stern look, “I’m not paying you to talk about your favorite band. I’m paying you to be my assistant and plan my parties. And, I’d like to add, you’re doing a pretty shitty job of completing those tasks. Go pick up Trace’s dry cleaning and get to work on the party.” The look on her face amuses me as she flaps her mouth open and closed to argue but finds that she can’t. After all, I am her boss and she knows where to draw the line of being cute with me and when she needs to do her job.

Smart girl, no wonder why I’ve kept her around for so long.

Deranged Delusions

2. Once Upon a Photo

Sometimes I just want to kill him. Really, I just want to wring his scrawny neck and watch the breath leave his body as he begs for forgiveness. Sorry, I already killed you. Bummer.

But now I realize how much that makes me sound like a serial killer. Or just a chick with extreme issues. I have twenty-eight minutes and nineteen, now eighteen, seconds until this party starts and I’m running around like a chicken with her head cut off.

Why does he do these things to me? Why does he have to test me all the time? Why does he have to sit up in his room and make a grand entrance through the front door of his own house? Seriously, what the hell does he snort?

Wait…I’m not going to ask that question because I don’t want to know what he snorts. God only knows and I don’t want to know him that well.

I run around the ground floor of his house, shouting orders into a cell phone to the caterer who can speak English but is pretending not to understand a word I’m saying right now. Bitch. I’m sorry if Justin is a lousy tipper but that doesn’t mean you should treat me like shit. I’m just like you, the help.

“No, you take an exit at North La Cienega and go down the street until you reach the base of the hills. Go up to the gate and press ‘4521’ into the key pad…”

“No entiendo,” the woman responds and I almost throw the phone down on the floor and stomp on it for good measure. Not only is she being difficult with me right now, but its going to take her more than twenty-six minutes and forty-five seconds to get to the house. People are going to get here and there isn’t going to be any food.

Thank God the bartender got here at a reasonable hour. He’s someone I can depend on. But then again he is my boyfriend so go figure. And now I’m going to get all mushy because let’s face it, I love my boyfriend to pieces. But the really funny thing is, I guess I have Justin to thank for helping me find this said boyfriend of two years. Ironic huh? The pain in ass actually did something other than tell me off and give me money for all the crazy shit I do for him. He managed to lead me to the best thing that’s ever happened to me in my life.

So kudos Justin, you are good for something.

But Neal Feat is the best thing that’s ever happened to me in my life. No kidding, I think we’d probably be married by now if I weren’t already dedicated to serving Justin’s every beck and call. A lot of guys would have probably stopped waiting for me to come around but not Neal. He’s patient and kind…and he’s patient. But I already mentioned that.

We met, where else, at one of Justin’s parties. I was running around like a crazy person trying to make sure everything was perfect. At my fifth trip to the bar that night, Neal told me to sit the hell down and to stop stressing out. Seeing as the only thing I had been doing that night was standing over h shoulder and breathing down his neck to make sure the drinks came out to everyone’s liking.

We ended up talking the whole night and it was fabulous. There isn’t anyone quite like him. He understands me because we’re both in the same industry. We live to serve the rich and famous and, quite frankly, we’re on the bottom of the totem pole trying to make it up in the world. He wants to own a club in LA and I want to make people stars. Same goals, different industry. Because I suck at mixing drinks.

But that’s where I’m going right now, to see Neal. My nerves are already shot because I had Justin and Trace yelling at me all day and guests are still calling me and asking for directions. Note to self: never let Justin handle invitations to parties ever again. I know I’m going to get blamed for that as well. He blames me for everything. Bastard.

There are a million and one ways for this party to g wrong and yet, talking to Neal makes that all go away.

“Hey babe, how are you holding up?” he asks me as he mixes what is probably Trace’s third martini of the evening. He is going to be so shit faced tonight but I don’t even care. Bastard deserves a good hang over.

“I’m doing okay. The caterer is pretending not to speak English right now. I’m guessing she’s getting back at Justin for the time when he…”

“…called her a bitch and a bad cook…”

“…in front of the entire party,” I finish as I shake my head sadly. He really is so blunt when he’s intoxicated. I wonder what hurtful things he’ll yell at me tonight.

“Are you on damage control this evening?” he questions and I nod my head yet again. Neal frowns and goes back to shaking Trace’s martini. I hate how Justin runs my life but I can’t say now. He’s like the perpetual lost puppy who isn’t potty trained and I’m the perpetual owner who has to pick up his…okay bad analogy.

“Can’t you skip it just this once?” Neal whines. He isn’t one to whine let me tell you and I know we’re more than likely going to headed towards Arguing Couple Town, Population: Two.

“I can’t,” I respond as I place a comforting hand on his arm. He stops shaking for a moment and his green eyes look into my blue ones, shivers rushing up and down my spine. After two years he still looks at me as if we just found out we were in love. If I weren’t so flipped out about this party I might have gone weak in the knees but of course, Trace has to interject at the most inopportune moments.

“Hey lovebirds, no socializing on the job!” Trace yells as he runs up to the bar and snatches the just poured beverage from Neal. “Justin wants to know why the caterer isn’t here yet. Also wants you to tell valet that they need to be super careful with Pharrel’s Ferrari because if there’s so much as a finger print on the paint job then  <i>your</i> ass on the line.”

I roll my eyes and push Trace away as he knocks back his drink and asks for another round. He’s going to be gone before the party even starts. Oh well, he’ll be entertaining to watch when he’s shit faced.

Walking towards Justin’s master suite, I wonder why I have to deal with this right now. Not only is Trace driving me crazy, but I have a feeling Justin’s going to make things much worse.

***

Correction: Justin Timberlake is going to die in his sleep tonight. How do I know this is going to happen? Because I’m going to smother him in his sleep. Fifteen minutes and twelve seconds until the party officially begins and here I am in Justin’s Escalade doing ninety down a residential street because I have to make it to a grocery store before the deli closes.

I went into his room so I could explain that the caterer has a beef with me instead of him, and what is the little bitch doing but sitting down in the middle of his room, playing with his damn X-Box. Not helping me with the party or checking his own damn self to make sure valet takes care of Pharrel’s car but dicking around on his god damn X-Box!

“Hey Lo-ho,” he said as if playing on a game console minutes before he’s giving a huge party was no big deal. He paused the game and looked up at me without a care in the world. “Just to let you know I fired the caterer so we have no food. I’ll leave it up to you to find us some grub.” And with that he un-paused the game and went back to swearing at whatever valiant character he was playing with. He’s not even dressed yet.

So here I am, driving like fucking Danica Patrick so I can go pick up veggie plates, meat and cheese platters, and frozen finger foods from the grocery store before the guests arrive. Trace was laughing at me as I raced out of the house grabbing my purse (because I have to pay for it out of my own purse thank you very much) and Neal was throwing me sympathetic looks as he made yet another drink for Trace.

Its times like these when I really hate my job.

I make it to the grocery store in record time and barely have time to turn the car off before I’m racing through the parking lot, grabbing a cart in the process and flying into the store like the Apocalypse is coming and I need canned food for the fallout shelter.

The night cashier greets me by name because I somehow manage to make late night pit stops in this store all the time. Yes, Justin will call me while I’m at home and ask me to do his shopping when his ‘official’ Personal Assistant is sitting right next to him, talking about the latest model he’s banged. When I say I do everything for him I mean I do everything.

I’m not even going to tell you about the condom episode. Even when he’s having sex the man thinks about nothing but himself. “Make sure you skip out on the whole ‘ribbed for her pleasure’ bull shit. And get the largest size you can find!’

Whatever, the man probably has to use a pair of tweezers to take a piss.

But all talk of Timberlake and his preferred condom choice aside (and no I won’t tell you because even though I go and buy them I don’t ask the size, although he’d love to tell me. I like to live in a dream world where there’s one thing the Timberbastard doesn’t have going for him).

I roll the cart around the store and grab as much shit as I can find. I’m sure the only things the Wafer Women will eat are peanuts and their cosmopolitans so I don’t really have to worry about them. The men just stand around and talk while they sip Cristal and watch the scantily clad models shake their asses in time to the music. Another normal night in Justin’s life and I’m the one who has to plan it all. If you gave me a penny for the number of times I’ve seen a woman fall out of her top I could retire right now and live in some big ass castle in Europe. 

Check out comes and goes and four hundred dollars later I’m shoving what seems to be thousands of grocery bags into the back of Justin’s car. The party starts in five minutes and four seconds and I’m ten minutes away from the house and that’s if I’m doing ninety. But if there’s one thing that’s good about Hollywood parties its that everyone makes a late entrance so therefore only the losers and those who aren’t in the ‘know’ show up on time.

Ashlee Simpson should be arriving at any minute.

My phone rings right on cue as I turn on the car and start to speed down the street. I wonder who it could be? Please note the extreme sarcasm…because it couldn’t be anybody else but Justin.

“Where the fuck are you Lo-ho? Ashlee just got here and she wants something to eat!” I roll my eyes and groan under my breath. Maybe if Ashlee had eaten before coming over she wouldn’t be complaining for the food that was currently sitting in the back of the truck.

“And what do you want me to do about that, Justin?” I question my fuse running short. I’m a time bomb and I swear I’ll go off at any second, “I’m already going twenty over the speed limit and if I go any faster you know I’m going to get pulled over!”

“Go faster!” he urges totally not listening to a word I’m saying, “People are going to get here soon and I can’t go out to greet them until at least midnight!”

“Jesus Christ, Justin! Just be a good host for once in your life and go mingle would you? I am not announcing your arrival like I did last time…”

“But that was fun! You got applause for it!” Justin explains.

“No, you got applause because you came up behind me and pretended to smack my ass. Repeatedly,” I grumble and he laughs loudly on the other end. Seems like he’s gone to visit Neal already, “And then you practically humped me…”

“Aww c’mon, Walt! You know you liked it,” he says coyly and it takes all my love for life to not drive the car into oncoming traffic, “Do you know how many people would kill to get dry humped by me?”

“Can’t imagine,” I reply statically and he starts to whine like a sexually frustrated four-year-old boy trapped in a twenty-four year old’s body.

“Just hurry up, would you? I’m starving here and so is Trace…”

“I hope you realize that Trace is your assistant as well and he could easily make food for all of you while I come with the stuff,” I explain but I already know Justin isn’t listening anymore. I swear he has ADD or something because every time I try to scold him or yell at him, he just turns off the volume. The insufferable little prick.

“I know but shit, he can’t drive right now. He’s on his sixth martini and he ain’t stopping anytime soon.” Great so not only will I be making sure that Justin doesn’t drown in a pool of his own vomit later tonight, but I’ll have to make sure Trace is still breathing throughout the night. God, why me?

“Fine. I’ll be back in like two minutes, okay? Just don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone and have Trace entertain people and no, I am not introducing you. Introduce your own damn self,” I snap before I hang up the phone. I am in no mood to deal with Justin’s shit right now and I ignore the ringing of my cell phone because I know Justin will just try to yell at me and make me feel like shit before he acts like nothing happened. That’s just how he is.

***

If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s how to throw great parties. So far I’ve counted a total of six boobs thrown into my face due to over zealous dancers and the amount of alcohol has been flowing all night. Oh, scratch that: seven Boobs.

The music is thumping and I ain’t feeling a thing. Seriously, Neal makes the best Apple Martinis on the face of the planet. Remind me to tip him an extra three hundred or so by the time the night is over because damn, I am feeling good.

And there goes Lauren. She’s following some model that I met a few years ago at an open call for one of the extras for my music video. I think her name is Christina or something. I don’t know, I don’t know half of the people here. I just scroll down my address book and pick the people who sound hot. I can’t tell you how many people I have in my sidekick but shit man, it’s a lot. I am a pretty popular guy. And the girl who I think is Christina just threw up all over my marble floor. Oops, that must be embarrassing.

I don’t care about the floor because if it gets ruined I’ll just pay for someone to come over and clean it out or replace the slab. Either that or I’ll go buy some expensive rug and just put it over the stain. I can do that you know, or I can force Christina or whatever her name is to pay for the damages. But I’m not that mean am I? I mean she probably won’t even remember she was here when she wakes up in the morning so why should I give her any more problems?

Because I’m Justin Timberlake dammit and I can do whatever the hell I want.

“Justin, I’m going to send Sarah home, alright?” Lo-ho says a little too loudly in my ear. Yeah okay so the music is pretty loud but I can’t help it if Will.i.am wants to pump the bass up. Not my fault but it’s Lo-ho’s fault that she’s screaming in my ear about someone named Sarah…oh, its Sarah, not Christina. My bad.

“Whatever, just make sure you get her information so I can bill her the damage on my floor in the morning,” I explain with a shrug. Lauren throws me an incredulous look, as if she can’t believe I’m actually thinking of billing some poor model who probably lost twenty pounds just by throwing up all over my floor but hey, I gotta look out for my best interest, right? Besides, she’ll just go fuck her agent or something for money and she’ll pay me back.

“Lo-ho, did you ask someone for the coke?” I ask as I grab onto the collar of her shirt and pull her closer to me. She smells nice, like daffodils or some other kind of frilly flower. At least it smells better than the smoke, alcohol, and drugs that are shifting through the air right now. I take a few deep breaths before she moves away, a disgusted look on her face.

“You know that isn’t my deal. Trace handles that stuff,” she says as she rolls her eyes. And as if on cue, Trace comes bounding through the throngs of people with a plastic baggie filled with grown up goodies. Thank God for Trace.

Lo-ho moves away and heads to the bar. Probably going to eye fuck her boyfriend or something like that. The only thing that fills my line of vision are the various white lines of powder that Trace has set up on the coffee table.

I take a few hits and watch as the line starts to form. Its not like I’m addicted or anything, I think doing a few lines enhances the party atmosphere to out of this world proportions. I know where to draw the line and I don’t have parties often so I’m not going to any rehabilitation clinics anytime soon.

Besides, that’s just not how I do.

Next thing I know, some big-busted blonde with a super skinny waste is on my lap, laughing hysterically and sloshing her drink all over my designer jeans. The girl is so far gone I almost take pity on her and let her grope me for a few more seconds but that’s until I see the accusatory glare from Cameron. Silly girl, she knows I only have eyes for her.

But apparently she’s had enough because the next thing I know she’s dragging me into another room away from the hubbub of the main party. I start to wonder if anyone will actually miss me but that’s until I hear Will scream about a wet T-shirt contest going on in the backyard.

Ain’t no party like a Timberlake party because a Timberlake Party don’t stop!

But the party’s stopped for me.

***

It’s World War Fucking III and I’m the poor schmuck that has to survey the aftermath. The food I put my ass on the line to get is still in the kitchen relatively untouched. I’ll have to drop it off at the fire station so the firemen can munch on the fruit platters because I know Justin and Trace won’t finish them off.

Speaking of Trace, he’s lying face down on the floor completely passed out. I leave him there seeing as I really could care less about getting him into a bed. As long as he hasn’t got alcohol poisoning or is drowning in his own vomit he can stay on the floor. I’m not getting paid to babysit him. No, I have to take care of the big baby who’s currently leaning against a speaker, singing Olivia Newton John at the top of his lungs.

“I looooooove you! I honestly loooove you!” Gone is the suave and sophisticated pop star who makes a million girls weak in the knees the minute he starts to sing a single note. No, all that’s left is a bellowing drunk who manages to make a bigger ass out of himself now than when he’s sober, if that’s even possible. “Lo-ho! Great fucking party yeah!”

And he only gives me compliments when he’s drunk which I guess is better than none but it’d be nice to know that your boss remembers dishing them out when he wakes up in the morning. I approach him slowly, the last thing you want to do is make sudden movements around a drunk person.

“Alright buddy, lets take it easy. We’re going to get you upstairs so you can go to sleep okay?” I coax gently as I step up next to him. He reeks of alcohol and his eyes are blood shot. God, how many lines of coke did he do tonight and why do I let him? Oh that’s right, because if I tried to stop him he’d yell at me and remind everyone of the time when I fell into the pool during his first holiday party wearing a white dress. I had to stay in the pool the entire night because I refused to show everyone my naughty bits and Justin declined my incessant requests for a towel. It wasn’t until the sun started to come up that I could finally get out of that damn pool because everyone had either gone home, or was passed out on the lawn.

I allow him to lean on me for support as he staggers through his living room. There’s only maybe four or five people strewn about on his couches, Trace is the only one who managed to pass out on the floor. Good for him, hopefully he’ll wake up with a sore back and a huge ass hang over.

 There’s no way in hell I’ll be able to get him up the stairs to his master suite so I opt to throw him in the guest suite on the bottom floor. I usually sleep there when Justin has one of his parties and I have to hang around in order to supervise Damage Control. Guess I’m sleeping in his room tonight. Wonderful. Maybe I’ll pop in Sleeping Beauty and fall asleep to fairies and happy endings.

He’s mumbling incoherent things at me now, talking about an album and rubies and other completely random shit that he won’t even remember saying the next day. It’s these drunken confessions that give an insight to the real Justin, the Justin that isn’t all talk and huge ego. Sometimes he’ll act like the person I thought he was before meeting him but that gets thrown behind the monster he becomes when he’s sober and sometimes I long for the times when he’s drunk off his ass in hopes that the real Justin shines through.

I load him onto the bed and he looks up at me as I help him under the covers. He acts like such a little child when he’s drunk and even though his eyes are glassy and distant, I can still see the far away glow of gratitude that’s lost in the depths of his blue eyes. That’s what makes Damage Control so worthwhile. That and the black mail pictures but we’ll get into that later.

“Thanks Lo-ho,” he breathes as he snuggles underneath the covers. I catch a whiff of whiskey on his breath and I make a face. He giggles like a small child and lets out a shaky sigh, “I really screwed up.”

“Why?” I ask and I sit down at the edge of his bed. Hopefully he’ll go to sleep soon and I can saw a few logs myself. After all, it’s nearly six in the morning.

“Cameron broke up with me.”

Oh holy fucking shit that is not good. For one, Justin and Cameron are a match made in heaven. When Justin is around Cameron he isn’t acting like the Spawn of Satan. The two are the biggest goofballs on the face of the planet and its actually refreshing to watch him pick on somebody else for a while. Except when he picks on Cameron he does it out of love whereas with me he does it out of spite and frustration and just plain entertainment. And the worst part of Cameron and Justin calling it quits is the fact that Justin is going to throw more parties and be even more pissy because he doesn’t have a girl to call his own and hang around with all the time.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. My life just got a whole lot worse.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe things will work out between the two of you,” I say and he shakes his head before he sighs heavily.

“No, she says she’s through. She’s had enough of my immaturity and she doesn’t want to deal with my shit anymore. Who could blame her?”

That’s right, who could blame her? If I weren’t so dedicated to my job and worried sick about this kid killing himself I’d be out the door too. But I can’t leave him with Trace. I wouldn’t trust Trace with a colony of Sea Monkies let alone a breathing human being. I don’t even trust Justin to take care of himself even.

“Give it some time…”

“If only she was understanding like you are,” Justin murmurs and I roll my eyes. I hate the empty compliments because they’re the main reason why I stick around. Sometimes I hope one day he’ll wake up drunk and realize that this is the person he’s supposed to be. Not the terrible, self-absorbed ass wipe I have to deal with every day. I think he’ll wake up and he won’t treat me like shit.

I’m beginning to think that it’s never going to happen. And now he’s asleep. Good.

I pull out the camera from my back pocket and turn it on, allowing the device to focus on Justin. He’s strewn across the bed, his mouth wide open and drool poking out the side of his mouth. He looks like shit and I calmly take his hand and stick a finger up his nose.

Quickly I take a few pictures before I remove his hand and go out into the main living room. I snap a few pictures of Trace and grin to myself as I look through the pictures I took from that night.

Shots of Justin smacking some guys ass, a shot of Trace with a woman’s thong on his face; dozens of pictures that I know will get me fired should they ever discover them but all of them hilarious in their own way.

It’s my own little form of payback. Every time I get treated like shit, I take a picture. And let me tell you, I have hundreds of pictures that tabloids would sacrifice their first-born child for. It’s ludicrous but I keep them for my own self-enjoyment. It’s amazing they haven’t discovered the pictures yet but I keep them more heavily guarded than Justin’s prized Disney movies.

Which reminds me, I have a date with Sleeping Beauty and her three fairy guardians.

***

Deranged Delusions

3. Not So Eye to Eye

I feel like shit. No, worse than shit. I feel like the fly shit that is left on top of dog shit in the middle of a hot, humid day in Florida. No kidding. I can’t remember how many drinks I had the night before or how many lines of coke I did, but I do know that my head has inflated to the size of a small killer whale and I am not in a good mood.

The fact that I’m not in my own bed makes this whole waking up business a hell of a lot worse. As far as I can tell from my blurred vision, I’m in the guest room of my own house, which is kind of fucked up because the last time I checked, I own this house and should be sleeping in the master suite.

Gingerly, I hoist myself out of bed and walk into the kitchen completely passing Trace who is still passed out on the floor. Heh, party animal. Thank God he didn’t puke all over the carpet although when he wakes up in a few hours, the toilet on the ground floor will soon become his best friend.

My mouth is dry thanks to the huge amount of alcohol I consumed the night before and I gulp half the gallon of milk straight from the carton. Hey, two guys live in this house and when two twenty-something year old men are cohabitating in a Hollywood Hills mansion, the silverware and glasses rule gets thrown out the window.

I make my way over to the cabinet where Trace and I keep all the aspirin and other medical shit that we may need, and I pull out a bottle of painkillers before I knock back at least three tablets of aspirin. I say at least three because I don’t really count how many pills I pop…as much as it takes to make the inflated feeling in my head to go away as quickly as possible. I put the bottle back on its shelf, right next to the Midol that Cameron keeps here for when she’s surfing the Crimson Wave.

And it’s when I look at that bottle of Midol that I remember that I’m no longer Mr. Cameron Diaz but a full-fledged man of bachelorhood once more. Part of me is happy that I’m a free man but then there’s the larger half of me that’s pissed and upset that I gave almost three years of my life to one woman who throws it all away because Big Tits McGee throws herself in my lap while she’s intoxicated and I’m numb from three lines of blow. Where’s the fucking justification in that?

She’s going to be sorry she ever let me go, let me tell you. She’ll rue the day that she let Justin Randall Timberlake slip through her fingers because I’m going to be fucking huge and she’ll be some two bit movie star who’s enormous claim to fame is voicing a female ogre for some stupid kids’ movie.

Let’s look over the fact that I’m lending my voice to the third movie in the franchise because quite frankly, who the fuck cares? It’s a stupid movie I managed to get into because I was screwing the leading lady. And I say ‘was’ because did I mention we broke up? Yeah, last night, it was a little ugly but I’ll survive. I’m tough like that.

Right now I want to know why I woke up in the guest room and not my own bed, and there’s only one person who would know the answer to that question. Taking my own sweet time, I grab the phone and manage to dial the numbers to Lo-ho’s cell phone. She’s either somewhere in this house or she’s back at her apartment with her bartender boyfriend.

I hear the familiar chorus of ‘Under Pressure’ echo throughout the silent house and my search begins. Freddie Mercury and David Bowie are distant as I travel throughout the entire ground floor of the house and it’s when I stop at the edge of the stairs that her voice mail picks up.

“Hello, you’ve reached Lauren Walters. Sorry I can’t take your call but if you leave your name, number, and a short message, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible…” the tone sounds and I start up the stairs, my heavy breathing echoing into my phone.

“Lo-ho I swear to God if you’re in my room I’m going to go completely ape shit,” I say in a singsong voice as I reach the second floor landing. It would be just like her to take advantage of my inability to climb stairs and crash in my room. Because if I had to live in the roach infested apartment she resides in, I’d want to stay in my room too. It’s probably the fucking Taj Mahal compared to the shit hole she calls home.

I hang up the phone and call her number again, this time Freddie and David are screaming at the top of their lungs and I make my way down the hall, finally stopping at the doors that would lead me into my own room. With a final chorus of ‘Pressah!’ Mercury and Bowie finish their song and Lo-ho’s voice mail sounds again over the phone.

I don’t bother with another message. I already know she’s in my room and like I promised in my voice mail, I’m going to go ape shit. No one sleeps in my room and gets away with it. You’re either in there with me or you aren’t in there at all. Rules are rules, and besides, she knows that my Disney stash is hidden in there…last thing I need for her is to…

Oh Christ, is that ‘Once Upon a Dream’ I hear coming from my room? Fuck, fuck, fuck no she did not pull out the Disney classics while I was incapacitated downstairs. Bitch is going down.

Throwing the doors open, I rush into my room and my worst fears are proven true. There on the screen is Princess Aurora and Phillip waltzing through the forest, fuzzy cartoon animals watching with their big, brown eyes that make little children (and myself) squee in delight. If I didn’t have such a huge fucking headache I would stop to laugh at the dumb ass owl that tried to mack on Aurora but failed miserably. I really would but you see, there’s someone in my bed and she most definitely wasn’t invited to crash there.

I creep over to the side of the bed quietly and look down at her. She looks so peaceful there, sleeping like a baby as she snuggles further underneath the soft down comforter that I’m supposed to be snuggling against right now. I wouldn’t be so pissed at her if A) it wasn’t my bed she was sleeping in, B) she wasn’t watching one of my coveted Disney Movies, and C) if the entire downstairs didn’t need to be cleaned because Trace sure as hell ain’t gonna do it. 

But now the anger is replaced by giddiness as I put my face in front of hers, our noses nearly touching. Poor thing is about to get the shit scared out of her. I just hope she doesn’t get any of it on my bed because then I’ll be really mad.

“Lauren Walters,” I begin in a steady yet firm voice, “what the FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY BED?” I yell at the top of my lungs. Her eyes snap open and she shrieks when she realizes that a world famous pop star is thisclose to her face. Lauren moves forward and slams her forehead into mine, sending little white dots popping up all over the place. My head explodes due to the contact our heads made and because my headache has now reached Mach 5 proportions.

I suddenly don’t feel so well and as she’s screaming incoherent things at me and clutching the covers to her chest I’m booking it for my bathroom, hardly making it to the toilet before my stomach does a dead on imitation of Ole Faithful.

Fuck man, I hate hangovers.

***

I’m going to look over the fact that Justin almost scared the shit of me this morning. If there’s one thing you should know about me it’s that I hate being caught off guard and I hate surprises, even the good ones. My parents tried to surprise me with a puppy for Christmas back when I was about ten years old. The poor thing scared me so bad when it jumped out of its box that I screamed in its face and hid underneath the tree for half an hour until my parents were fully satisfied with recording the event on the video camera.

But we’re not going to talk about my eclectic parents, or how they’re spending this year in Africa following the mating paths of gorillas. No, we are not going there right now. All talk of my random parents aside I’m currently walking towards my car, Justin following behind me. Justin has to make his way over to the studio; Trace is still passed out on the floor so sadly he isn’t making this journey at the moment.

I guess I should point out now that there is one rule I have with Justin that he agrees with whole-heartedly. Whenever we go somewhere that requires us to commute together, I’m always the one behind the wheel. I cannot be in the same car with Justin if he’s driving, period. For one the man is an absolute crackpot when he drives and a retard to boot. He acts like he’s fucking Dale Earnhardt Junior with the way he weaves in and out of traffic and that really scares me to death.

I should also point out that aside from Neal there is one other love of my life and his name is Bentley Lexus the Fourth. He’s a huge ass hunk of metal but I love him to pieces anyway. Bentley is my car and he’s been there for me through thick and thin. If there’s a man who will always be there, it will forever be Bentley Lexus (the Fourth).

And the best thing, he’s the farthest thing from a Bentley or a Lexus. He’s an old Plymouth station wagon that drives like a tank and is virtually indestructible. Yes, Bentley is an older man but he’s more like a father figure in my life than an object of desire. He’s been there for me through so many firsts, first fender bender, first kiss in a car, first heavy make out session in the back seat (which folds down by the way)…he came with me to college and I used the enormous cargo space to pass out in when I had too much to drink at keggers. Yes, Bentley Lexus and I have been through it all and I wouldn’t trade him in for anything, no matter how much Justin bitches that his Personal Assistant and Party Planner needs a better car. Having Bentley around is the only thing I can hang over his head, because if he ever tried to steal him or do away with him I would be on his ass with a lawsuit so fast you’d think he was in a tailspin.

He complained that he didn’t want to take Bentley to the studio today, he bitched and moaned that he needed the state of the art air conditioning unit he had installed in his Escalade a month ago and not the stale component that’s been in Bentley since the caveman invented the wheel.

“Its your fault I’m like this today Lo-ho so the least you can do is let us take the Escalade,” he whines and I turn to look at him as I walk past his car and over to the plum station wagon that’s parked behind one of his garage stalls.

So apparently it’s my fault that he got piss-ass drunk last night. Classic Justin. He sees that his bitching about getting drunk isn’t working and he tries a different tactic. He’ll keep this up until he’s tucked away in Bentley Lexus the Fourth, seat belt buckled and a huge ass pout on his lips. Boo fucking hoo.

“Just get in the car, Justin. You have to go over some stuff with the executives today and you aren’t going to be late,” I state as I get into my car and turn it on. Justin stands just outside the vehicle and I know he’s debating on whether or not to say fuck it and just follow me in his car. But I know he’s in no mood to drive and I can’t help but smile smugly as he gets into the passenger seat and buckles his belt, throwing me several nasty looks as I turn the car on and turn on the radio and the familiar waves of Queen fill the interior. I hear Justin groan as the familiar chords of “I’m in Love with My Car” soar through Bentley Lexus the Fourth as we make our way out of his drive way.

Every single time I go somewhere in Bentley I play this song. Its our theme song and I don’t feel right going anywhere without playing it. Justin hates it but for some strange reason he doesn’t complain about it or make up raunchy lyrics like he’s prone to do. I silently thank the hangover.

Once the song is over we travel in silence for the most part. I have nothing to say to him and he can’t think of smart-ass comments today as he’s still recovering from what I’m sure is a huge ass hangover. Serves him right, maybe he’ll learn one day that it’s never a good idea to mix large quantities of alcohol with drugs.

I finally make it onto a heavily populated road and groan to myself when I realize that we’ve hit Sunday morning, just-got-out-church traffic. So of course it’s filled with Sunday drivers who are just out for a mid-day cruise. Those are the most dangerous types of drivers and my thoughts are confirmed as a large pick-up truck cuts in front of me.

“How ‘bout you use your blinker you fucking fucktard?” Did I mention I have an acute case of road rage?

“Language, Lo-ho…it’s not attractive to swear,” Justin mumbles from his seat and I look over long enough to see that he’s picked up interest in my brewing anger. He loves it when I get pissed at other drivers; for once I’m not pissed at him.

“You know I didn’t use to swear all the time.”

“Really? What happened?” he questions and I could swear we’ve had this conversation at least a dozen times.

“I started working for you.”

“Touché,” he mutters as I turn onto another street. I don’t need directions, I don’t need Google Maps because I drive to this studio so much I practically live there, and I’m not even the artist recording the damn album. I’m forever running back and forth for Justin. He forgot his favorite hat at his house so I have to march all the way from my apartment, to his house and finally the studio before he mentions that it’s the wrong hat and he wants the other one. I’ve spent nights in this studio, I know everyone who works there by name and could probably point out their spouses and children in crowded rooms. And I’m going to mention again that I don’t even work there.

Of course another driver uses this opportunity to cut in front of me again and I lay my hand on the horn before I pass off the one-fingered salute as I zoom past, Bentley Lexus’ engine working double time.

“God damn, good for nothing piece of fucking shit! Do I have a sign plastered on my forehead that says, ‘cut me off today?’”

“You’re very entertaining when you’re practicing road rage,” Justin states with a suppressed laugh and I find that I’m not even in the mood for his random comments let alone him trying to be a smart ass. That’s just how I get when drive and him spewing out little comments isn’t helping me.

“Shut the fuck up and let me drive,” I snap before Bentley’s interior falls deathly silent. Good, now I can concentrate about not getting cut off and he can focus on getting rid of his headache before we get to the studio. The last thing those executive producers need is to smell the after affects of alcohol on his breath and deal with his post-breakup mood that I’m sure will come out swinging full force once Justin wakes up from his alcoholic stupor.

The silence lasts a few more minutes before Justin mutters under his breath, “Turn left.”

If there’s one thing I hate more than driving with Justin it’s having him tell me how to drive.

“Dammit, Justin stop it! I know where the studio is!” I yell at him as I move into the left lane anyway seeing as the turn is coming up.

“Really? Because you just passed the turn,” he states casually as if this happens all the time. I can tell he’s thoroughly amused and him finding entertainment in this is pissing me off even more.

“Oh fuck!” I exclaim as I slam on the brakes. Bentley comes to an almost shuddering halt and I hear the blaring of a horn as the person behind me swerves out of the way to avoid rear-ending me. The car drives past and the driver yells out obscenities while Justin is overcome with peals of laughter,  “Shut the hell up you were distracting me!”

He continues to laugh as I manage to flip a bitch in the middle of the road, glad that traffic was clear on this street. The last thing I needed to improve my mood was to get pulled over. Justin would never let me live that one down.

“And I thought it was our gender who sucked at following directions,” Justin comments and I roll my eyes as I turn down a deserted road that’s lined with trees. It’s a quaint street and the studio is just beyond the small residential area that’s nestled between the commercial areas of Hollywood.

“No your gender just sucks. Period,” I shot back.

“Lo-ho, just shut the fuck up and drive,” he quips and I roll my eyes as we fall back into silence. We pull up in the parking lot and I place Bentley underneath the shade of a few trees. Justin practically flies out of the car and waltzes towards the front doors as if he owns the place.

By the time I make it inside, Justin is standing in front of the receptionist’s desk and talking on his phone, totally ignoring the fact that the woman behind the desk had probably just dropped an important call to deal with his sorry ass. I make my way past Justin and up to the woman and give him his name and the woman buzzes us through. Yes, even though I know everybody’s name (receptionist’s name is Cheryl) Justin fails to notice that there are actual human beings working in this building.

“Oh before I forget,” Cheryl says in a tiny voice. She’s a frail old lady and I always think she’ll drop dead one of these days seeing as she’s been working behind that desk since the beginning of time.

“What?” Justin snaps and I step in front of him knowing that this woman doesn’t deserve to deal with Justin’s crap this morning.

“The executives want to see both of you for the meeting. Something to do with your position, Lauren,” Cheryl explains and Justin rolls his eyes before he walks through the door, resuming the conversation on his phone.

I’m too busy jumping with joy to see that Justin is still talking on the phone. Oh My God this is it! My promotion and hiring into the label! I’ll get away from Justin and his shit and be well on my way to heading one of the biggest record labels on the planet! It is good to be Lauren Walters today! I rush past Justin in my eagerness to get to the board room, unaware that Justin is still mumbling into his cell phone and following closely behind me. I’m on cloud nine right now and that feeling continues as I march into the boardroom, Justin still on my heels.

I guess this would be a good time to mention that I wasn’t originally hired by Justin. The record label decided that Trace wasn’t dependable enough to take care of JIVE’s golden boy and so they interviewed and appointed me as Justin’s personal assistant. Of course the only thing I did for him the first month was run out and get him coffee like some college intern and he treated me like complete shit until I cornered him in the recording studio about two months into the job and chewed him out. And what did he do? He added on the whole party planning business and a shred of respect and its been that way ever since. And now I’m going to get a promotion and get far, far away from scantily clad women, excessive swearing and maybe, finally I’ll get the smell of pot out of my party clothes.

I open the door and turn around when I realize that Justin is behind me, off the phone, and grinning like an idiot. Guess he must be really glad to be rid of me because he looks like Christmas has come early. I shoot him a questioning look before I walk into the room, seven men and one woman in business casual sitting on their high end, leather back seats and looking at me with a keen interest. I feel a bit awkward but I shove it off and act like I own the room. At least I learned how to be overly confident from the best and he’s strutting right alongside me, still smiling smugly.

“Good afternoon,” I greet with an air of confidence even though I’m ready to keel over on the inside. I’ve just come to the realization that they could either promote me or fire me. And the way Justin keeps grinning like a moron, I’m beginning to think it’s the latter.

“Hello Mr. Timberlake, Miss Walters,” I almost sigh out of rejection. Whenever I’m with Justin I’m always an after thought, “How was your party last night?”

“Good! Lauren did a good job,” Justin boomed in the voice he reserves for those he wants to make an impression on. He doesn’t use that voice often. I’m also surprised seeing as Justin never compliments me or tells me I’ve done a good job on anything, and he’s still grinning like a fucking idiot. Something’s up.

“Well, we’re going to get right to the point. We’ve been watching you, Miss Walters, and we’re very pleased with how happy and healthy Justin is,” the biggest and easily the most important man in the room said, “And a happy artist means good music. While we’re sure you and Justin make a great team…”

Yeah right. I do all the work.

“…we think your talents are better suited for a position higher up in the company…”

Yes, yes, yes, yes, and more yes! I feel like kissing the man and dancing around the room with the different executives. I am getting away from Justin and I’m moving on up in the world! No more getting coffee at five in the morning, no more planning parties and buying alcohol at shady liquor stores at two in the morning! I am free as a bird! Wait until I tell Neal, he’ll be ecstatic! Oh thank you, Jesus!

But before my celebrating can really reach its peak, Justin steps forward and clears his throat, demanding attention from everyone in the room. The smile is completely gone from his face and he looks upset. Please don’t tell me he’s upset with my leaving? I almost want to tell him that he’ll never have to sit in Bentley again but before I can make any sort of statement he begins to speak.

“I think its great that you want to promote Lauren to a higher standing with the company. She works hard and probably deserves it. Unfortunately I don’t feel comfortable with her leaving my services so soon, especially since she’s so inexperienced with the world of recording labels. I’m going to have to ask that you revoke her promotion because if she leaves you are not going to have a happy artist and therefore there will be a decrease of good music…” his threat fades away and I look at him completely flabbergasted. Since when did he get the power to voice his opinions to the executives of his label? Surely they won’t listen to him, they can’t! I’m their employee and so is he and what they say goes!

The large, fat man that seems to own the room looks from Justin to me as if he’s passing judgment. I feel like I’m in purgatory and the echelon of angels is deciding on whether or not I’ll go to heaven or hell. I’m praying to God they’ll send me packing to the pearly gates because if I go back to hell I’m going to rip each of their halos off of their balding heads.

“Miss Walters will stay with you then, until you feel that she’s ready to be promoted.”

Judgment passed. I am going to murder that little prick! I open my mouth to argue but Justin’s hand has grabbed my upper arm and he begins to pull me from the room, my mouth flapping open and closed as I fight to say something intelligible.

“Thank you so much! Lauren thanks you too but she’s so happy she gets to stay, she’s speechless!”

Oh you bet I’m speechless all right but I won’t be like that once I get to Bentley. You’re in for an earful you little scrotum.

“That’s all we needed to see you for. We’re looking forward to hearing a preview of your album next week, Justin. Thank you for taking the time to see us.” They don’t even say goodbye to me as Justin drags me from the boardroom. Once we’re out of the room he lets go of me and I smack him hard on the arm before I book it for Bentley, Justin walking nonchalantly behind me. If I wasn’t so intent on making sure Justin stayed a happy artist so I could get that promotion I’d kill him.

I make it out to Bentley Lexus in record time and start the car just as Justin makes it to the door. I have half the mind to flip him the one finger salute and leave his sorry ass on the curb but his hand is on the door handle before I can speed away.

He gets in and sits down, not bothering to buckle his seatbelt. I rocket out of the parking lot, jaw set and eyes on the road. I know if I so much as look at him, I am going to explode. After a few minutes of awkward silence he lets out a pleasant sigh and leans back in his chair.

“That was a fun meeting don’t you think?”

“Justin,” I say through clenched teeth, “I am very upset with you right now and if you don’t shut up, I’m going to drive Bentley into oncoming traffic.”

“You wouldn’t do that. You love Bentley,” Justin remarks and I throw him a nasty look before I slam on my breaks due to the sudden changing of the traffic light. Justin goes flying forward, spreading his hands on the dashboard to prevent himself from crashing through the windshield. I wish he had.

“What the fuck, Lauren? You could have killed me, and then what would the world do? I can’t believe you did that! I could have died and it would have been your entire fault! You could have run that light, what the hell?” He’s whining now and completely oblivious to the fact that I’m almost in tears. I want to turn around and punch him over and over again and yell and scream but I can’t bring myself to do it. So I do the next best thing, I yell.

“Just shut the hell up Justin! I do not need your guilt breeding bull shit right now all right? Fuck!” I yell for good measure as I rest my head against the window and let out a breath of pent up tension.

I was so close to getting away from him and to have my possible dream job pulled away at the last minute hurt. A lot. He buckles his seat belt and turns to look at me but I can’t return the gesture. I’m so mad and upset that I can hardly speak.

***

So she’s mad. Okay maybe not mad. That would be an understatement. The woman is down right furious and it’s my fault. But will I apologize? No because I don’t do that whole apologizing thing. I step on someone’s toes, I say ‘excuse me’ but never ‘I’m sorry.’ I’d never stoop that low.

Hell, I don’t even think I’ll apologize to Cameron even though I know it was my fault for letting Double D Debbie hang all over me last night at the party. But whatever, she’ll be back. This might be the first time she’s told me she wants a break but she’ll be back. I mean she’s Cameron Diaz and everything but I’m Justin Timberlake for God’s sake and you don’t just tell JT that ‘you need a break.’ And its practically unheard of to break up with me. I break up with people; they don’t break up with me.

Ugh, all this thinking is making my head hurt. I turn back towards Lauren who is so tense it looks like she has an extreme case of constipation rather than playing the ‘fucking pissed’ card. Her hands are holding onto the wheel so tightly her knuckles are white and I can see the tears brimming in her eyes. Oops, apparently she really wanted that promotion. Am I really that bad? Wait, that was rhetorical, don’t answer that.

“Lo-ho?” I say quietly and she ignores me because she knows I deserve the silent treatment. But my head fucking hurts and with the traffic shaping out the way it is, it’ll be another half an hour before I can get back to my bed and shove some more aspirin down my throat. “Lo-ho,” I say a little louder. It helps when I start to whine because she can’t stand it when I start talking like I’m five years old.

“Loooo-hoooo…”

“What?” she barks and I smile to myself. Point to you, Timberlake, point to you.

“My head hurts,” I say in what I know is my most pathetic voice in the entire world. This is the voice that my mother can’t say no to and the voice that has Cameron eating out of the palm of my hand when she’s still dating me.

“Do you want a fucking prize?” she snaps, “It’s not my fault your head hurts because you inhaled every single abusive substance you could get your hands on last night.” She has a point but I’m not about to tell her she’s right. No one is right but me…and sometimes Trace, when I’m feeling generous. 

“No I just want an aspirin. And you know I wouldn’t be feeling this way if you hadn’t ordered all that alcohol and let Trace bring the blow in,” I point out and she rolls her eyes as we come to another stoplight. She knows I’m going to blame her for my own stupidity no matter how much she wants to try and block it out. When I have a problem with myself, I blame it on the nearest person. Too bad Lo-ho is almost always the nearest person.

“Justin, do you remember when I said I didn’t want to talk to you anymore? It was like, five seconds ago?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well what I said still applies. So don’t talk to me,” she says tersely and I chuckle before I pull my hat low over my eyes.

“Just take me home so I can go back to sleep,” I mutter. I always have to get the last word in. Always. She sighs loudly and turns on the radio, the familiar strands of Queen filling the car as I slowly doze away into headache free bliss.

***

Deranged Delusions

4. Oh I Just Can't Wait To Be Free

If there’s one person I can bitch and moan about Justin to for hours on end and not get a single eye roll or muttered complaint its to my best friend Melissa Moore. I’ve known Melissa since I first stumbled into our dorm room our freshman year at Stanford. We hated each other at first but about two months into our hate relationship we found we had the same weakness for Queen and other old rock bands that were in their prime way before we were even born. And our friendship grew to the point of sisterhood. We’ve been best friends ever since and we even went so far as to move in together once college was said and done. She works for an advertising agency and I; well you all know what I do for a living.

And you’d think I’d be living with Neal now, but Melissa and I still share the same apartment we bought back when we were fresh-faced college graduates. For some reason Justin thinks I’m living with Neal right now but then again the only things Justin knows about me is that I love Queen, a slight obsession with Orlando Bloom, and that he seems to be the only person aside from Trace who can piss me off in less than two minutes.

“So he basically took your promotion out from under your nose?” Melissa asks me as we carry a load of groceries into the kitchen. I nod my head and she makes a noise that makes her sound like she’ll start hissing at any moment. “That rat bastard! He knows how much you want to be apart of a record label…”

Actually he doesn’t know. He knows I want to be in the higher echelons of the label he just doesn’t know that I’d give my left arm to stop him from breathing down my neck every hour of the day. So I just nod my head again as I begin to unpack, Melissa making more guttural noises as she helps me.

“It just pisses me off that he doesn’t show any respect for me or my feelings. He treats me like shit and he takes me for granted all the time and I’m getting really sick of it!” I exclaim as I pull a crate of eggs out of one of the bags. I have half the mind to crush every single egg in there but I hold back. The last thing I want to do is go back to the market.

“Totally!” Melissa agrees.

“And he wants me to do all of his Christmas shopping! Seriously why can’t he just buy shit online or something? He just sits on his ass all day, or he can ask Trace to do it since all he does is spend Justin’s money anyway!”

“That’s bogus. Complete bull shit,” Melissa quips as she stows away the bread and some health bars.

“Sometimes the pressure and everything gets to be so much I just want to quit…”

“NO!” Melissa yelps and she drops the orange juice she’s holding. It bounces on the ground and for half a second I expect it to explode all over the Formica but thankfully it holds fast, with the exception of a huge dent on the bottom.

“Why not? I’m getting sick of his shit, I should tell him he needs to wake up and respect me or he’ll be without an assistant.”

“Well I’m sure he’ll get better, I mean if you just talk to him. He can’t be as bad as you say he is…” Melissa mutters as she picks up the carton and looks at me with big brown eyes.

Melissa has yet to meet Justin, which I guess has its pros but it definitely has its enormous cons. She thinks I over exaggerate when it comes to all the bullshit Justin makes me go through every day. Melissa still believes that the confident, sweet Justin that is shown on the television screens in interviews and award shows is the Justin I have to deal with day in and day out.  I tell her over and over again that Justin is basically the Devil Incarnate and while she’ll listen to me complain about him over and over again, she tells me to keep my job and to not throw the towel in. If I wasn’t so intent in protecting Melissa’s ego and silver lined dreams I would introduce her to Justin right away. But sometimes it’s a little endearing to hear her gush about my boss. And, in a way, it starts to make me believe that he can’t be as bad as I say he is.

“Melissa I’m really getting tired of all the stuff he’s putting me through. He’s planning another party in two nights and its going to be absolute chaos. Cameron still hasn’t forgiven him for his last screw up and I’m sure he’ll be rubbing up against every half naked female in the club he’s rented out…”

“Wait, he’s single?” Melissa asks immediately and her head whips around so quickly I’m surprised she didn’t get whiplash.

“Yeah. It’s been about a week…”

“Okay I know he doesn’t like it when you bring friends to parties…but please! Please let me go!” Melissa all but begs and I half expect her to get down on her knees and start kissing my feet.

“Mel, you don’t want to go. You know how I always come home smelling like pot and sex? It isn’t the new Liz Clairborne fragrance; it’s from running around like crazy trying to make sure everything is perfect so he doesn’t bite my head off by the end of the night. You don’t want to go, you won’t have fun.”

“Not have fun? Please girl, there’ll be celebrities and models and hot guys. Hot, single guys…” She’s putting me into a corner and I don’t like it. I really, really, really don’t want to bring Melissa along because not only will I have to make sure Justin keeps his ass out of trouble, but I’ll have to make sure he keeps his grimy paws off my best friend.

Melissa Moore is what you would call an exquisite beauty. She’s got long brown hair that is almost always done to perfection and she has these big brown eyes that are so expressive it’s a wonder she didn’t become an actress or some sultry model. But with those looks also comes her naivety. Melissa is probably the sweetest person you would ever meet and while she’s good at her job, her street smarts aren’t up to par. She sees the good in everybody, which is why she still seems to think that Justin is just a misunderstood celebrity who needs a good woman’s touch to make him behave. She loves to fix people up. Complete opposite of me, if something’s broken, why take the time to fix it? And Justin is pretty much unfixable, why try to change him?

“I’ll ask Justin but don’t get your hopes up,” I say finally relenting. I know he’ll say yes because he’ll see the reluctance on my face when I ask him about it and he’ll automatically say yes. When it comes to opposites, Justin agrees to everything that will put me in an embarrassing situation or make me even unhappier than I already am. Melissa squeals and hugs me in delight, totally forgetting that she’s holding onto a package of strawberries. The food goes flying all over the kitchen and we both erupt into peals of laughter. Leave it to Melissa to get my mind off of murdering Justin, and that’s just one of the reasons why I love her so much.

***

There’s only one set of women that I’ll date exclusively – blondes, and not just any blondes, but celebrities. Blonde celebrities are the best to date because when you hit that red carpet, all eyes are on you. You could be the ugliest motherfucker on the planet but if you go out to any public place with a big breasted, blonde haired hottie you will be the talk of the party, no fooling.

I was with Britney for almost three years before she screwed me over with that bastard, Wade and she was at the top of the industry when we were dating. And where is she now? Bringing the Country to Malibu with a deadbeat husband who can’t rap to save his life and a little baby who could have been mine if she hadn’t fucked up.

And then I bagged Hollywood’s hottest actress. I remember back when *NSYNC was in its hey day and we would play the age old game, ‘Which Celebrity Would You Date?’ of course I would always say Britney because even though she was a cheating cow, I still loved her…hell I still do. But when the guys would hassle me and tell me to pick someone other than my girlfriend I would pick two women. Janet Jackson and Cameron Diaz. Who knew that years down the road I’d expose one of them to over a billion people and I’d be dating the other one for three years. Only goes to show you that I am the shit.

Of course the whole thing with Cam is still up in the air. She hasn’t called, she hasn’t been back to the house, and quite frankly I’m scared shitless that she’s actually serious about leaving me this time. I made Trace sit through Fantasia 2000 earlier this morning and he complained the whole way through. Cameron would have loved it. She’s just a kid at heart and she loved the fact that I have an infatuation with Disney movies. And while it was entertaining to make fun of Trace as he sat through the movie, I wanted to sit there with someone who would actually appreciate the movie and not bitch about it the whole way through. I almost got so desperate as to ask Lauren to come over and watch it with me but then I realize that she has no intention of being my friend and that includes coming over to ‘hang out’ and watch Disney movies.

Tonight is another party and it’s the first time I’m stepping out into public without Cameron. People are going to be talking, rumors are going to start, but hey I don’t really care. Let them talk; it’ll get my name out there, which is a good thing since the album is dropping in the fall. I have to start whoring myself to the public and soon you won’t be able to walk five feet without hearing, seeing, or thinking the name Justin Timberlake. 

“Trace you fucker, what did you do with my hat?” I yell from my walk in closet as I fling clothes off their hangers. We’re driving out to the club in about an hour and I’m still not ready to go. I’d be closer to finishing my nightly regime if Trace would stop being such a bastard and give me back my William Rast hat.

“I don’t have it man,” Trace mutters from my bathroom. I have no idea what he’s doing in there and I don’t ask as I grab a button down shirt and hold it up against my chest. Eh, I wore that a month ago, can’t wear it tonight.

“Well then where the hell is it? I have a whole outfit planned for tonight and its centered around that hat!”

“Pick something else then,” Trace says casually and I can feel my temper wearing thin.

“But I want to wear that!” I whine and I grab a pair of jeans and quickly throw them to the ground. Nothing’s working and I’m getting antsy. This is my first night on the town as a fresh-faced bachelor and I don’t want to look like a complete tool. I have to look hot because you never know who you’ll end up screwing by the end of the night.

“Then I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t have your hat and I don’t know where it is. Call Lo-ho, maybe she knows.” Before he can even finish his sentence I’m on the phone waiting for Lauren to answer her phone. I know she’s already at the venue, trying to get everything ready for our arrival. I have complete faith that she’ll be able to pull this one off seeing as she’s done everything else on such notice.

“Lauren Walters…”

“Lo-ho! Justin here,” I say quickly as I continue to tear apart my closet.

“Hi what’s going on?”

“Is the club near a Bloomingdale’s?” I question and I can hear her exasperated sigh on the phone.

“Yes, why?”

“I need you to go pick up that camo William Rast hat for me, like now.”

“Justin I can’t leave! The caterer’s going to be here any minute and I’m not about to drop everything to go find you a hat that you already have!” she practically screeches into the phone and I can just see her stress levels rising over the phone.

“But I can’t find my hat and you know I’m not about to run into a Bloomingdale’s to get one. I would cause mass hysteria!”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” Lauren mutters under her breath and I nearly laugh at her small outburst. She’s got spunk.

“Please Lo-ho,” I whine; “You know I’d love you forever if you did this for me.” She sighs loudly and I know I’ve got her under my thumb.

“Fine. I’ll have Melissa go get it,” she mutters before she hangs up and all I have to do is get dressed and let her find me my hat. I don’t know who Melissa is, but as long as I have my hat, I’ll be just fine.

***

I guess I should also point out that I have a weak spot for dark haired women. Not enough of a weakness for me to spend the rest of my life with one, but they’re good for a night or two. I mean if you look at my career it’s easy enough to see the pattern. Some girl leaves me in the “Gone,” video, I fool around with some brunette for ‘Cry Me a River,’ ‘Rock Your Body, Like I Love You, and Senorita,’ all feature leading ladies who have that classic brunette hair and not once did you see a blonde in there. Okay, so there was the Britney-Look-A-Like, but I was making a point.

And unless a blonde totally takes my breath away tonight I’ll more than likely be chatting it up with some wise talking, smoldering brunette who can’t get enough of me. When you think about it, brunettes know how to seduce a guy. In fact, all dark haired women do. There’s something mysterious about a pretty face hiding behind a curtain of dark hair. It’s inviting and yet makes you think ‘danger!’ all at the same time. Most of the blondes I know are bright, bubbly, and highly energetic. They keep things interesting months after you met each other and they’re just so damn cheerful all the time that its hard not to be happy whenever you’re with one. Or maybe I’m reading too much into hair color, all I know is that I’m not looking for a blonde tonight although I won’t turn down any offers to dance with hot women. I’m not that crazy.

I’m still a little upset that I don’t have my hat with me but Trace and I are still sitting outside the club in my car, waiting for Lauren or whoever she mentioned on the phone to come out and give me my hat. I’m not kidding when I say I won’t go into the club without that hat on my head. Period.

“Shit man, why can’t you just go in there? You do realize you’re missing your own party, right?” Trace asks me from the passenger seat and I roll my eyes as I lean back in my seat and lean my head against the window. I’m getting real sick and tired of waiting for Lauren. I know she has to deal with all the party arrangements but what part of, ‘I need my hat,’ does she not understand?

I’m about to make a real snide remark in Trace’s direction when the door to the club opens up and someone walks out, clutching a brown bag in her well-manicured hand.

“Holy shit,” Trace whistles and I concur with a low whistle and a nod of my head as the hot little number scampers around the front of my car, the headlights showing off well toned legs that seem to go on longer than Cameron’s and a short black dress that’s probably illegal in at least forty states.

It’s totally obvious that she’s coming over to say hi to me and I roll down my window obligingly as she holds up the brown bag from Bloomingdale’s. Her dark brown eyes are alight with mirth and a hint of adventure as she pushes a tendril of brown hair behind her ear.

I do believe I’ve found my arm candy for the evening. I take the bag and open it up, inside is the hat I designed myself, sans receipt. Good old, Lauren, always comes through. The woman looks at me with a knowing glance, as if she’s known me all my life and I must say I’m kind of digging the way she’s looking at me like she can’t stand to see me fully clothed. Definitely a turn on.

“Hey there sweetie,” I coo and I can see the faint traces of blush appear on her cheeks. I hear Trace snort next to me while I lay on the charm. I use my free hand to smack him in the stomach and he mutters a few obscenities under his breath before he opens the car door and jumps out.

“Hey yourself,” the girl responds silkily. Well she certainly knows how to return the charm, and the ability to make me want to pull her in the car and screw her brains out with a single look and two words.

I can’t take it anymore and I open up the car door, the hat long forgotten in the passenger seat. She throws me a skeptical glance before she looks into the car and raises an eyebrow at the hapless cap.

“Aren’t you going to wear that? Lauren went through a lot of trouble to get it for you,” she states simply and she leans back on her heels, probably putting all hundred and twelve pounds of her on the heels of her five inch heels that add onto her probable five foot seven frame.

“Oh so you’re a friend of Lauren’s then?” I ask flashing her a toothy grin. She returns the smile and I offer my arm to her which she takes without question. I hand my keys to valet and in one smooth motion we’re walking towards the club, the flash of cameras simply dazzling. That’s right; love me and the woman that’s with me, even though I don’t know her name yet.

“Yeah, Melissa,” she states with another smile that somehow has me weak in the knees. I wasn’t kidding when I said I have a soft spot for dark haired women.

“Well Melissa,” I say, my voice growing louder as we enter the club, the music making it almost impossible for her to hear what I have to say, “How would you like to hang out with me this evening?”

“Really?” she all but squeals in my direction. If she wasn’t holding onto my arm I’d expect her to jump up and down and squeal in delight. That’s something I haven’t seen in a couple of years, at least not since the last fan encounter I had that didn’t end in hurt feelings and tears.

“Really.”

“But what about Lauren? I told her I’d hang out with her tonight,” she relents and I quickly tell myself that I’m not going to let Miss Melissa out of my sights that easily. Especially with Lauren running around and acting like the head case she usually is whenever I have parties.

“Why hang out with her? She isn’t exactly in the mood to have a good time right now,” and as if to prove my point, Lauren runs by, completely oblivious that her friend is hanging onto my every word like a lovesick puppy. She’s shouting into a phone and waving her arms frantically as if the person on the other end can’t already tell that she’s about to have a complete and total bitch fit. I know Melissa is starting to give in by the way she’s starting to sway those awe-inspiring hips to the music. It only takes a gnarled scream of frustration in Lauren’s direction to make her tighten her grip on my hand and lead me out onto the dance floor.

Worship me for the Lady Killer that I am.

***

Six in the morning and you’d expect me to be asleep, right? Wrong. I’m currently driving to Justin’s house so I can wake his sorry ass up out of bed. Like always, Trace failed to inform him that he booked some studio time for eight in the morning on today of all days and of course Trace isn’t picking up his phone right now. Figures.

So I had to pry myself away from Neal’s arms this morning, and the best sleep of my life so I can drive across Hollywood to yank a lazy pop star’s butt out of his three thousand dollar bed. Don’t you love the irony of it all?

Let’s not even talk about Melissa who pretty much ditched me at Justin’s party. I have no idea where she went and I assume she got cold feet and ran away soon after she ran out to give Justin his hat. I mean the girl was practically falling over her feet when we were leaving the house for the venue and that was hours before Justin was slated to arrive. Not that I blame her. If I put someone so high on a pedestal like that I would be nervous as hell to meet him or her. But it’s Justin and he’s the biggest ass on the face of the planet. Why would anybody want to meet him?

Oh that’s right, I should ask the million girls who want to get into his pants that very same question.

The one good thing about driving over to his house on a Saturday morning is that half of Hollywood is still in bed nursing their hangovers from the night before. So the roads are pretty much clear aside from all the tourists who are running up and down Hollywood Boulevard trying to find their favorite star on the Walk of Fame and running after the Michael Jackson impersonator. No traffic equals no road rage and I’m happy for that because I know I’ll be plenty pissed trying to drag Justin out of bed.

Ten minutes later I’m pulling up his driveway and parking Bentley behind the garage door that holds his seven motorcycles. Maybe it’s seven, I lost count after he brought home the fourth one. If he doesn’t die from alcohol poisoning then he’ll most certainly bite the dust from crashing one of his damn Harleys.

I walk into the kitchen and throw my keys on the counter. I practically live here anyway and I know the noise of my key chains clanging on the stainless steel counters isn’t going to wake anybody up in this cavernous house. I know he shares this house with Trace but seriously, its huge. You could fit an entire African village in this house and they’d still have room to fit all their livestock.

“Hello?” I call out and I’m met with silence. Of course, the fucker is still probably fast asleep in his own bed dreaming of getting back with Cameron and scheming of more ways to make my life a living hell. I don’t bother to check Trace’s room because I know he’s probably passed out on his floor. After a wild night of partying he’s never able to make it back to his bed. I have enough pictures to prove that.

I walk up the steps and head towards Justin’s master suite, pausing for a moment when I fail to hear the familiar strains of Disney music coming from his room. Usually if he comes home by himself after a long night of boozing and dancing he’ll pop in a Disney movie and zone out to all the bright colors and all that shit before he nods off to sleep. But there’s no music which can only mean one thing: he brought someone home with him.

“Oh Jesus this is going to be so awkward,” I mutter to myself as I stand outside his closed doors. I can’t even begin to count the number of times I’ve walked in on him sleeping with his arms around with Miss One Night Stand and don’t even make me start to recount the instances where I’ve had to assure Justin that the reason why Miss One Night Stand Numbers 12 through 16 had to leave was because they couldn’t stand the pressure of being with Mr. Big Shot Timberlake.

Do I stroke the ego? Yes, but can you blame me? I’d do anything to keep the infamous Timberlake Whine away from my already bleeding ears.

I give them the respect of knocking first because the last thing I want to do is walk in the Morning Fuck-a-thon as I like to call it. I did it once and I do not want to do it again. There’s not a response so I take it that they’re still sleeping. Thank God. Maybe I can wake him up and get him in the shower before I pull the girl from his bed and tell her to just go home because he won’t be calling her.

Oh God I don’t want to do this. I really don’t…and then I’m opening the door and walking inside.

“Justin?” I say quietly, my voice carrying throughout the room but it ends up being absorbed by the thick curtains that are drawn against the windows. I walk closer to the bed and notice that he’s got his arms wrapped around…

Oh holy fucking shit I do not believe this. My eyes are pretty much burning in their sockets right now because I cannot fucking believe what I’m seeing. The next thing I know I’m running around to the other side of the bed and snatching Justin by the arm.

“Ugh,” he mumbles and he grabs onto his pillow as I continue to yank and pull him out of bed. I don’t give a fuck if he’s buck naked right now I am so pissed I can’t even see straight. The nerve, the absolute nerve.

“Get the fuck out of this bed right now,” I growl and I grab onto some pajama pants that are hanging haphazardly from his nightstand drawer. Thank the good lord that Melissa is a heavier sleeper than Justin is.

He’s still in some sort of stupor but I can see that he’s just starting to realize that a very pissed off personal assistant of his is pretty much yanking his arm out of his socket.

“…the hell?” he mutters and he looks up and sees me standing over him like some psychotic bitch and he suddenly wakes the hell up. “Holy fuck, Lo-ho, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He’s grabbing wildly for the blankets so he can cover himself up but I shove the pants into his toned chest and he grabs them with his free arm as I continue to tug and pull our way towards his enormous walk in closet.

I would consider it absolutely hysterical watching him trying to dress with one arm free but I’m still seeing red. At long last I shove him into the closet and see just a peek of his bare ass before he yanks his bottoms onto his lean waist, still looking at me in bewilderment.

“You mother fucker! You piece of no good rotting shit! I cannot believe you!” I shriek. The boy is pretty much petrified because here I am, at six in the morning, yanking him out of a sleep that’s going to help him recuperate from a night of drunken debauchery, and calling him all sorts of names. But you know what? The little shit is going to get what’s coming to him and I’m glad I’m the one who gets to do it.

“What?” he mutters as he rubs his head out of confusion, “I don’t understand.”

“Oh don’t play that bullshit game with me Justin because I am so sick of it right now I could scream but I don’t want to wake up your little guest in the next room! Because guess what, she happens to be my best friend!” I hiss and for good measure I pick up a hat that’s resting on top of some jeans. I look down and see it’s the damn hat he lost last night. You know, the one he couldn’t live without and so he sent me to go pick up a new one. I yell in frustration and throw it at him with all my might. He deflects the apparel easily and I half expect him to grab me and shove me against a wall so I can get a grip on myself.

“Uh…” is all he can say. Sheer brilliance at six forty-five in the morning, ladies and gentlemen.

“Really can you stoop so low? Can you really get any lower than this? You have no idea how naïve she is. She actually thinks that you’re a good person who can do no wrong in this world and now you had to go ahead and ruin that perfect little image she has of you. And now I have to sit there and hold her at three in the morning when she comes running into my room, crying because you failed to call her back and wanted nothing from her than a piece of ass! I have to sit there and tell her the truth that she fails to hear because she believes that all Justin Timberlake is made up of is charity, charm, and selflessness. I have to tell her that you’re nothing but a selfish, egotistical, stuck up maniac who only wanted to be with her because she looks good in a little black dress and doesn’t know the strength of her own moxy if it bit her in her tight little ass.”

“Can we talk about this later…you know after I’ve had a chance to get over this hangover?”

Oh he did not just go there.

“That. Is. It.” I growl under my breath before I pick up one of his prized Air Jordans and chuck it at his head, “I’ve had it with your parties, I’ve had it with Trace, and I’ve had it with you. You can do this on your own now because I’ve had it. This is the last straw and I’m done. You can do everything your own damn self because I quit.”

Silence. Oh how I love the silence.

“What?”

“You heard me you little shit, I quit. I’m done and I’m through. Fuck you, fuck your dogs, fuck your house, your career, and your little friend Trace because I am so done with your shit it isn’t even funny. If you even think about trying to call me for something I’ll…I’ll sell out your Disney obsession to the media. Don’t think that I won’t do it, because I will. Don’t you dare try to come near me anymore because I am done. So Hasta La Vista Fucker. I’m out.”

I turn around on my heels and storm out of his closet, not even caring if he follows me. I feel like a new woman and I want to scream it from the mountaintops. I’m finally free. 

***

Deranged Delusions

5. A Topsy Turvey Exit

Would you think any less of me if I told you that the sex wasn’t that great? Okay, it was all right I guess. I mean she wasn’t exactly Alyssa Milano or anything but she was okay. Melissa’s sweet enough and she’s really easy on the eyes but would I ask for a second ‘date?’ Probably not. But right now I’m not really concerned with second dates or the awkward, “I’ll call you later,” conversation that I know will happen with Melissa and I.

Actually I’m more concerned with the nuclear warhead that’s running the path through my house, wailing at the top of her lungs about how I’m the scum of the earth and should be castrated. Really, I must be the best looking scum of the earth she’s ever had the audacity to talk down to.  But I cut her some slack, I’m too hung-over to actual refute any of her catty remarks.

“You are the biggest jerk off on the face of the planet! I can’t even stand to look at you right now and I’ve never liked you anyway. You have a huge nose and your eating habits are atrocious and all those times I said you were an okay guy and a good person was a total lie!”

Okay now she’s just trying to hurt my feelings. All those things aren’t true and she knows it. So I’m a messy eater, I’m a guy; those two things kind of go hand in hand. I try to explain this to her but she holds up a hand to stop my verbal advances.

“I don’t have to hear you explain yourself; I’m done being your little Jimmy Cricket. Because if you didn’t hear me the first time, I quit.”

“You can’t quit!” I yell back and I bring a hand up to the side of my head. Yelling hurts this early in the morning.

“I guess you have to clean out your ears because like I said all of five minutes ago, I quit. Therefore I don’t have to listen to your pretentious bullshit,” she bites back and I stop in my tracks before I roll my eyes and continue my pursuit. I have no idea why I’m chasing her; all I know is that she can’t quit because who’s going to take my stuff to the dry cleaners today? It isn’t going to be me and I can’t just wake Melissa up and ask her to take care of my shit. That would be rude, and the last time I checked, I’m not an ass to the people I sleep with.

“I need someone to take my clothes to the cleaners!” I point out desperately and she rolls her eyes before picking up some random basketball that’s sitting in the middle of my living room. Now I really have to get on Trace’s back about picking up his shit.

“Oh my God,” she yells before she turns around and looks at me. She looks bad. Her face is all splotchy and red and there’s this little vein in her forehead that looks like it’s going to start pulsating at any minute. Eww, hardly attractive at all, “Why don’t you get Trace’s ass out of bed and have him do it? Last time I checked you were the one who hired him as your assistant, not me.”

“Yeah but its Trace. He doesn’t do that girly, domestic shit. When have you ever seen him pick up around here or vacuum, or go to the grocery store?” I question and she rolls her eyes as she grips the basketball with her tiny hands tighter and tighter.

“Well its time for him to learn,” Lauren snaps and as if on cue Trace stumbles into the living room looking like the Crypts have just beaten him up. Boy looks like shit and I kind of feel sorry for him because no one should be subjected to The Wrath of Lauren at quarter to seven in the morning.

“Do you mind keeping it down to a dull roar, Lo-ho?” Trace mumbles as he rubs the sleep from his eyes, “I mean seriously, I’m running on two hours of sleep, you wanna…” and suddenly Trace becomes more awake as the basketball Lauren had been holding onto goes sailing towards his head. He ducks just in time as the ball goes sailing past him and into the wall, leaving a dent. Holy shit the girl’s got an arm.

“Jeez, what the fuck was that for?” Trace asked as he holds onto the top of his head for dear life, looking absolutely bewildered and scared out of his mind.

“You should be lucky you’ve got stubs for legs you little ass monger!” Lauren hollers as she advances on my poor best friend, “Don’t you even get me started on how you are the worst personal assistant in the whole world because I don’t have all day to sit here and spell it out for you. I’m done with both of your shit and I’m out of here.” And before I have a chance to tell her that she can’t do this and she’s overacting, she’s out the kitchen door. I hear a large crash coming from the garage and my heart leaps up into my throat as seconds later, Lauren is in Bentley and blasting some music (I can only guess it’s Queen) before she peels out of my driveway.

“What,” Trace says slowly as I start to rub my head in disbelief, “the fuck was that all about?”

“You so don’t want to know,” I mutter and I watch as Trace goes to inspect what the loud noise was in the garage. I lean against my couch and inspect the dent that Lauren made with my basketball. I hope she knows I’m going to be sending her a bill for that. Seconds later Trace comes back into the living room, white as a sheet.

“What?”

“Um…” he starts nervously, “I wouldn’t go into the garage if I were you. She kind of…well,” Trace mumbles as his eyes shift around the room.

“Spit it out,” I snap and he looks up at me with frightened eyes.

“She…uh…well she kind of knocked over one of your bikes.”

“She did WHAT?” I screech before I haul ass into the garage my heart pounding up into my throat. I swear to God I am going to hunt her down and kill her. No worse than that, I’ll key Bentley and egg the damn thing within an inch of its life. I turn on the lights and almost scream in panic when I notice my brand new, 2006, not even released into the stores, Harley bike on its side, the left side mirror bent into oblivion and scratches all over the paint.

I am going to murder her and her immediate family.

Tenderly, I pick up the bike and stroke the seat lovingly for a moment before I hear Trace yelling into his phone. It seems like he’s already called the Harley dealership to tell them about the messed up bike. I want to call Lauren up and laugh at her for calling Trace a horrible assistant! See, he’s doing something for me and he’s getting it done. Put that in your pipe and smoke it Lo-ho!

It isn’t until I’m back in the kitchen and watching Trace continue his argument that I realize he’s on the phone with his mother who is probably giving him grief about not calling her yesterday. I think it was his parents’ anniversary or something…I don’t remember. I can’t even remember what I did last night…

Oh shit. Melissa.

I leave an apologizing Trace in the kitchen and race up the stairs praying to God that she’s still asleep or oblivious to the fact that her best friend almost tore my house down out of sheer spite. How embarrassed would I feel if I had to explain that to Melissa? I don’t even want to think about it. All I want to do is curl up on my couch and drown my sorrows and hangover in the love and grace of Robin Hood.

She’s still snug as a bug in my bed and snoring lightly no less. Good lord how that woman was able to sleep through the Apocalypse is beyond me. She’s a heavier sleeper than I am and I’m the kind of person that can only be pulled out of bed by the sound of a forty piece marching band going off by my ear. Either that or a pissed off ex-personal assistant. What am I thinking? She isn’t my ex-assistant. She’ll be back before the end of this weekend. Watch.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed I watch Melissa sleep for a moment. She looks so peaceful and so well put together after such a wild night it makes me wonder if we did anything at all. Then I remember the thing she did to my ear and suddenly it all comes rushing back to me. Okay so maybe I lied. Maybe she was on the plus side of great in bed. I can’t really remember that far back.

“Hey,” she purrs and I look up to notice one of her eyes is cocked open and watching me. I smile and pat her long legs that are tucked underneath the covers.

“Morning sunshine,” I say with a huge smile plastered on my face. The whole argument with Lauren is thrown out the window when she returns my smile and that weak knee feeling is back again.

“How long have you been awake?”

Well I’ve been awake long enough to have your best friend rip me a new one and also have her practically destroy one of my most expensive modes of transportation. And this is all before my first bowl of cereal.

“A while,” I say out loud and she smiles wider as she sits up in my bed. And let me tell you, she looks good in it.

“Last night was…” she starts and my grin is somehow wider than when it started.

“…amazing,” I finish for her and she laughs.

“I was going to say mind blowing but amazing works too.” Mind blowing, really? Well a pat on the back to me then. She stretches her arms up over her head and I use her moment of relaxation to quickly steal a kiss. I don’t care that we both have morning breath because hearing the small moan in the back of her throat makes the thought of tasting hours old alcohol and random bits of finger food all worthwhile.

“Stay right there,” I say quickly and she looks at me with confused brown eyes.

“What are you...” she starts but I silence her by bringing a finger up to my lips as I walk towards the bedroom door. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to bring you breakfast,” I say boldly and her smile, if possible, grows wider as she leans against the bed frame and watches me as I pull a tank top over my bare torso. I can see the glimmer of disappointment in her eyes and I mentally pride myself in the hours I spend at the gym.

“Really? Like eggs and bacon and all that stuff?” she asks and I can hear the impressed tone in her voice. I inwardly scoff at her for even suggesting that I know how to cook. I’m twenty-four years old and I’m not Martha Stewart.

“Erm…” my voice fades away as I lean against the doorframe. If Lauren were still working for me I’d make her whip something up really quick in my kitchen, or I’d have her go out to the nearest breakfast joint to pick something up to-go. But since she quit all of ten minutes ago, I can’t exactly do that.

“Let me guess, you can fix up a mean bowl of cereal?” Melissa quips, apparently amused at my lack of cooking skills. I laugh and rub the back of my neck, something I only do when I’m embarrassed or put on the spot. When did I feel like this around any girl I brought home, let alone someone like Melissa? This girl has some kind of power over me and I don’t like it at all. If I had been feeling this ten minutes ago I would push her far, far away until she was just a memory of last week but, for some odd reason, I don’t like it when anyone, especially a woman, has that kind of mental power dangling above me. But part of me wants to try this out to see where it goes.

Besides, if you think about it, me continuing to see Melissa will piss the shit out of Lauren. And payback is a definite bitch.

“I’ll be right back,” I begin in a singsong voice and I take off for the kitchen. Trace is still bitching to his mother and I ignore him as I get together all of the things I’ll need. Bowl, check. Cereal, check. Spoon, check. Milk, check. Soon I’ve got the best bowl of Apple Jacks in the whole world sitting in front of me. I sit down at the counter to take a bite when I realize the bowl isn’t for me.

“Dammit,” I mutter to myself as I take the bowl and start back upstairs. I can hear her humming softly to herself and the sound of her enjoying her time in my room makes me smile. Its good to know that she can’t stop thinking about me. Granted she’s been running through my head ever since I remembered that the cereal was hers and hopefully she’ll be running through my mind a lot more over the next couple of minutes.

“Looks good,” Melissa explains with a smile as I walk back into the room and hand her the cereal. She takes a bite and looks up at me, her eyes filled with gratitude. “You know, I think if Lauren knew you were being this nice she’d die of shock.”

“Really, what makes you say that?” I ask knowing damn well what the answer is.

“Well, don’t tell her I told you this because I don’t want her to get into trouble with you or anything,” Melissa says in a hurried voice and I almost want to tell her that Lauren won’t have a problem with getting into trouble because she doesn’t work for me anymore, but I refrain.

“I won’t say I word,” I promise and she grins before continuing.

“Well she thinks you’re the Anti-Christ.” I snort and look at Melissa with unbelieving eyes. Really, me the Spawn of Satan? That’s cute coming from someone who uses the Lord’s name in vain whenever she can.

“And why would she think that?” Oh this should be good.

“Well…oh man I never wanted to get into this topic of conversation with you. I mean it must hurt your feelings to know that someone working so close with you thinks these things about you!” she says sympathy dripping from her voice. She’s actually really cute when she’s worried about my self-being.

“Oh don’t worry about it. Lauren never has a problem with vocalizing her thoughts. And I have to deal with people who put me down every day. You won’t hurt my feelings, promise.”

“She’s always saying how you never think of anybody but yourself and you’re forever treating her like shit and taking all the things she does for you for granted, which isn’t true because you made me this amazing breakfast,” she explains and I laugh half-heartedly because I want her to continue, “and you’re always doing things for charity. But she says that’s your public persona and your private self is a complete one eighty from what you want the public to see. Lauren says on the inside you’re probably one of the biggest assholes to ever see the sun and its your mission in life to make hers a living hell. I think she also mentioned something about you being a huge dick because you have to compensate for something…”

Well I was going to refrain from sending Lauren a bill for the wall and my bike, but now I’m going to send it out as soon as possible. Maybe I’ll even send it home with Melissa today because I’m ready to call up the little hoebag and give her a piece of my mind. I am not compensating for something and I bet you anything Melissa can confirm that. And if she can’t you can ask Cameron and Alyssa, and…well we don’t want to be here all day.

“Wow,” is all I can say and Melissa gives me a look that’s a mixture of sympathy and masked humor. You can totally tell that she’s trying not to laugh at my reaction to what she’s saying and I have to admit that look is kind of cute and endearing in an odd sort of way. And before I know what I’m doing, my mouth is open and words that I never say the morning after come pouring out of my mouth,

“What are you doing tonight?”

Stupid, Timberlake. In the unwritten laws of one night stands you are never supposed to ask the other party what they’re doing the day after you sleep with them. You’re to assume that someone will do the calling if you want to further explore the budding relationship. None of this asking on the same day business. But since when do I follow the rules?

“Uh,” her voice fades away and I find the thought of rejection something I can’t stand right now. I’ve already been flat out insulted by one of my (former) employees and to be turned down by her best friend is something that I don’t think I can stomach. I don’t do well with rejection and I really don’t want to carry this hangover into Sunday.

“Uh?” I repeat her utterance and she looks up at me with smiling brown eyes and suddenly I have a feeling that everything is going to be okay.

“How about you come over for dinner tonight? You made me this amazing breakfast, I can only return the favor,” Melissa explains with a wider smile before she places the now empty bowl onto the nightstand and wraps the covers around her svelte body. The sheets cling to her body and it takes a great deal of self-dignity to not rip the cloth from her figure.

“Sounds great,” I respond and she grins as she walks around the room and picks up her strewn articles of clothing, looking over her shoulder every so often to look at me and smile. It’s a little bit funny how she has this sort of unspoken power over me, a power that Cameron never really had. I tell you, it’s those damn brunettes. They know how to seduce a man and make him want more, because let me tell you I am wanting to do so many unspeakable things to that girl right now.

“You know where I live right?” she questions and I look at her, confused. I’ve never been to her place as I’ve only met her last night. We didn’t go back to her place and now I’m starting to get a bit nervous that I’m going over to her house for dinner. I shake my head in response and she looks at me in disbelief, “I would think you’d have been there before.”

Now why the hell would I be at Melissa’s place, unless?

Oh shit.

***

Deranged Delusions

6. The Force of a Great Typhoon

I spent the whole day not worrying about Justin and his shit. I think today has been the most relaxing day of my entire life. After rushing from Justin’s house in a fury, I drove straight to the beach and jumped into the ocean not caring that it’s the second week in December and the water is fucking freezing. I was cleansing myself of the complete crap I had to deal with for three years and now I feel reborn. I feel like I’m a part of the second coming of Jesus or something. I feel alive.

The first person I called was Neal and I thought he was going to start singing to the heavens. I guess he kept his true feelings about me working for Justin hidden for quite some time, because he went off for half an hour about how much of a jumbo douche bag was and how happy he is that I’m not working for him anymore. But needless to say he’s excited.

The good mood continues to escalate as I swerve through traffic blasting “We Are the Champions” with all of Bentley’s windows down. I’m singing with Freddie at the top of my lungs and garnering a few worried looks from fellow drivers but I don’t care at all. This is the kind of attitude that I could never have while working with Justin. I never had time for myself let alone time to feel carefree or drive around with all my windows down and act like complete fool.

I’m heading home at the moment. I promised Neal earlier that I would stop by in the morning to have an early celebration before he went to go check on one of the bars he would be servicing that night. So right now I’m going back to the apartment that I share with Melissa, hoping I can avoid the awkward conversation that I know will surface once I walk through the door and get myself settled.

She’ll want to talk about it of course. Before I started dating Neal we would always discuss our trysts with members of the opposite sex and while some of them were a little too graphic for words, we would still laugh about them in the end. But this time is different. I do not want to hear how good (or bad) Justin is in bed and I don’t want to hear about how he tossed her to the curb as soon as I left the house. I know he’ll be pissed about the bike and all and he’ll probably send me a bill but I’d love to see him try and get a cent out of me. The man has more money than Midas and he should be able to get a damn bike fixed with his own funds. And it was his fault in the first place.

I park my car in the garage below our apartment and grab my purse before heading inside. I have no idea if Melissa is home yet because her car is in the garage and I know she didn’t drive to Justin’s house last night. I guess if I hear her sobs coming from her bedroom I’ll know if she’s back or not.

Of course I hear something much worse when I walk in through the kitchen door.

“Don’t put that there,” a female voice giggles and I have the sudden urge to vomit. Why can’t I escape these two? Sitting, no wait, sprawled out on the couch are Justin and my roommate, and I can’t tell where his legs end and hers begin. They are completely conjoined together and his shirt is hanging haphazardly around his neck, Melissa struggling to yank it around his head.

This image alone is enough to make me want to seek therapy for a week but then I see Justin’s tongue poke around Melissa’s ear and that’s when my eyes bug out of my head and I take a step back so I can take refuge in the kitchen. But I don’t see the small table behind me that Melissa and I use to set our car keys on and I knock over what I’m guessing is Justin’s set of keys. They clank to the ground and I hear Melissa’s squeal of surprise followed by Justin’s groan of protest as he reluctantly yanks his half naked body off my best friend.

“Oh my,” I manage to stutter lamely before I turn tail and rush back into the kitchen. I don’t even want to think about what I just saw and I’m about five seconds away from gouging my eyes out with a fork or some other kitchen appliance. The last thing I need is to close my eyes when I’m talking to Melissa about something and picture my now ex-boss practically dry humping my roommate into oblivion.

And as if on cue, the last person I want to talk to comes sauntering into the kitchen as if crummy apartment life is all he’s ever known. He pulls his shirt over his body, shielding a toned chest and stomach from my hard gaze. If he were any other person I would probably tell him to keep the shirt off so I could keep gazing but I’m not going to stroke his ego and I’m not going to talk to him…I refuse to talk to him…

“I left my Christmas shopping list on your door,” he explains as he heads over towards the fridge. I don’t know what gave him the idea that he could eat my food and talk to me as if this morning never happened.

“Last time I checked, I don’t work for you anymore,” I say scathingly and I almost want to slam his head into the now opened refrigerator. So much for not talking to him, good job, Walters.

“Now we both know you didn’t mean that this morning, and I’m willing to overlook your little tantrum,” he explains while he pulls out a carton of my rather expensive soy milk from the fridge.

“I meant every single word, Timberlake and if you don’t get the hell out of my sight there’s going to be a repeat showing of this morning only this time, it’ll be your car I’m practically destroying…” I don’t mean that really. The whole Knocking-the-Bike-Over-Incident was a total accident that I took full satisfaction out of but he doesn’t know that, and I’m not going to tell him I didn’t do it on purpose. He chugs my milk and pulls the carton away from his lips before he looks at me and smiles.

“Lo-ho…” he starts and I can feel the infamous Justin Timberlake whine coming up to bat.

“Don’t call me that. I hate that stupid nickname and quite frankly I hate you. Now put my soy milk away before things get really nasty.” And as if to egg me on, he takes another gigantic gulp of my milk before he puts the now empty carton in the sink.

“You don’t hate me.”

“You wanna make a bet?”

“Walt, you don’t want to make me angry,” he threatens and I roll my eyes as I walk over to the sink and snatch the empty carton in my already shaking hands. I went from Queen of the World a few hours ago to Pissed off Penny and I’m about to transform into Rampaging Rita if he doesn’t get the hell out of my face.

“I’ve seen you angry, Justin and it’s nothing compared to what I will do to you if you dare raise your voice at me in my own house…”

“I wouldn’t exactly call this a house. Roach Motel, maybe. House, no.” Oh he really is an ass wipe.

“Get the hell out,” I say softly as my fingers dig into the soggy carton.
           
“Sorry, the last time I checked you didn’t invite me here. I can stay as long as I want,” Justin taunts and I swear I took a trip back to fourth grade because the schmuck actually sticks his tongue out at me before he runs a hand over his growing stubble.

“Well I don’t have to stay here and listen to your degenerate bullshit,” I state loudly before I chuck the carton at his head. He ducks and the soggy mass smacks into the wall behind him. He lets out a yelp of protest as I turn around to the small counter that doubles as a desk and grab my purse and car keys. “Hopefully you’ll have enough decency to replace my milk although I doubt it.”

After I grab my keys and purse, I turn to go and I know he isn’t going to stop me to drop on his knees to give me a thousand apologies about how he’s wrong and a bastard and he should be castrated and lynched for all the crap he’s put me through. But no, Justin Randall Timberlake goes above and beyond the call of duty of being Commander of the Assholes.
           
I’m about to open the door that will lead me to Bentley Lexus, my salvation, when his hand lands on my shoulder and wheels me around to face him. My blue-green eyes gaze into his blue ones and he gives me that smarmy grin I hate before he hands me a piece of paper.

“I swear to God if this is your Christmas list…” I start to say but he shakes his head and bites his bottom lip, which is kind of sexy…

Oh my God, Lauren. Shut the hell up.

“Nope. It’s the bill.” What the hell is he talking about? He notices my confused look and he chuckles a little bit before he leans back on his feet and clears his throat, an annoying habit that he has, which is one other thing I cannot stand about him. “You know someone has to fix that dent in my wall and the scratches on my bike.”

Oh hell to the fuck no.

I take the piece of paper from his hands and look at it for a moment. And almost instantly thirty-five hundred dollars is staring me in the face. There is no way on God’s green earth that I am paying that much money when he usually puts that much in some random stripper’s G-String. No way.

“Well, get that checkbook out!” he snaps and I shake my head as I slowly, and deliberately rip the bill in half before I let it fall to my feet. I catch a quick, satisfying look of his face, which is contorted in disbelief before I turn around and head for Bentley not really caring if the bastard eats me out of house and home or dry humps my best friend well into her golden years.

I’m still free and that’s all that matters.

***

My mom always told me that if you want something bad enough, you’d go the extra mile to get it. You know, you want that awesome car when you’re sixteen and so you’ll work your butt off at some crappy fast food place for a year until you make enough money to actually buy that car. She also told me that you wouldn’t miss something until it’s gone. I never really had the chance to miss Cameron because I smoothed over that gaping hole with a few parties and now I have Melissa to keep me company.

But right now I’m missing Lauren Walters and it absolutely kills me to admit that.

I’m not missing her in the hopeless romantic sense of ‘Oh my I can’t believe she’s gone because now that she is, I realize I’m hopelessly in love with her and I have to get her back,’ and I’m not missing her friendship because we never had that to begin with. No I’m missing her for the sole fact that she was the only person who ever got anything done around this place.

Trace is doing okay. He’s getting pretty tied up with the whole William Rast line and I’m not pushing him to help me out with my shit. If there’s one thing you don’t want to do, its piss Trace off. He might be short, but the little leprechaun can pack quite the punch when he’s on the warpath. Trace is almost as bad as Lauren, but that’s a different story.

Because of Trace’s involvement with the clothing line, he hardly had time to help me get my Christmas list together and so I had to put my dick between my legs and go ask Melissa for help.

She was more than willing to oblige and we actually got all that shit done. I had no idea what to get her so I settled for the quickest way into a woman’s heart and to a gratitude fuck – I gave her jewelry. And can I just say the sex after that really was mind blowing.

Don’t get me wrong; things with Melissa are going great! I simple adore her and think she came into my life at just the right time. Sure I was just getting over Cameron and the main reason why I hooked up with her in the first place was because I didn’t want to go home to an empty bed, but Melissa has really turned out to be a keeper. My family loves her and Trace has given his stamp of approval so I guess she’ll be in it for the long haul.

But I have a certain flaw when it comes to dating women. My mom actually pointed it out to me when things with Britney started to go down the toilet. She told me that when I get involved with someone I end up loving them too much and it suffocates them to the point where they have to back away and have their space. And that space ends up being the end of the relationship. It happened with my first love, with Britney, and I’m sure that’s what happened with Cameron too even though it seemed like she broke up with me because I was being flirtatious with some big busted bimbo at one of my parties.

No, I’m going to give Melissa her space because I kind of want this relationship to work, in some weird and uncanny sort of way. What started as a ploy to get Lauren overworked and upset actually turned out to be something positive for me, which is just strange because my genius plots always turn over in my favor. 

See how I sort of need Lauren back in my life? She makes things work and she gets them to work now instead of ‘I’ll do it after Big Brother is done.’ My schedule is shot to shit and I have no idea what I’m doing in five minutes let alone next week when I know I have studio time. I bet you Lauren still has all my appointments in her little blue date book that she keeps with her at all times.

I’d call her and ask her when my stuff is but seeing as she hasn’t even muttered a hello to me since our last run in almost two weeks ago I’d rather not. I’m at her apartment just about every week but I don’t make an attempt to talk to her and she gladly stays out of my way. I kind of miss making fun of her all the time and ganging up on her with Trace but I guess I have to accept the fact that she quit and move on.

Wait a minute, what the hell am I saying? I’m Justin Fucking Timberlake and I can get whatever the hell I want, and that includes getting an ex-assistant to come back under my jurisdiction.

I just have to formulate the proper plan and then she’ll be begging to work for me again.

“Earth to J. Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”

“Apparently not, dumbass because I would have already given you an answer,” I bite back as Trace throws a pillow in my direction. He rolls his eyes and flips me the bird as I rub my eyes and train my gaze on my vertically challenged friend. “What do you want?”

“Well what time did you have to be in the studio tomorrow?”

“Christ, Trace. I thought you were supposed to follow that stuff. You know, seeing as you are my assistant and all…”

“Sorry man, you know I’m going through that rough patch with Elisha right now,” he says apologetically and I know he’s going to start off into his bitch and moan tangent with how he doesn’t understand why Elisha doesn’t want to hold off the wedding for another year while he gets the clothing line under his belt and films a few more movies.

Yeah, okay, Trace has a fiancée and all that and that’s great but I don’t pay him as an assistant for him to talk about his relationship problems. That’s for the time I like to call ‘Best Friend Time’ and right now isn’t a good place to have that moment. I need to figure out studio time and I don’t want to call the studio because I had to call them last week for my schedule and I don’t want to sound like a complete and totally idiot. Besides, since when did the recording artists themselves start to call measly secretaries for their schedules? That’s for the assistant to take care of.

But that’s right, the one assistant who did an honest day’s work doesn’t work for me anymore and the one that does is currently trying to figure out why his betrothed doesn’t want to hold off on a year when she’s already been planning the wedding for months.

And I just used the word betrothed. Jesus, Timberlake who are you, Shakespeare?

“You do realize that Lauren would leave all her personal problems at the door when she was on the clock, right?”

“And you do realize that you’re talking about Lauren way too much for your own good,” Trace interjected and I threw him an incredulous look.

“Am not,” I fight back, “I’m just saying that you should live by her example.”

“Sure, whatever. I know I’m a better best friend than assistant but you need to get over this whole ‘Lauren Quit’ thing. She doesn’t work for you anymore, she’s done…”

“No she isn’t,” I refuse to believe that. The only reason why she quit was because she caught me in bed with her best friend and roommate, and maybe because I fucked up her whole promotion thing, but that’s it. Sure she might call me the Anti-Christ but she loved working for me, she just never wanted to admit it. But Lauren is missing it now let me assure you.

“That’s cute,” Trace coos, “You miss her.”

“I don’t miss her,” I deny, “I miss the good service I got when she was around. I don’t miss her at all.”

“Whatever J, keep telling yourself that.”

Okay fine pipsqueak, maybe I will.

***

Deranged Delusions

 7. Nobody Else But You

Not working has done wonders for me. There’s no stress, no obligation to be anywhere, no commitment – it’s pretty much the best feeling in the world and I can’t believe its taken me this long to become unemployed.

Granted I’ve been out of work for a month and a half and I’m living off of Melissa and Neal, but who cares? They aren’t complaining and neither am I. It’s good to be lazy sometimes and I never got to do that while I was working for Justin.

Neal still bartends for his parties and he gives me the full report that Justin’s reputation as the Go-to-Guy for a good bash is going down the toilet. I knew it; Trace can’t plan his way out of a paper bag so he definitely wouldn’t be able to plan a huge party. I think I squealed with delight when I heard about the failed party attempts. He’s lost without me. Hah.

I flip the channel on the television and I settle down to watch Flava of Love reruns. Yes, I love trashy reality television a bit too much for my own good but like I said earlier, I don’t care anymore. I’m taking some long overdue “Me” time and I’m going to enjoy it for as long as I can.

“Flava Flaaave!” I yell at the opening credits as I take a handful of Doritos from the bag and shove them in my mouth.

“You know he can’t hear you right?” Neal asks me from the doorway into the kitchen. I turn around and look over at him with a huge smile on my face.

The best thing about not working for Justin is that I have more time for Neal and that’s simply wonderful. Before my unemployment, I would see Neal maybe two or three times a week. I’m over at his house more and more because Melissa usually has a guest that I can’t stand sitting on my favorite spot on the couch. His visits are getting more frequent and I’ve found that I’ve practically moved in with Neal, which I’m not complaining about. We’re practically married anyway.

“Hey, how was work?” I ask as he makes his way towards the couch. A quick peck on the lips and soon the television is paused for the moment. Thank God for TiVo.

“Fine. Made some good tips and I think I’m going to put a down payment on one of the new buildings they put up in West Hollywood.” If there’s one good thing about Justin living the high celebrity life it’s that Neal gets large amounts of tips on top of his regular paycheck. The past month he’s been on the phone with various business partners about renovating old buildings and converting them into swank nightclubs. And now it looks like something is finally going to happen, which will probably get me a job.

“That’s great! Do you want something to eat or drink?” I ask as I rocket off the couch and start towards the kitchen. He shakes his head and I give him a skeptical look. “You sure? It won’t take me that long.”

“Honestly, Lor, I’m fine,” he explains with a satisfied sigh before I sit down beside him. He automatically makes a grab for my Doritos and I yank them out of his reach. No one takes my Doritos without my permission.

“So Justin’s over at your place?”

“Yeah, they’re doing some Disney marathon and the thought of listening to singing princesses and animals through the walls of my apartment isn’t too appealing right now. You can tell he’s taking it to the next level with her because he told her about the whole Disney thing,” I explain. I hope Melissa acted surprised when he told her about his obsession with Disney movies. That was the first thing I told her when I came to the realization that Justin was, and still is, a complete asshole. She thought it was the cutest thing on the entire planet and I’m sure she still feels like that. How many movies will they get through tonight? Not a lot seeing as they’ll probably become more preoccupied about…

Okay Lauren, lets not think about that. Ew.

“Wow, the Disney stuff? Who could’ve imagined Melissa and that little ass together…”

“Tell me about it. I keep wondering when he’s going to stop calling her and drop her like a bad habit. He better pray he doesn’t hurt her because I’ll kill him with my bare hands,” I explain as I grip the bag of chips tightly, crushing the food inside. Oops.

Soon, Neal and I fall into that silence that most couples find themselves in. You know, where nothing really needs to be said? I enjoy it because the ringing of my cell phone or the beeping of a pager alerting me that Justin has to get a hold of me doesn’t interrupt the silence I’m enjoying so much right now. That is, of course, until Neal opens his mouth to speak.

“Have you found a job yet?” Oh here he goes with the whole job thing. Brilliant.

“No,” I say quietly before I turn to the television and press play. One of the whorish women on the show spits in a fellow contestant’s face and I laugh to myself softly, trying to ignore the conversation that I know is going to happen.

“It’s almost been two months,” Neal points out and I almost snap at him for stating the obvious.

“Well I was working for Justin for three years, give me some time, huh?”

“I don’t think you need over one month to get over him. Its not like you were dating him or anything…”

No, thank God.

And I don’t understand why I have to get a job right away because it isn’t like I’m mooching off my boyfriend or best friend. I’m not Trace, here. I still have a ton of money left over from working for Justin and once I start to run out of money and when I’m ready, I’ll start heading out to other labels to look for jobs. Once they see that I survived three years with the Justin Timberlake, they’ll be lining up to hire me. I come highly recommended and the money will come rolling in.

I turn to get a good look at Neal. His face is a bit pale and his clothes reek of spilt alcohol and smoke. His hair is limp and his blue eyes are dull and betray his feelings of fatigue even though I know he’s trying to stay lively so he can stay up to talk with me.

“Are you feeling okay?” I ask him as I reach forward and brush a lock of hair away from his face. I can’t remember the last time Neal looked like this coming home from working a party. He looks like complete crap and I half expect him to keel over on the couch and sleep for hours.

“Yeah I feel fine,” he states with a simple shrug of his shoulders and my look is skeptical. He has to realize that I can see through his lying, macho bullshit that he likes to pull sometimes. I mean I <i>did</i> work for a guy who thinks he’s God’s gift to humanity.

“You sure? You’re looking a bit peaky. Let me go get a thermometer,” I say with concern. I don’t want him to get sick or anything because I know how much it sucks to be sick when you have to work.

“I swear I’m one hundred percent healthy. I’m just tired,” Neal explains as he grabs onto my hand and squeezes it gently. I look at him with questioning eyes and he leans forward and kisses me on the forehead. His lips are dry and I can feel heat radiating from his body.

Nice try, bucko.

“You’re warm. I’m going to make you some soup…”

“Would you just sit down and stop fawning over me like a baby!” Neal practically yells in my face and I sit back on the couch and look at him in shock.

“You don’t have to blow up at me, I’m just concerned,” I say slowly. I hate it when I get yelled at, it makes me feel like I’m not doing my job right and I’m failing miserably in everything that I do.

“I appreciate that but you have to stop treating me like a damn baby. Last time I checked I’m not Justin,” he snaps and I quickly pause the television (God forbid I miss one minute of Flava Flave) and glare at him.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He sighs dejectedly and runs his fingers through his hair. I’m still waiting for his explanation and he’s taking his time trying to find the right words that won’t make me barge for the door and spend the night in Bentley.

“Its just that,” he sighs again and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Good, he better be uncomfortable, “ever since you stopped working for Justin you’ve been a bit…left of center.”

I hate the male brain and how they have to either say everything in a jumbled mess without thinking or they have to sit there and think about every single word they have to say before it comes out of their mouth. He’s walking on ice right now and all I want to do is slam down on the surface and make it crack. Get on with it already!

“Its almost like you’re treating me like Justin but without the yelling, swearing, and death threats. And I appreciate the fact that you want to make sure I’m alright but I’m not Justin and I don’t need a handler or a keeper or anything in between. You’ll just have to trust me when I say that I’m not sick and I feel fine. Because the last time I checked, Justin was the one with the huge pig head and not me.”

I’m a little miffed that he would place himself in the same category as Justin because the two are on opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to how they act and think. I bite my lip and lean back on the couch again as I look over at Neal who’s got a sheepish grin on his face. So he’s out of the doghouse and that’s all good and well but still, I have no idea why he’s thinking I’m fawning over him all the time. I give him breathing room, I’m not over here all the time, and I definitely don’t chuck objects at his head every time he pisses me off.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you miss working for him.”

And the line has been crossed.

“Excuse me?”

“You miss working for him, admit it,” Neal says with a small laugh and I raise an eyebrow in his direction. Surely he can’t be serious.

“I miss it? Do I miss not being able to spend time with you? Do I miss being called at all hours of the night because Justin and Trace feel like drunk dialing? Do I miss Damage Control? Please that is the biggest misconception on the face of the planet. I don’t miss working for Justin,” I almost want to throw in an ‘As if’ for good measure but I stop myself. Can I help it if Clueless was on TBS earlier today?

“You might not miss those aspects but you do miss it,” he points out and I roll my eyes, “You miss being stressed out, you miss bitching about him all the time, you miss the fact that you can piss him off, you miss knowing that there is one person out there who depends on every single thing you do or say. You haven’t tried to look for work when there are at least two messages from other labels on your voicemail asking you to come down to their studios for an interview. Whether you want to admit it or not, Justin Timberlake is your baby.”

Oh God, he’s right. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I have become Justin’s surrogate mother who stops short at using a wire hanger for abuse. Neal is completely and totally right with his little monologue but I don’t let him know that. So I do what comes naturally to me, I get mad.

I chuck the Doritos at his face and I jump off the couch before I grab my jacket, purse, and keys. Neal’s laughing and telling me he’s joking and that he meant it as a joke and Justin wasn’t really my baby because he didn’t get my gorgeous genes. Well that pissed me off even more because quite frankly I do not want to think about being Justin’s mother. I feel sorry for the woman enough as it is, because you know that birth was painful as hell.

And now I’m having visuals of giving birth to a grown Justin Timberlake. Oh God, I’m going to have nightmares for weeks. I blame Neal for this; he’s going to pay for my therapist.

I throw myself into Bentley and pull out of Neal’s driveway. Of course its only after I’m safely on the freeway that I realize I can’t go back to my apartment because Melissa and Justin are probably Christening the sofa (note to self: don’t sit on the sofa without putting a towel down first) and I’m not about to turn around and go back to Neal’s place.

Looks like I’m sleeping with Bentley Lexus tonight.

***

My life is perfect.

No, it’s beyond perfect. I don’t think my life could get any better right now. I mean, I’m well off; I have a great job that lets me do basically whatever the fuck I want, my family and friends are there for me at the drop of a hat, and I have a great girlfriend who accepts me for who I am and enjoys spending time with me. What more could I possibly want?

Do you want the truth? Okay, I’m going insane.

Really, I am. If I have to listen to Trace try to memorize my schedule one more time I am going to take his date book and shove it up his lily white ass. I appreciate the fact that he’s trying hard to be a good assistant, but he blows. Really.

 I know he’s trying and all but I can’t take it anymore. Lauren was right when she said that Trace is the worst Personal Assistant in the world. Maybe not the world, but he’s pretty shitty. And knowing that he sucks at Personal Assisting makes me want to tell him he can just be my best friend and Ego Booster for the rest of his life if that means he will never try to tell me where to go ever again. He’s like my brother and all but he doesn’t need to be planning my parties or telling me what I’m supposed to be doing at six o’ clock on a Saturday night.

That’s Lauren’s job and I need her back. Now.

But I have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting her to come back and work for me. I haven’t spoken with her since Christmas and it’s almost the middle of February. Melissa says she’s still trying to decompress after working for me and I really don’t know why she has to do that. I’m not that terrible to my employees and she still hasn’t paid the bill for my motorcycle even though I already got it fixed. But the dent is still in my wall if that means anything.

“So on Valentine’s Day you want the day off so you can hang out with Melissa, right?” Trace asks me while we’re sitting on the couch. I’m playing a new video game and he’s going through his schedule book that has a billion different colored flags poking out of the top and he’s nursing a beer that I wish I could have but I’m trying to wean myself off of drinking seeing as the recording schedules are picking up. I’m spending most of April in Miami recording the album with Rick Rubin and let me tell you I’m excited beyond explanation. It’s Rick fucking Rubin man and the fact that I get to work with him is pretty much orgasmic.

“Yeah,” I say as I deliver a three pointer straight into the basket. I’m a monster on the virtual courts just like I am in real life. Worship me for I am amazing.

“And then you’re booked in the studio for the twelfth, right?”

I press pause on the game controller immediately and turn to face my best friend and crappy assistant. He’s looking at me with an expectant look on his face, as if he’s expecting me to throw him a fucking bone or something for a job well done. I raise my eyebrows, as I look at him and he checks his schedule once more.

“Fuck,” he mutters to no one in particular, “I scheduled the wrong day. You aren’t supposed to be in the studio until the fifteenth…”

Jesus Christ. Trace above all people knows how impossible it is to book studio dates. Even though I’m Justin Timberlake, the people who book the studio time don’t fuck around and they won’t listen to Trace. Trace is too new to this whole going-to-act-like-a-real-personal-assistant and the schedulers will laugh and put my requests below Jessica Simpson and, dare I think it, Britney.

Lauren already has a good standing with the studios I record in because they all rally together and talk about what a jackass I’m being. I allow it because it gets me the best recording booths and it allows Lauren to stay happy, but Trace is a loyal employee and he would never talk about me behind my back, no matter how much of an ass I’m being. And besides, Lauren would never book the wrong date in the first place.

“I’m sorry man, I’ll call them first thing in the morning,” he says apologetically and you can tell he feels really bad about this. Ever since Lauren left, Trace has been trying to prove that he can be a better assistant than the Lo-ho and he’s failing miserably. But you have to give the little guy props for busting his ass to be as good as Lauren.

He’s fighting a losing battle but I don’t have the heart to let him down like that.

“It’s okay, man. You’re trying your best and it’s cool. Don’t worry about it.” He looks over at me with baleful brown eyes and I sigh heavily before I hoist myself off the couch and make my way into the kitchen. I can’t take it anymore.

 I hop into my Escalade and soon I’m speeding the familiar trek towards their apartment. A couple of months ago I wouldn’t have dreamed of going to Lauren’s apartment and now I can’t get enough of it. There’s something <i>normal</i> about that place. The dirty dishes in the sink, the fact that every single thing about the place isn’t immaculate and cleaned to the point of sterile are all things I wish my house could be, but I know it’ll never amount to the normalcy of Melissa and Lauren’s place. They probably pay twelve hundred a month for rent and I’m holing up in a multi-million dollar mansion that only two people live in. I’ve never had an apartment before. I went straight from kid to millionaire and I’m not complaining about that. But I seemed to have skipped the whole starving artist phase.

Within the hour I’m dashing up the steps to the front door of their apartment and I’m banging on the door. The window is illuminated, indicating that someone is home at this time of night. I’m praying to God that Melissa is here and hopefully Lauren is as well, because this will make everything so much easier if I don’t have to go traipsing all over LA to try and find my ex-assistant.

The door opens and Melissa’s smiling face is staring back at me, the light from inside her apartment illuminating her beautiful visage to angelic proportions. Oh God, I am completely pussy whipped.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” she asks and she leans forward and I kiss her quickly. I have no need for foreplay and I’m not here for a quick make out session that I know will turn into a quick fuck. I need to get in and get out and hopefully not make an ass out of myself. The last thing I need is to come across as some desperate guy who needs a break. She’d totally relish in that and Justin Timberlake is not going to beg. I refuse.

“Where’s Lauren? I need to talk to her,” I blurt out and I ignore the blatant look of hurt strewn across Melissa’s face. I stalk past her and look around the living room finding no sign of Lauren. Some news show is on the television and its almost drowning out the pulsating glam rock music coming from the back of the apartment.

“She’s in her room, but there’s a jam session going on. I wouldn’t bother her unless you don’t want to have children,” Melissa points out, clearly confused as to why I’m here to see her roommate and not her. I don’t have time to explain because what I’m about to do is something that I completely and totally don’t support, and if anybody knew I was doing this, I’d probably be the laughing stock of the entire Hollywood community.

Continuing my obvious ignoring of my already huffy girlfriend, I rush towards the loud music and stop at a door that I mark as forbidden territory every time I step foot into the apartment.

I try knocking on the door but realize she can’t hear me because the music is deafening. I wonder why the neighbors above and below haven’t started to complain yet because its almost nine o’clock at night and I’m sure some people have to get up early for Church or something the next day.

I knock again and when there isn’t an answer, I open up the door and peer inside. I’ve been in this apartment so many times, but I have never tried to peek into Lauren Walter’s room. I marked that as forbidden territory the moment I stepped foot inside this residence.

A queen size bed is located between two large windows that no doubt overlook the courtyard in the center of the apartment complex. The bed is made and various throw pillows and quilts are strewn across the probably soft comforter. Her bed looks like it should be in some retirement home rather than a twenty-five year old’s bedroom but I digress.

Various posters of wild animals decorate her walls. I had no idea Lauren was a fan of the Animal Kingdom and I find it kind of comical that she has various pictures of bald eagles and foxes gracing her white wash walls. I would never expect that from prim and proper and yet crass and crude Lauren. I mean who would expect a girl who swears like a sailor to have pictures of baby bears and deer framed on her bedside table and on her desk? Certainly not me.

Her desk is strewn with newspapers and various other notebooks and novels. I spot The Davinci Code strewn across the desktop and her laptop is opened to reveal Monster.com and I pray to God she hasn’t started to post her resume online. That would be the death of me right there.

The main focus of her room is the enormous stereo that’s located just next to what I assume is the door to her closet. The stereo system is blaring what seems to be ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ and I bite my tongue to keep from laughing at the scene before me.

Lauren is in the center of her room, her curtain of dark hair strewn over her face as the guitar reaches epoch proportions. She lets out a wild rock and roll scream before throwing up the devil horns and then proceeds to run towards her bed, jumping on the granny throws and pillows, throwing inhibitions to the wind. Really, it’s the funniest fucking thing I have ever seen in my life and I have half the mind to find a camera so I can take pictures and save them for a rainy day or a good laugh but I can’t tear my eyes away. It’s like watching a fuzzy little animal getting killed and eaten on the Discovery Channel. It’s such a horrendous scene that you want to look away, but you’re just too damn curious to stop watching.

“So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye! So you think you can love me and leave me to die?!” she yells at the top of her lungs as she continues to jump on her bed like some kind of possessed teenager. This is the funniest damn thing I have seen in a long time and I’m counting the time when Trace ran buck-naked through the snow up in Utah when we went up for Sundance a few weeks ago.

The music starts to slow down and she throws her hands up in the air, waving them back and forth to the beat. Her back is to me but she’s slowly turning around, her hair finally away from her face. It’ll be just a matter of seconds until she realizes she has company and I know she isn’t going to be very happy.

Suddenly her blue-green eyes land on mine and she drops her arms to her side and the sudden frosty exterior she’s been giving me is back full force, only this time she’s even more pissed because her privacy has been invaded.

“Nice show. You know, when I start up my touring you could open for me,” I quip and I internally tell my stupid mouth to shut the hell up before Lauren becomes enraged.

“What the hell do you want?” she seethes and I can already tell that I’m going to have my work cut out for me.

“I came to talk to you,” I explain and I make a move to walk further into the room but she stops me with a single look. Damn, if looks could kill I would have been incinerated.

“There’s nothing to talk about. Get out and leave me alone,” she mutters as she quickly turns off her stereo.

“You’re being so childish. Can’t we talk like adults?” I ask and I’m astounded by my sudden turn from stubborn jackass, to diplomat.

“I’m the one who’s childish? Last time I checked you were the one with the five year old tendencies and I was the one playing mother,” Lauren explains as she picks up a piece of clothing that managed to free itself from her closet during her mini jam session. I know it’s going to be chucked at my head before the end of this conversation, soon to turn argument, and I brace myself for impact.

“Okay so I’ve always been the immature one when it comes to our talks and arguments. But I’m ready to talk to you like an adult and all that shit, so will you please listen to me?” I ask her quickly and she rolls her eyes before she throws the clothing into her closet and goes to sit on her disheveled bed.

“What?”

“Come back and work for me,” I blurt out. Its better to get things like this out in the open rather than talk around the issue for ten minutes. I don’t like awkward conversation; I’d rather get straight to the point.

“No. Out of the question,” she responds immediately and I refuse to let this go without a fight.

“Come on, Lo-ho. You know you want to,” I say in a singsong voice and I begin to start up the Timberlake-Whine. No one can resist it and even Lauren is powerless against it. She knows it’s coming so she turns her back away from me. Smart girl.

“No.”

I don’t want to do this. I really don’t want to get down on my knees and beg, but I’m tired and I want to get that studio time figured out before the label gets on my ass about not showing up to record my shit. I walk forward and face her, kneeling down so I’m staring her dead in the face and putting on what I hope is my best pleading/begging face.

“Look Lauren, I know I’ve done a lot of things in the past that you’ve hated but I know you’ve missed working for me. I know you haven’t gone out to get another job…” you don’t know that, Timberlake. For all you know she could be starting at Arista tomorrow and you’re totally wasting your time and making an ass out of yourself, “…and you haven’t done that yet because you miss working for me. You don’t have to admit that out loud but I know you have a soft spot when it comes to bossing me around and yelling at me, and throwing heavy objects at my head.”

“I’m about to throw a heavy object at your head if you don’t get the fuck out of my room,” she snarls and I can already tell that this whole thing is going down hill.

“Okay if it makes you feel any better, I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you in the past. Really sorry. I’m sorry I betrayed your trust and believe me when I say that you’re the best Personal Assistant and Party Planner I’ve ever had. Seriously the past few months have been absolute hell and everything has been shot to shit with Trace at the helm. I’m sure Neal has told you about the horrible parties that I’ve had and I know its because you aren’t there to head them up.

“And…And,” Oh God am I really going to say it? Am I really going to cross that line and go from apologizing to groveling? Her eyes are unmoving and she isn’t buying the apology. Yup, I’m going there.

“I miss you,” I manage to get out through my loss of air. The change in her face is almost immediate and I can tell that I’m just a few choice words away from getting her to come back to work for me. Justin Randall, you are a fucking God, “and it’s taken me almost two months to realize how much I’ve taken you for granted over the past few years and now that you’re gone and not helping me through all the stuff in my day to day life, I realize how lost Trace and I would be without you. You’re the best of the best, Lauren and I’m still kicking myself for being such an ass.”

Whoever said that if you compliment a girl enough she’d crumble, is a genius. I can see her reserves crack beneath her and its only a matter of seconds until she opens her mouth to say ‘Yes. I’ll come back and work for you.’

“Well,” she says slowly and I’m waiting on bated breath. She looks thoughtful for a second and then an absolutely devilish look flashes through her eyes, “I’ll think about it.”

Think about it? She’ll think about it? Really, if I had an international pop star sensation show up on my doorstep and tell me that she can’t live without my guidance and support and wants me to come back to work for her, I’d accept immediately. None of this ‘I’ll think about it,’ bullshit that she’s pulling right now.

But I have to remember that I’m going to be an adult about this and I am not going to get on her ass about it. That would not serve well for the message I’m trying to convey here and so I let it slide. I stand up from my kneeling position and I walk towards the door, knowing that Melissa was probably listening to every single word I said out in the hallway. Not like I care, it wasn’t like I professed my love for Lauren.

“Alright then. Thanks for taking the time to listen to me. I’ll let you get back to your previously scheduled jam time,” I explain before I close the door behind her and walk back into the living room. Melissa is, miraculously, sitting on the couch and watching some chick flick on Lifetime. She looks up at me as I flop down on the couch and I smile before pecking her on the forehead.

“Everything good?” she asks and I shrug.

“Don’t know yet. Hopefully everything will turn out for the best,” I explain and she nods. My stomach starts to rumble suddenly and I look from my tummy over towards Melissa with a big grin on my face, “Methinks my stomach is telling me its time for pizza, and only Pizza Hut can fulfill that craving.”

“You drive and I’ll pay?” she asks before she stands up and starts to grab her purse and jacket. I turn off the television and walk towards the door, placing a hand on her smaller back.

“How about I drive and pay?” I offer and she smiles broadly before standing on tiptoe to kiss the tip of my nose.

“Even better.” I step out of the apartment and she closes the door behind her but not before I hear the familiar guitar of “Bohemian Rhapsody” blast through the apartment.

***

Deranged Delusions

8. Be Prepared

Last night was weird. I plead temporary insanity for what I did last night because looking back on it now I would have definitely not said any of the things I did say to Lauren. I mean ‘I miss you,’ what the hell was that? Now I feel like Billy Crystal from When Harry Met Sally and yes, I will admit that I’ve seen that movie and I enjoyed it thoroughly. He was so right; guys and girls cannot just be friends. It’s impossible.

Melissa ended up coming over to my house last night and I’m glad she did because she definitely kept my mind off of Lauren’s pending decision. It isn’t until now, once I’m awake and sitting up in my bed that I start to wonder when exactly Lauren will give me an answer.

I look over at Melissa sleeping soundly next to me and I smile. I know she won’t be up for at least another two hours because, let’s face it I tired her out last night. Not many women can match the stamina of the Timbersnake.

Stretching, I leap out of bed and get dressed quickly knowing there’s a bowl of cereal downstairs with my name on it. Maybe afterwards I’ll wake up Melissa for another round of mind blowing sex since she seems to like it so much. And I’m not complaining either.

Throwing the hood of my sweatshirt over my head, I make my way out of the bedroom and into the hallway, noting the pungent smell that’s coming from the kitchen. And it smells damn good. But who the hell is in my house and cooking, and at nine thirty in the morning?

I know it isn’t Trace because he’s off at Elisha’s trying to figure out their relationship and Mom is back in Tennessee with Paul and she won’t come visit me now unless I really need her for something. That only leaves one other person.

Rounding the corner that will reveal the kitchen in all its stainless steel glory, I notice the familiar straight brown hair and t-shirt clad body standing in front of the stove, the delicious smell of bacon and eggs wafting through the steamy air. She has no clue that I’m standing a yard behind her and a huge part of me wants to scare the shit out of her but I decide that’s not the best way to alerting her of my presence.

“Morning,” she says without turning around.

“How did you know I was here?” I ask her somewhat marveled that she can sense I’m in the room.

“I could feel your ego push me against the stove as you walked in,” she quips and I lean against the counter while I press my fingers into my closed eyes. I’m not in the mood to deal with her smart-ass comments right now seeing as I have yet to have my cereal but I try to keep the smart ass retort inside. It won’t do well to piss her off right now.

“Why are you cooking in my kitchen? Don’t you have one of your own?” I ask her and she merely shrugs before she turns off the stove and brings a frying pan of delectable morning delights over towards the cabinet where I keep the plates.

She looks tired; as if she hardly got any sleep the night before and the dark circles under her eyes aren’t exactly helping her in the looks department right now. ­ I’m sure she was up late last night trying to figure out if coming back here was the best thing to do. But she’s here in my kitchen, cooking, so its safe to say that she’s made her decision. And it’s the right one.

“Well as you said a few months ago, my apartment is all sorts of shitty so I decided to come over here and give your kitchen a test spin before I left for the day,” she explains with another shrug of her shoulders. I never said anything about her apartment being shitty and I open my mouth to protest but I stop myself once again, “Well have you made your decision, Lauren?”

“Yeah. But we need to have a little chat before we get into the discussion of whether or not I’m coming back or not,” Lauren states before she walks around to the kitchen table and sits down. She motions for me to follow her but I stay where I am. The last time I checked I never worked for her, and therefore I don’t need to follow her around like some little puppy in training. Not me. I have good ears; I can listen from the kitchen.

“So, what are we talking about?” I ask her and she looks up at me and gives me that look. You know, the one that makes me feel like I’m the biggest fucking idiot on the face of the planet. I count the number of people who can make me feel inferior on one hand, and Lauren is definitely one of them. She doesn’t know this of course. If she did, I’d never hear the end of it.

“We’re talking about how if I come back to work for you, you won’t treat me like a pile of crap,” she blurts out and I roll my eyes at this statement. “I mean it, Justin,” she says, her blue-green eyes boring into mine, “I was able to put up with it for a while but not anymore. I know you have this inferiority complex where you have to prove you’re a man to Trace and your other guy friends and colleagues by making me run around like some kitchen wench but I’m putting my foot down this time.”

Whatever, I so don’t have an inferiority complex.

“Do you think I like getting calls at three on a Sunday morning because you managed to blow the fuse out and you don’t know how to set it right and I have to drag my ass out of bed and drive over here to help you? Do you think I enjoy looking after your drunk ass while making sure you don’t get every STD known to man every time you have a party? You might think I do, but I don’t, and it ends right here, right now. If you can’t make a simple little compromise and agree to treat me like a human being then we no longer have anything to say to one another.”

Well damn that was a mouthful, the poor girl is out of breath right now after her long-winded rant. What am I supposed to say to that? No? I know she loves looking after me, what woman wouldn’t? And I know that she would probably tear her hair out if she had to work anywhere else, which is why she didn’t run off to grab a new job the moment she left my house back in December. You see you can’t pull the wool over Justin Timberlake’s eyes because he will see the naked truth.

“Okay. Things will be different. Trace will be your assistant and he’ll help you with getting things organized for me and he’ll help you with parties too. I’ll be better and things will be okay…”

“Really? Because I’m having a hard time believing you,” she says with a wicked grin on her face. Oh Jesus, I know what’s coming and I don’t like it. If she’s going to make me grovel then she can just get the fuck out of my house.

The house phone starts to ring and I jump slightly before Lauren leans over and grabs the phone before I have a chance to run over and pick it up.

“Hello, Justin Timberlake’s house. Ex-Assistant speaking,” Lauren states in her most professional voice. Her smile grows wider and she looks at me with a look that I know for certain will cause a shit load of trouble. “Hello, Lynn how are you?”

Fuck it’s my mom.

“I’m doing just fine…” her voice fades as she listens to my mother on the other line. This can only lead to terrible things, “You want to talk to Justin? I’m sorry; he’s currently contracting venereal disease from at least six coked up crack whores upstairs but I can let him know you called,” she states sweetly and I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from tackling the little skank to the ground and smack her senseless. She laughs loudly and crosses her legs as she leans back in the chair, looking at me with an amused expression on her face. I am going to kill her.

“You want to know why I’m his ‘ex-assistant?’” Lauren questions, “Well its simple really. He treated me like crap so I quit…No this happened back in December I can’t believe he didn’t tell you. I guess it goes to show you that he treats his staff like objects and not actual people…” she’s twisting the knife deeper and deeper into my chest and I’m staring to panic. If I don’t do something she’s going to continue to defame my somewhat perfect image my mother holds for me and then I’ll have to explain to her how there really aren’t six crack whores sleeping in my house and I’m not going into rehab or anything like that.

“Did I tell you about the time where he and Trace called the mayor of Millington back in October and told him to shove the key to the city up his ass? They were drunk of course, but I figured you’d want to alert the mayor and let him know…” Okay now she’s just making shit up and that isn’t fair at all. I know my mom is going to call me later today and rip me a new one and I have little Miss Lauren Walters to thank for that. She’s worse than a tabloid magazine.

“Or the time where they started doing lines…”

“GOD DAMMIT LAUREN I’M FUCKING SORRY ALRIGHT?” I scream loudly before I pick up the frying pan filled with bacon and eggs and throw it up in the air. The food soars across the kitchen and splats all over the counter and walls. The frying pan clatters to the ground and Lauren jumps about fifty feet in the air before she quickly hangs up the phone. Her face is pale and I think she expects me to pound her face in, which I really feel like doing right now but I stop.

“What do you want me to do, huh? Bring you the moon to show you how sorry I am?” Do you see how I get when I don’t have my cereal? And now my last chance at a good breakfast is currently strewn across the counter and that pisses me off even more, “Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness because I’m not going to do it. I’m sorry I’ve treated you like shit and I’m sorry you had to deal with all the stuff I’ve put you through. I wish you could just accept my apology and trust me when I say that things will be different from now on because they will be. Okay, I’m sorry.”

“Justin I…” but I don’t even hear her. I’m too busy drowning in my own rage and embarrassment to even notice that my tirade has woken Melissa up and she’s currently standing behind me and listening to this entire early morning confession.

“When you aren’t here things just don’t flow and you know I need that consistency in my life when it comes to my job. Trace tries his best, but he isn’t you. You watch out for me, you have my back better than any of my other friends do and sometimes that even includes Tray. You make sure I eat after a long ass day at the studio when I forget that I haven’t eaten for an entire day and you make sure I get to all of my scheduled appointments on time even when I’m acting like a complete ass about waking up and getting ready. I hate feeling so fucking lost and I hate the fact that I get this sickening feeling whenever I realize that I don’t have you to depend on to get me home safe and to help me make my living. I hate how much I need you...”

I stop abruptly when I realize that I’m about to delve into thoughts that I don’t even visit on a daily basis. Dammit and there goes the inferiority complex shining out for everyone to see. I never meant for that to pop out in the open and now she must think I am a complete pussy who can’t even wipe his own ass without someone to help him. Great job Justin, great job.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, her eyes looking at the table instead of up at me. I hear a slight clearing of a throat behind me and I turn to see Melissa standing behind me. Jesus Christ, did she hear me too? Great, so not only did my screaming wake her up, but she also heard about how much of a pussy I am. Once again, this day is not your day. “I’ll come back.”

Of course she will. If she thought she was going to walk away after I almost dumped my heart out on the kitchen counter she has another thing coming. I nod slightly and turn around to grab a rag to clean up the kitchen but Lauren stops me.

“You go out and have breakfast with Mel. I’ll clean this up and call your mom,” Lauren adds quietly before she ushers Melissa and I from the kitchen. We’re standing in the foyer now; Lauren is back in the kitchen no doubt cleaning and talking to mom at the same time.

“That was…interesting,” Melissa mutters to herself and I sling an arm around her shoulder before I lead her upstairs so she can get changed.

“Never a dull moment around here,” I add and she nods in agreement.

***

The past two weeks have been somewhat close to a dream. After Justin had his little hissy fit and bore his soul, things around the Timberlake domain have definitely been looking up. For one, all the work isn’t thrown on me. Trace is now actually doing work, and with me watching him like a hawk every second of the day he’s actually gotten better at this whole Personal Assistant business. And I get time to spend with Neal and our relationship is better than ever. I’m getting a steady paycheck, he’s starting to work on his new club and our relationship is progressing towards those four simple words that I’ve been waiting to hear since we first starting dating. I know it’s a matter of time until I hear the ‘Will You Marry Me,’ speech and I’m hoping its tonight.

Today is my third year anniversary of being with Neal and we’re spending it at home. He’s cooking a zesty dinner for us and then we’re settling down with a few of our favorite movies before we move on to more exciting entertainment. But you don’t want to know about that, do you?

Thankfully, Justin gave me the night off and he’s spending the evening with Melissa, or something to that extent. I try not to pry too much into his relationships even though he happens to be with one of my best friends. She didn’t say too much to me this morning before she stepped out for work and I wonder if everything is going all right in the Melissa Moore Department.

The past few weeks she’s been very distant and almost cold towards me and Neal and I have no idea why. She’s not acting like her usual outgoing self and right now its worrying me to no end. I really don’t know why she can’t talk to me about it seeing as I go to her with every little problem in my life. But she does have Justin now so I’m sure he gets to hear all of the amazing things that happen in Melissa’s every day life. Note the extreme sarcasm, please.

Not that Melissa’s every day life isn’t interesting. It’s just that sometimes I get bored with her repeat stories of the one guy at work who won’t stop undressing her with his eyes, and how she found the cutest size two skirt at Nordstrom’s that she just had to have. And don’t get me started on her relationship talks. I really don’t want to hear about Justin and how amazing the sex is, or ‘mind-blowing’ as she likes to say, but I never pause to listen to the rest of that statement because I don’t want to hear about that. Really, it’s like hearing my parents talk about how I was conceived in a Tibetan forest back in the beginning of the eighties. Just, no.

“Sweetie, are you paying attention?”

“Hmm?” I mumble as I look up at Neal before he takes a seat next to me on the couch. He drapes an arm around my shoulder and I lean into his warm body, reveling in his smell.

“What movie do you want to watch?” he asks and I point to one of two DVDs he has sitting on the coffee table. He grins at me and proceeds to load the movie before he settles back on the couch to watch the movie.

We don’t even make it to the menu of the movie before we’re practically having sex on his couch. I’m sorry, I’ve wanted to do this since this morning and we can watch a movie any old time. But having anniversary sex is much, much more important.

“I love you,” he murmurs in between kisses and I quickly bury my hands into his hair as he begins to kiss my neck, his hands furiously trying to unbutton my shirt. I move one hand onto his back and grab onto his shirt, trying my best to unclothe him with one hand. It isn’t working too well and I’m brimming over the edge of the pot of sexual anticipation but his damn shirt just won’t come off.

“I love you too. Now shut up,” I mutter back and he laughs, his breath hot against my now moist skin. The feeling sends shivers down my spine and I can revel in this feeling for forever because its pure heaven. Together, we peal his shirt off and we’re now focused on removing the rest of our clothing.

We’re this close to reaching total and complete satisfaction when my phone starts to ring. There’s nothing like hearing Freddie Mercury and David Bowie screaming at you about pressure to turn off your sex drive and I’m currently thrown into park.

“Don’t answer it,” Neal mutters as he begins to kiss my neck again and I’m ready to agree with him but the curiosity is too great. I lean over Neal and grab for my phone, realizing it’s not a phone call but a page.

“…the hell?” I whisper. I never get pages unless it’s from…

“I swear to God if it’s Justin…” Neal begins and I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to know what Neal will do when he realizes that it is, in fact, the Justin Timberlake.

I flip open my phone and am greeted with a blaring message, 911! Emergency! I need you now!!! My head falls down onto Neal’s naked torso and he picks up my head by placing a hand underneath my chin. I groan and look up at him with sad eyes. I hate doing this, especially to him, but Justin never sends messages like this and I know it has to be a matter of life and death. After all, I told him if he disrupted my night I would castrate him and feed his testicles to his dogs while he watched.

“Lauren…”            

“I have to go,” I say quickly and I pull myself off of my rather irate boyfriend and pull on my bra and shirt. He’s sitting up on the couch and rubbing his face with shaking hands and I know I need to get out of here before he explodes. “You know he wouldn’t send something like this unless he really needs me,” I explain to him in a quiet voice and he sighs.

“But I need you right now. Surely I’m more important?”

“Of course you are. But he could be hurt…”

“So let him call 911. This is our anniversary,” I can hear the disappointment in his voice and my heart begins to break. I hate doing this to him, especially on a night like this where it was only supposed to be the two of us. The last time I checked, Neal wasn’t a fan of threesomes involving my boss.

“But it’s Justin. He wouldn’t know how to dial 911 if he had Trace to spell it out for him,” I explain trying to make a weak attempt at a joke. He isn’t laughing and I frown before I walk over to the couch and kiss him on the lips. When he’s about to pull me back down onto the couch, I pull back.

“I love you so much. I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise,” I whisper to him just as Justin sends another page. I groan loudly as I make my way out to Bentley Lexus, hoping Justin is about twenty minutes away from death. Because if he isn’t…I’ll gladly assist him.

***

His house is dark which makes my nerves jump. I tried calling him on his cell phone and his house while I drove over but he didn’t even pick up. I phoned Trace but he’s currently somewhere in Toronto with Elisha while she’s filming some new movie that is supposedly supposed to launch her career. He said as far as he knew Justin hadn’t called him and it was the first he heard about any sort of emergency.

I park Bentley behind one of his garage doors and I quickly race to the front door, praying to God I’m not too late to save Justin from a horrible fate, whatever it may be. The fact that hardly any of his lights are on and he’s still sending pages is only increasing my initial worry for my boss and I’m still praying to God that everything is okay.

Every single scenario is running through my head. There’s a burglar in the house and I’m the only one Justin’s been given to contact, or there’s some kind of fire and he’s trapped. Or something fell on him and he’s currently pinned underneath something. He might have been screaming for hours for someone to save him before he got the bright of idea of using his cell phone. Justin’s slow like that.

I unlock the front door and step inside, noticing how quiet the place is. The only sound I can hear is some Donny Hathaway over the speakers piped through his house and other than that, there’s silence.

“Justin?” I yell out, “Are you okay? Where are you?” I pause to listen for a faint voice but I’m startled when I hear his loud voice boom from the kitchen.

“Come here, quick!” he yells and suddenly I’m booking it towards the kitchen. Maybe he tripped and landed on a knife while he was cooking or he got his hand caught in the garbage disposal or something of equal catastrophic proportions. You can imagine my surprise when I dash into the kitchen and see Justin standing by the island, perfectly healthy and happy, looking at me with a huge grin on his face.

“Are you okay?” I ask out of breath and he nods quickly before he ignites a match and lights three candles sitting on the counter. “I came over as soon as I got your pages. Are you hurt?”

“Nah,” he says with a simple shrug, “I just had to get your opinion on something.”

I don’t hear the last bit of his statement because I’m still too much in shock. He isn’t bleeding to death, he isn’t being held hostage, and he isn’t dead. I’m so overcome with relief I want to hug him because I honestly and truly did think something horrible happened to him.

“Melissa’s going to be here in about five minutes and I can’t decide on which candles to light. Do you think the lavender is better than the vanilla and freesia?” he asks me and I look at him with a blank expression on my face.

“Huh?”

“You’re a chick. Which scent turns you on more?” he asks with a wolfish grin and I can feel the relief of him being all right begin to slide. Now I just want to shove one of those candles up his ass.

“Justin,” I start slowly as I begin to count to ten inside my head, “You mean to tell me that your huge emergency is you don’t know which candle to light so you can turn on your girlfriend?”

“Yeah. Did you think it was serious, because you do realize I’d call 911 before you, right?”

I don’t even give him an answer before I turn around and start to walk out of his house. I am so mad I can’t even see straight. I completely and blatantly ignore his cries for me to come back so he can explain to me what he really wants but I’m already out the door.

He’s standing on his front stoop, holding onto one of those stupid candles as I peel out of his driveway. I don’t dare go back to Neal’s place because I know he’s probably pissed off and he’ll be even madder when I come back home and say it’s a false alarm. I made such a big deal out of it I’ll more than likely have to make something up to keep the patronizing glares off my back every time I go over.

I’m not going over to my apartment because it’s slowly yet surely reminding me of Justin seeing as he’s there every other day and I don’t want to chance a run in with Melissa because she’ll want me to explain everything. So I do the only thing I can do, I drive.

I mainly stick to the residential streets because I don’t trust my anger enough to actually go on a freeway. The last thing I need is to get pried out of Bentley with the Jaws of Life or kill some other poor unsuspecting family. In all actuality, I’m still in a state of shock over what has just happened.

I fell into a false sense of security in thinking that Justin had honestly changed for the better. The past two weeks that I’ve gone back to work for him were an absolute Godsend. He was polite, considerate about my time off, and he told Trace that he was supposed to help me and make sure I wasn’t overly stressed out by anything. For the first time, I was able to take time for myself and not have to look over my shoulder every second to make sure Justin wasn’t getting into any trouble or a few seconds away from dying.

And poor Neal. He doesn’t deserve this right now. I skipped out on him to check on my boss and now he’s probably mad at me. No, I know he’s mad at me and he has every reason to be upset. I ruined our anniversary, not Justin. If anything he could have called me to ask but I guess I had to physically be in the room to get the full effect of the trio of candles and their scent. I could have ignored his call and gone straight to the anniversary sex that was ruined by the ringing of my damn cell phone. For the first time I damn Freddie Mercury and David Bowie’s existence and turn onto the freeway. My anger’s finally subsided enough for me to actually go somewhere other than Hollywood Suburbia and I know exactly where to go.

Almost an hour later, I’m walking down Santa Monica Pier, taking in the sights and trying my best not to indulge myself on cotton candy or churros or anything that will more than likely make me experience more guilt that I’m already feeling right now. Teenagers are running around, lovers are walking hand in hand to enjoy the sights and sounds of one of California’s famous boardwalks and here I am alone, on the one night that was supposed to be perfect for me. I am so stupid.

I lean against the railing and look over into the depths of the ocean. The waves are crashing on the shore and the smell is bittersweet enough to calm me down so I can try and get my wits about me. I’ll have to apologize to Neal sooner rather than later and I’ll have to go yell at Justin and probably quit again. I know there’s going to be a huge fight once I go back to work for him tomorrow or whenever he calls and I hope he can realize I’ll need some space before he starts to order me around to do things for him.

But my main priority right now is Neal and I have to make amends with him before it’s too late. It probably won’t be tonight, but tomorrow I will definitely make it up to him. I screwed up, I can admit that and hopefully he can see that I didn’t mean any harm. I mean I was really and truly worried that something terrible had happened to Justin. My intentions were innocent. It wasn’t like I was rushing off to be with him on the night of our anniversary.

A gust of wind blows my hair back and I rest my head against the railing as I take a few deep breaths. I should start heading back as it’s almost midnight and I don’t feel like getting assaulted.

I’m walking down the large wooden pier when my phone begins to ring. Thinking its Neal, I pick it up without checking Caller ID and press it to my ear.

“Hello?” I cry desperately and my hopeful mood is destroyed when I hear his heavy breathing on the other line.

“Lauren,” I stop walking when I hear his voice. It sounds so lost, so confused and I instantly know that something is wrong, I don’t need a ‘911 Emergency’ page to know that. But I’m not going to let him know that I’m worried about him. He needs to know that I’m pissed and I’m not going to be heading back to his place for a little dilemma like candles or lighting.

“What do you want?” I ask icily and I hear a shaky sigh on his end of the line. Has he been <i>crying</i>? It sure as hell sounds like it and I hear him whimper before he takes a deep breath.

“Can you come over? I…I need to talk with someone right now,” he whispers and he sounds so broken and so…helpless that I can slowly feel my anger towards him falter.

“Can’t you just talk to me on the phone? I’m kind of busy right now,” I lie. I don’t want him to know that I’m just standing in the middle of Santa Monica Pier, getting strange looks from some pretty burly looking guys. I walk faster towards my car, hoping I don’t have to bust out the Mace or gouge some eyes out with Bentley’s keys.

“I…I just need to talk to someone,” he repeats and I can tell he isn’t listening to me, “Please,” he begs, “Before I do something stupid.”

Now he’s just sounding suicidal and that in itself scares the shit out of me. I never did well with people talking about taking their own life or threatening to do stupid things and it is definitely something I don’t take lightly. If he’s talking about doing something stupid when he isn’t under the supervision of another person, well then, I better get over there quickly.

“Sit tight. I’ll be there within an hour. Just sit down on the couch, stay away from razors, guns, heavy machinery, and any alcoholic substance and I’ll be right there,” I say quickly before I hang up the phone and rush off towards Bentley. No good can come of this, none.

***

His house is dark again and now my nerves are at an all time high. For some reason I know he isn’t inside trying to light candles or set up mood music to entertain Melissa. No, there is a sad and hurt individual inside that house and apparently I’m the only person who can set things right. I don’t know why he isn’t talking to Melissa about whatever it is he’s upset about and he could just call Trace but seeing as he’s about a thousand miles away it wouldn’t be the same as talking to someone face to face.

Turning off Bentley, I rush towards his front door and let myself in. There’s no mood music this time and the house is eerily silent. I’m afraid something terrible has happened while I was driving like a bat out of hell to his house and those feelings are warranting true when he doesn’t answer my first round of calls. 

“Justin?” I try again as I walk towards the living room. I told him to sit on the couch and stay put until I got there but when I see that he isn’t there, my heart leaps into my throat, “Justin come out, this isn’t funny.”

I hear floorboards creak behind me and I turn around quickly to see Justin leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed against his chest and looking down at the floor, his eyes listless and dull. I take a tentative step towards him and he looks up at me with a heartbroken look.

“Are you okay?” I ask him and he shakes his head before he closes the distance between us in four easy steps. Next thing I know, he’s hugging onto me so tightly I can feel the breath leave my body for a split second. He’s got such a secure hold on me that I can hardly move within his grasp and it takes a few seconds for me to realize that he’s on the borderline of sobbing.

What the hell?

“It’s okay,” I say awkwardly as I try to pry an arm loose so I can pat him on the shoulder. He isn’t letting up and so I gently push myself away before he reaches out for my arm and holds onto it. Apparently he needs human contact right now and I don’t argue about it as I lead him over towards his couch and sit down with him, his hand still wrapped around my upper arm. 

“You aren’t hurt, are you?” I ask him and he shakes his head before he rubs his face with his free hand, looking dejected and upset. Good God, did someone die?

“She’s gone,” he states simply before he falls back onto the cushions of the couch and sighs heavily, “She’s gone.” Now he’s being a little drama queen and I’m quickly becoming annoyed with his murmurs and desperate attention.

“Get a grip on yourself and tell me what happened,” I say firmly and he looks at me with tear filled eyes before he takes a few deep breaths to control his emotions.

“Melissa, we broke up.”

I try not to laugh out loud at his sudden confession and I quickly turn my head and cough despite the fact that I think he knows I’m trying not to laugh in his face. He’s getting all this worked up over a girl? The whole theatrics of crying and acting like his world is ending really had me going there for a second and I continue to hold back my laughter.

“It isn’t funny,” he says coldly and his hand lets go of my arm as I lean back on my side of the couch and look at him.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting all upset over Melissa breaking up with you?” I ask him and he shakes his head.

“I knew you wouldn’t understand. I should have called Trace…”

“Why so you can sit here for two hours and talk trash about my best friend and the rest of the female species?” He opens his mouth to argue what I have to say but he stops and lets go of my arm before he reaches out for a pillow and draws it to his chest. At least I managed to stop his pitiful crying. Of course I probably pissed him off but I don’t care. I don’t do well with people spewing all their feelings out at me and I would rather have him berate me about it instead of having him cry.

“I gave her every bit of me for the past three months and this happens,” Justin mutters while I roll my eyes. He’s really laying the dramatics out thick and I want nothing more than to smack him across the face and tell him to get a grip on himself.

“So move on,” I state with a shrug and he looks at me incredulously.

“It isn’t that simple. I think you forget what its like to feel like you’ve found everything in a single person and then have it yanked away from you without warning.” He’s right. I don’t know what it feels like because I’ve been in a high profile relationship for the past three years. A relationship, I might add, I’m not celebrating right now. “And you should know that I don’t take rejection very well.”

And he’s off again; the tears falling slowly down his face. I have a feeling Melissa isn’t taking this breakup as hard as her now ex-boyfriend is and truth be told I’m a little freaked out that Justin is acting this way. The only other times I’ve seen him cry are when he’s watching Disney movies and even then I think he’s overreacting. But he doesn’t lie when he says he doesn’t take rejection very well. At least he’s telling the truth in that retrospect.

“How could she do this to me? Doesn’t she realize that she’s my whole world? I mean I thought things were going so well…”

“Maybe things were going well for you, but not for her…” Jesus, the last time I checked I wasn’t getting paid for therapy and it seems like I’m on the fast track of becoming Justin’s personal shrink. I can’t even deal with my own mind, how am I supposed to deal with one as crazy as his?

“We were happy. And she pushed me away…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake Justin!” I snap as I pull the pillow away from his chest. He’s starting to cry again but thankfully my small outburst stops his tears, “Would you get a damn grip on yourself and take this like a man?” Speechless. The silence is deafening and I realize that I finally have the chance to speak and tell him what’s on my mind for the first time in a long time. Thank God.

“You did this to yourself. You can sit there and cry and blame Melissa for your misery but really you destroyed this relationship. And I can make that assessment because I’ve watched several of your so called ‘high profile relationships’ crash and burn and each one has ended with you blaming the other party. You aren’t afraid of rejection at all. Last time I checked you had no problem getting the brush from some slutty dancer at a club because there’ll always be another one right behind her to spread her legs so you can get your fun. But woe betides the girl who manages to capture your heart and break it within the span of more than a month…” I can tell my words are affecting him because he’s looking down at his lap and gripping onto his knee with his left hand. I have a feeling that he’ll explode at any moment but I don’t care right now. I’ve wanted to say this for a while because it’s the same vicious cycle every time Justin goes through a breakup. He cries about it for a little bit, writes songs about how the girl was a two-timing no good cheater who broke his heart and ran away with his dignity and self worth, and then he parties it up and tries to sleep with as many girls as he can. He did it with Cameron and I have a sinking feeling that the same cycle will continue in a few days. Great.

 “You aren’t afraid of rejection at all,” I explain to him soundly as I get up out of my seat and start to pace around his living room. “You are absolutely petrified that you’re going to wake up and see the girl lying next to you and realize that you’ve succeeded in procuring a healthy and mature relationship. You’ve done it with all your other girlfriends so why should Melissa be any different? Oh that’s right, you told her about the Disney obsession and you take the time to consider what fragrance turns her on, and that requires her to become your entire world. No wonder why she broke things off with you. The way you’ve been going on, you sound like some psychotic, lovesick man who can’t get enough of the girl he’s seeing. You need to come to your senses and realize that maybe your significant other doesn’t want to be the center of your world; she has her own to deal with and you just happen to be a big part of it.”

“You don’t leave much room for sympathy, do you?” he asks dryly and I shake my head before I shrug my shoulders and lean against the cabinet that houses his huge television and various game consoles. When it comes to talking some sense into Justin Timberlake, you need to be very blunt and straight to the point with things. Otherwise, he won’t listen to a damn thing you have to say. “I thought I could talk to you like I could talk to Trace. You know, a friend…”

“Please,” I start with as scoff, “Trace may sit there and sympathize with you but most of the time he blows smoke up your ass and tells you that everything is going to be okay and you’ll get over it with time and the right amount of booze and girls. That’s one friend you can have and then there’s the other one, the one I’m being right now…” What the hell am I saying? Being a friend to Justin? Last time I checked a friend wouldn’t call another out of their three-year anniversary but I guess Justin and I have different definitions of the word ‘friend.’

“And what kind of friend is that?”

“The kind that will tell it to you like it is and forget the rose colored bullshit. This is real life; the honest to goodness, kick-you-on-your-ass stuff that you need to deal with head on instead of running away from like a little girl. Be a man and deal with the issue at hand. She dumped you, and while your ego suffered a devastating blow I have no doubt that it will make a miraculous recover.”

“Okay I get the message, you don’t have to be a smart ass about it,” he says holding his hands up in defeat. I want to sit down in shock because for the first time he’s actually listening to what I have to say. Good God hell must have frozen over.

“Glad we could have this chat,” I say with a roll of my eyes before I walk over towards the front door of his house. I dig into my back pocket for Bentley’s keys and it isn’t until I stop at the foyer to unlock the door that I realize Justin has followed me.

I turn around to face him and he stares at me with this look on his face that I can’t read at all. His hands are shoved down the front of his pockets and he’s biting his lower lip, something I find extremely sexy, but only when Neal does it…

Oh God, Neal. In my blunt ramblings at Justin I completely forgot that I’ve left Neal at home for a grand total of four, almost five, hours. So much for being right back. He’s going to kill me; I wouldn’t be surprised if I get the silent treatment for a couple of days. And Justin is still staring at me. Do I have something in my teeth?

“What?” I bark at him as I jingle Bentley’s keys in my hand. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me as if he’s just remembered something by looking at my rather pissed off and annoyed face. I don’t know why he won’t stop looking at me and why he won’t freaking say anything but I’m getting upset. If he continues to stare at me I’m just going to turn around and leave.

“Thanks for checking up on me,” he says quietly before he looks down at his feet. Did Justin Randall Timberlake, Asshole of the Year, just thank me? He shuffles forward a few feet and opens the door for me, his eyes still holding their gaze on the marble floor. “And sorry for spoiling your night.”

“Yeah, well…” my voice fades. I’ve had dreams about this moment, when he apologizes and thanks me for all my hard work. Usually it ends with me doing a dance around him and yelling at the top of my lungs while I call him all sorts of names and laugh insanely before I jump into Bentley Lexus and speed off into the sky a la John Travolta and Olivia Newton John in Grease. It doesn’t end with me standing on the front stoop of his house at a complete loss of words.

“If you want I can call Neal and explain what happened,” he added with a sniff. I look up to see if he’s crying about having to explain to another person that he was in the wrong but soon I realize that looking at him was a big mistake.

His eyes are two big pools of … I don’t know how to quite explain what they look like but I can slowly feel myself starting to forgive him for all the problems he’s caused tonight. I soon find myself saying, “You don’t have to do that,” while my brain is screaming at my mouth to say ‘Yes! You call him up right now and tell him that you were being a conceited asshole and wanted to ruin your Personal Assistant’s night but she ended up saving your ass and talked some sense into you!’

“Well...uh, drive home safe,” he offers lamely and if I wasn’t so intent on being upset with him, I’d find his small, timid voice kind of cute seeing as it’s a rather foreign side to the Justin Timberlake I’m used to seeing. I nod in agreement and the next thing I know he’s awkwardly putting his arms around my waist and pulling me into a gauche hug. I find that the only thing I can do is stand there as he hugs me goodbye and I start to get lost in the smell of peppermint, aftershave, and…

You. Have. A. Boyfriend. This. Is. Your. Lame. Ass. Boss. Now who’s the one who needs a grip on themselves? I push myself away from him and hold onto Bentley’s keys tighter before I turn around and practically bolt for my vehicle. And as I’m driving away there’s one simple phrase running through my head:

What the fuck was that?

***

Deranged Delusions

9. Justin and the Beast

“Trace, did you call the caterer?”

“Huh?” he asks absentmindedly as he looks up from the teetering tower of champagne flutes that mark the grand entrance of the club. I roll my eyes and grab him by the hem of his pants. He’s currently standing on a chair, trying to complete the pyramid of flutes and he yells in protest as the tower wobbles dangerously.

“Dammit, Walters! Be careful…it’s taken me all afternoon to get this pyramid set up and you almost ruined it!” Trace snarls at me as he steps off of the chair and looks up at his masterpiece. Over three hundred glasses make up the pyramid that Trace has been calling his ‘Masterpiece,’ and I have the huge urge to run into the base of his so called ‘Masterpiece’ and ruin the whole thing.

Yes, Justin told me that Trace was going to help me with planning his parties and the whole Personal Assistant thing but I never realized how much of a pain in the butt Trace is when I’m trying to plan a party for over three hundred people and he isn’t doing the work I require him to do.

Like the caterer business. He was supposed to have called them a few hours ago but I know for a fact he was busy working on the damn pyramid that I know Justin will hate the moment he walks into the club so he can inspect the place before the party begins.

To be completely honest, I liked it more when I was the one and only party planner.

“Did you call the caterer?” I repeat and he grabs his cell phone before dialing the number I gave him at eight o’ clock this morning when I pulled his lazy butt out of bed. Rolling my eyes I walk back towards the bar where Neal is cleaning some of the beer mugs. He smiles at me and I smile back before I sit down on one of the stools and lean over the bar.

“Hey,” he says and he leans over towards me, our lips meeting momentarily before he goes back to cleaning up the bar area. Unbeknownst to me, Justin called Neal the morning after he ruined our anniversary and explained everything to him. Surprisingly, Neal believed him and forgave me and our relationship is still escalating to heavenly proportions. I’ve never been happier and I know nothing can mess us up. Not even Trace and his horrible planning skills.

“He is driving me crazy. I know Justin is trying to be nice with the whole getting me help…”

“Well we all know that you need a lot of extra help,” Neal jokes and I playfully punch him in the shoulder as he laughs and puts away some more glasses. Glad to know that in my time of need, he can pull out his dry sense of humor.

“Lo-ho!” Trace yelps from the far end of the club. I roll my eyes at Neal and he chuckles at my misfortune before I turn around and look over at the demonic hobbit who still has his phone pressed against his ear.

“What?”

“Do you have the credit card you used to book these guys? They need the number again.”

“I thought you got it from Justin this morning!” I yell back at him as I make my way over towards Trace who has quickly realized that he made a grave mistake this morning. I already know he’s forgotten and the worst thing is, I don’t have the card either. Wonderful. Just the thing that I need at a time like this.

I don’t even know why Justin is having this party in the first place. It’s been a week since he and Melissa called it quits and I truly believed that he took my advice at not doing the routine Have-A-Party-And-Find-A-Rebound-Girl shtick, but once Trace got home, he started planning a big bash at Hyde Lounge. So much for listening to the so called friend who doesn’t bullshit people.

“I thought you got it,” he said to me and I fight the urge to scream in frustration. Trace is going to be the death of me, I already know. Either that or I’m going to kill him by the end of tonight. I’m leaning towards the latter.

“Problem?” a new voice says behind me and I turn around to see Justin standing by the pyramid of glasses, a look of disdain on his face. Ha! I knew the Pyramid of Glasses was a bad idea. Take that Trace!

“Lauren forgot to get your credit card this morning,” Trace says quickly before I have a chance to blame him. I shoot him a death glare while Justin calmly fishes out his wallet and hands Trace the card. He smiles his gratitude and turns around to deal with the caterer. Feeling overwhelmed, I sit down at one of the booths and rest my head in my hands.

“You okay?” Justin asks me and I can feel him slide into the seat across from me, “You look a bit frazzled.”

“If you don’t keep me away from him you’ll be out of a best friend by the end of the night,” I mutter into the table and Justin laughs before I put my head up to look at him. He’s smiling and watching Trace with that look people get when they’re watching someone they respect and love in that platonic sort of way.

“Maybe that can be the main source of entertainment for the evening,” Justin says and I raise my eyebrow at him. Is he nuts?

“Make sure you put your money on me because he wouldn’t stand a chance,” I explain and Justin’s grin grows wider before he beckons Trace over with a loud whistle and a rude gesture.

“What, man?” Trace asks as he snaps his cell phone shut.

“Lauren is taking the night off. This is all you tonight,” Justin announces and both Trace’s mouths and mine drop open in shock.

“What?” we both sputter out at the same time and Justin holds up his hands as if to block the onslaught of protests from Trace and the questioning of his sanity from me.

“Trace get rid of that heinous pyramid. This isn’t a wedding for Chrissake. Lauren, just take it easy tonight. Go spend some time with Neal, have a few drinks, watch Trace crash and burn,” he laughs, muttering the last part to me seeing as Trace is too busy yelling and swearing at Justin to hear.

Is he serious right now? He’s actually leaving this party in Trace’s hands? Justin is right, I’m going to enjoy watching Trace crash and burn and run himself ragged while making sure this party goes according to plan.

Revenge sure is sweet.

***

This party is pretty much the best one I’ve ever had.

I’ve got to hand it to Trace and Lauren; they really outdid themselves this time. Trace especially. Once he got rid of that damn pyramid, the party really started to pick up. For one, I don’t have to entertain just one person in particular. Everyone is at my beck and call and I love that feeling. I don’t have to stand there and attend to just one person like I was prone to do when I had a girlfriend.

Nope, it’s all about having a good time and dancing with as many women as I can. The Boob Count is up to about nine, which is an all time new record, and I really need to give Neal a raise seeing as he’s keeping everyone buzzed and happy. Thank God for dependable bartenders and their liquor.

As of right now, I’m dancing with some girl named Rebecca who’s a killer dancer but she can’t hold a conversation worth a damn. It’s kind of sad really because she’s really pretty and on the borderline of drunk and totally plastered. I haven’t seen her tits yet but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before the guest count rises by two.

Trace has yet to sit down and take a load off. I think he’s so intent on showing Lauren up as Party Planner that his little mind has gone into overtime. The poor dude has been running himself into the ground and I almost fear for his health.

Almost.

Speaking of Party Planner, I haven’t seen Lauren all night and I wonder if she decided to call it a night and head in early. I have no clue seeing as she’s been AWOL the entire evening and I haven’t exactly gone out of my way to see if she’s alright and having a good time. She’s probably holed up in some little corner, laughing her ass off at Trace as he runs around like a chicken with his head cut off. I smile at the thought and continue to dance with Rebecca and…

There goes the guest count. But it’s only going up one and a half this time around. And there is no way those are real. Not by a long shot. My compliments to the plastic surgeon…

“You’re a skanky ass whore! And yeah…you smell too!” a voice screeches over the music causing Rebecca to stop dancing and notice that one of her girls has decided to come out to party. She looks over at me to make sure I didn’t catch a glimpse at one of her naughty pillows but I’m too busy watching the scene playing out by the restrooms.

A willowy brunette is stumbling around near the bathrooms, a drink slopping hap hazardously in her hands while she’s slurring angry insults at a couple of scantily clad females who are all checking their makeup in portable mirrors and smoking what’s probably their fifth cigarette of the night.

She finishes the last of her drink and lets the glass fall to the ground with a crash. Thankfully the music is loud enough to mask the noise and the woman’s yells from the rest of the party. I wonder why Trace hasn’t had her removed yet…

“Turn down that racket…” she yelps towards the DJ who is totally oblivious to the fact that one of his listeners is having a problem with his song choice. Everyone else is ignoring her, clearly embarrassed for her and knowing that she won’t remember any of this when she wakes up the next morning. I wonder if I ever acted like that at any party that I can remember and I pray to God that I didn’t. Where the hell is Trace?

“She’s having a rough night,” Rebecca whispers silkily to me and I nod my head absentmindedly while the woman continues to stumble around by the bathrooms. She trips and clings onto one of the daughters of a JIVE executive for balance. The woman says something inaudible and attempts to make a swing at the girl who can’t be older than twenty. Her timing is off and she completely misses the girl causing her to fall to the floor in a heap, swearing and throwing menacing glares at anyone who looks at her.

I take that as my cue to go make sure this woman doesn’t hurt herself or anybody else for that matter. I leave a huffy Rebecca and make my way over to the woman before I realize that she’s slightly familiar. Granted the huge black circles of mascara and eyeliner outlining her eyes mask her face. Her brown hair is in disarray, sticking up in every direction and insanely tangled. It isn’t until I notice her state of dress, a pencil skirt and white blouse that I realize she isn’t here for the party…

“Lauren?” she clumsily hoists herself to her feet and looks up at me with an ominous defiance before she pushes me in the chest, hard.

“What the fuck do you want you little prick?” she snarls before she tries to brush a hand through her hair. Her hand misses her head and she starts to paw the air next to her head, as if stroking an invisible head. This situation would be hilarious if she wasn’t such an aggressive drunk. 

“I want to make sure you’re okay,” I yell over the blaring music.

“Of course I’m o-fucking-kay,” she exalts before she tries to spin in time to the music. She almost goes down again and I catch her before she has a chance to land on her ass. “I’m having the time of my fucking life!”

“Good to know,” I state calmly as she steadies herself on her own two feet. I notice that she’s lost one of her pumps and she’s standing lopsided with one shoe on and one off. She reeks of alcohol and I wonder why Neal let her have so much to drink tonight. That’s when I see that her left hand is grasping a half empty bottle of rum. Not only is she drunk, she’s stealing alcohol from the bar.

“Did you see the rainbows?” she asks me and I look at her confused before she lifts up her hand that’s holding onto the bottle of rum. She brings it to her lips and takes a swig, the amber liquid flowing steadily into her mouth. She stops drinking long enough to look at me and laugh, “The rainbows were reading! They were the Reading Rainbow!” she cackles loudly, throwing her head back before bringing the bottle back up to her mouth.

Reaching forward, I attempt to take the bottle out of her grasp. Lauren realizes her good times are in jeopardy and she steps back quickly and looks at me with a scandalized look. “Bastard! It’s mine!” And I watch in slow motion, as she lifts up her free hand and tries to smack me across the face. I grab onto her wrist and push her against the wall, pinning her arm up over her head. Her other arm, the one with the rum firmly attached to it, is still free and she reaches over to smack me upside the head with the bottle of rum but I grab that arm too, the bottle falling to the floor with a loud crash.

“You killed it! You stupid, no good piece of shit! You killed it!” she howls and she starts to thrash against my hold but I hold tight. She’s way in over her head and if I don’t calm her down she’s going to hurt herself, me, or someone else in this club. God, why did she have to be an aggressive drunk?

“Shut up, Lauren!” I bark and my voice manages to reach through her drunken haze. She pauses for a split second, looking at me intently before she clumsily brings her head towards mine. And before I know what’s happening, her mouth is on mine in a very sloppy and alcohol driven kiss.

I’m completely overwhelmed by the smell of alcohol that is creeping its way into my brain and taking a hold of my senses. The rum on her breath is mixing with the gin and tonic that’s lodged in my own mouth and the mixture is enough to make me tear my mouth away and start to gag, but for some odd reason my mouth stays planted on hers.

This is definitely the worst kiss I have ever had in my life. And I’m counting the first one I ever had with Britney when we both had no idea what we were doing. I think I could do better making out with Helen Keller than Lauren Walters because half the time she’s kissing around my lips rather than hitting her intended mark. I let go of her left hand and bring my hand up to her face so I can protect myself from drowning in the slobber she’s madly producing. Grabbing onto the side of her face, I hold it steady as she deepens the kiss and her free hand is doing…God I don’t know because my eyes are closed. I don’t know why I’m enjoying this because it has to be the worst kiss I have ever experienced, but I don’t know, blame it on the buzz.

She opens her mouth and soon the pungent smell of rum is inside my mouth and I’m sure she tastes the smell of gin in hers because I’m exploring every single nook and cranny of her rather large mouth. No wonder why she screams so loud…the sound has to echo inside the damn cavern she calls her mouth. And then there’s the foreign burning sensation that is attacking my tongue, and it hurts. A lot.

“Ow!” I yell and I pull away, ignoring her cries of protest. I bring a free hand up to my mouth and press my tongue against the palm. I swear when I see a line of blood mixed with saliva. She bit my tongue. But does she care? No, she’s breathing hard and laughing exuberantly as if she’s just won the Academy Award for Best Drunken Make Out.

But her mood changes in an instant and she reaches forward and smacks me on the side of the head, not helping the throbbing of my tongue or the fact that I’m getting a standard size headache from my alcoholic buzz.

“Stupid ass prick,” she spits, “I’m outta here. Peace out bitch,” she adds before she stumbles away, leaving me in a complete stupor. The music is still pounding and it seems that no one saw that nasty public display of disaffection.

Except for one person.

“You no good motherfucker!” a voice yells behind me and soon I’m being pinned up against the wall by a rampaging Neal Feat. Shit, this is not good.

“Lay off man, what’s wrong?” I manage to gasp out seeing as I just had the wind knocked out of me.

“You let her have the night off so you can get her drunk and fuck with her mind? What the hell is your deal? Why do you have to take away the one thing I love the most?”

“She’s drunk! She kissed me! She…”

“There you go again, always blaming her for your own damn problems! But I’m done with this shit. Find someone else to feed your legions of Hollywood hookers and druggies because I refuse to work for you anymore. And you can tell Lauren that she can go fuck off because I’m done with her. And I’m done playing second fiddle to you.”

“What?” I ask incredulously but before I can ask him what the fuck he’s talking about, his fist firmly makes contact with my left eye. All I can feel is pain as I crumple to the ground, Neal muttering obscenities under his breath and massaging his hand. I’m going to get the biggest black eye on the planet no thanks to that jerk off and all because he let his girlfriend run off with a bottle of rum and get plastered.

“What the fuck are you doing on the ground?” she’s back and I look up at her with my right eye, seeing as my left is swelling to the size of a small tennis ball. Her hair is still sticking up and her lips are swollen from no doubt kissing me. She obviously didn’t run into Neal because she’s stumbling around like nothing’s happened and I know she’ll be in for a rude wake up call when she tries to talk to Neal tomorrow. I almost feel sorry for her, but seeing as its her fault I’m going to have a black eye, I’d rather see her get chewed out by her now ex-boyfriend.

“What are you doing?” I ask her as I get to my feet. She grins at me and punches me before she swears again and stumbles. I catch her yet again and when I realize that trying to help her got me into this mess, I quickly let go. Lauren holds up a ring of keys and laughs.

“I’m going home. This party sucks,” she adds before she saunters off towards the exit. She’s trying her best to walk in a straight line but it isn’t working and that little knot of premonition and bad feelings has found its way into my stomach as she yells at a dancing couple to get a room.

She’s in no state to drive anywhere right now and I know for a fact she’s going to get into Bentley and try to drive home for some sleep. I can’t let her do that. I don’t want to get the call tomorrow morning explaining that Lauren is either dead, or in the hospital because she was driving under the influence.

I race after her, my center of balance completely thrown off due to the fact that I’m racing through a crowded club with only one eye open. I catch up to Lauren rather quickly and snatch the keys out of her hand.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asks me and I half expect her to punch me in the other eye.

“I’m driving you home,” I state before I grab onto her arm and start to lead her away from the club and towards the parking garage.

“I don’t need your help! Fuck off!”

“Shut up, Lauren,” I say as I roll my eyes. She listens to me as we continue to walk towards Bentley Lexus. I’m hit with a jolt of realization that this will be the first time I have ever sat behind the seat of Lauren’s car, something that would never happen if she were sober. I would use my car, but seeing as how Trace and I drove here together I can’t take it away and leave him stranded.

And then there’s the question of where to take Lauren. Back to Neal’s is out of the question because I’m afraid the coward will smother her while she’s sleeping. I don’t want to take her back to her apartment because I would rather not see Melissa right now. That leaves only one place and I’m very, very skeptical about taking her back to my place.

But what other choice do I have?

She gets into the car without protest and soon I’m cautiously driving through the LA streets at three o’ clock in the morning. Lauren is quiet most of the ride home and I know she’s going to crash soon. The aggression she was showcasing back at the party is quickly dissipating and she’s now a helpless form of a human being, slumped forward in the passenger seat, mumbling incoherently to herself.

I finally pull Bentley into my driveway after what seems to be an eternity of driving empty freeways and side streets. Walking around to the other side of the car, I open the door and step back as Lauren leans out and throws up all over the driveway.

Lovely. Thank God she didn’t do it all over me. That would be the cherry on top of the sundae that made up this fantastic evening.

“I don’t feel good,” she mutters and I grab her arm and pull her out of the car gently, getting her past the throw up without incident. She can hardly stand on her own and I groan inwardly before I pick her up and start to carry her towards my house. I feel like a newlywed, carrying his bride into their honeymoon suite, except this is the farthest thing from marriage or honeymooning I can imagine.

Yeah, carrying my drunken Personal Assistant into my house is definitely the way I envisioned spending the rest of my evening. We make it into the house and I start my way towards the stairs trying hard not to grunt under the weight I’m carrying. She definitely isn’t light, especially when she’s just a bulk of dead weight.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles into my shoulder as I carry her up the stairs towards the guest room. I can feel my shirt absorb what I hope is tears and not drool from her face and I want nothing more than to drop her on the ground and go tend to my own problems. I have a tongue that’s still numb and probably still bleeding from earlier tonight, a shiner, and a killer headache that are ailing me right now and yet I’m still taking care of the person who caused all of these problems.

Tell me, what is wrong with this picture?

We finally make it to the guest bedroom and I put Lauren down on the small armchair in the corner of the room while I go get her bed ready. Pulling back the covers I can hear her crying in her chair and I look over my shoulder to see her wiping away the tears falling down her face, smearing her black eye makeup even more.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters again and the helplessness in her voice is enough to make me drop what I’m doing to go comfort her. I have never heard anyone sound so lost in my life and somehow I think that isn’t the alcohol in her system talking. “I’m sorry.” She says again.

“Don’t be sorry,” I say loudly before I walk over to her. I peel off her other shoe and disappear into my bedroom to grab her some sleep clothes. There is no way in hell I’m going to undress her and change her like a damn baby and I know when she wakes up in her right mind she’s going to want to know how she got from her evening clothes into mine. And that is a conversation I want to avoid at all costs.

I hand her the clothes wordlessly and she looks at them with a puzzled expression. I motion to her clothes and she gives me another blank stare and soon I’m hoisting pajama bottoms over her skirt, praying to God I don’t get a peep show. She won’t stop crying and the smell of alcohol is quickly soaking up the clean air in the guest room, which is making me nauseous. 

Yanking the shirt over her already clothed torso, I grab her arm and lead her towards the waiting bed and she’s still apologizing. About what, I have no clue but she won’t quit and I’m on the fast track of yelling at her to shut the hell up.

Finally she gets situated in the bed and I clumsily yank the covers up to her chin, her blue eyes glazed over with the all to familiar stupor that comes with obscene drunkenness. I know she isn’t going to remember this. She won’t remember how she got here, she won’t remember me driving her car, she won’t remember Neal breaking up with her, she won’t remember the kiss and for some odd reason that last bit bugs me more than anything.

Because I remember it and every time I look at her, I’ll remember how she bit my tongue, which still hurts by the way, and the way her cheek was so smooth against the palm of my hand…

“Thank you,” she mutters against the pillow, pulling me out of my rather disturbing thoughts, “You didn’t have to do this…” and as soon as the last word is out of her mouth, she’s dead asleep, snuggled up with the covers and a troubled yet peaceful smile passing over her features.

Turning around, I head towards my own room wondering how such a disastrous night could turn into something okay.

I’m putting my money on seeing one of Rebecca’s tits.

***

Deranged Delusions

10. A Single Life For Me

The first and only time I’ve ever woken up drunk was a few years ago, the morning after Tammy Lou Barker’s graduation party. I was eighteen years old and living in a small town where the legal driving age is younger than Sean Preston. So of course the only plausible thing to do the moment after you graduate is to get shit face drunk. After that terrible ordeal, I promised myself that I wasn’t going to drink to the point of alcohol poisoning and I kept that promise.

Until last night.

The hardest part about waking up drunk is that you can feel the hangover coming but it won’t hit you until at least three hours later when you’re wide awake and feeling like nothing could go wrong. The cottonmouth will come, just like the wooziness and the ear splitting headache will soon follow. All you want to do is take a couple handfuls of ibproferen and hide away in your room until the terrible feeling subsides.

Too bad I’m in a room that I have no recollection of getting in and I’m wearing men’s clothes over the ones I wore to the party. Not a good sign, especially since the last time I checked, Neal hated the Lakers and here I am wearing an enormous jersey.

Its times like these where I hate the fact that I’m a lightweight.

Really, I can’t hold my liquor at all. The last few things I remembered from last night was having Neal give me a few glasses of rum and coke and before I knew it I was grabbing the entire bottle of rum and heading off for the women’s restroom. After that, everything got hazy and yeah, I don’t remember jack shit about how I got in this bed. But it does look familiar.

Getting out of bed, I almost fall over because my sense of balance is so off. Giggling, I reach out and grab the bedside table for support noting the clock set on the top. It’s almost two o’clock in the afternoon. I do believe this is the latest I’ve ever slept in my entire life.

A noise from the doorway and I look up just in time to see Justin standing in the doorway with a passive look on his face. Until he sees me in the middle of his guest room. He turns around so quickly it looks like he’s going to fall on his ass.

“Uhh…” he mutters under his breath and I stumble back to the bed and sit down, trying to stop the world from spinning out of control. “Morning?” he offers and I look up to see that he’s leaning against the doorframe. Looking at him, I notice the huge bruise surrounding his eye. Looks like I wasn’t the only one who had a rough night last night.

“What happened to you?” I question and he flinches before gingerly touching the tender area around his eye.

“N-nothing. Long story.” He’s hiding something, and I hate it when people aren’t being truthful.

“And what am I doing here?”

“Well you were drunk last night, going to drive, and I took you here,” he explains as he tentatively takes a step inside my room. Justin is very apprehensive about something and it’s really killing my slowly fading buzz. And then it hits me and the buzz is close to being nonexistent. I hope he didn’t do what I think he did…

“Wait, you drove? Where’s Bentley?” I get up quickly from the bed and stumble over to the window that overlooks Justin’s driveway. Pulling back the curtains, I peek outside and see my precious car parked in front of his garage with a huge scratch on his plum hood.

“I’m sorry…I really didn’t have a choi-“

“You drove my car?” I ask absolutely flabbergasted.

“Like I said…”

“You drove him?” I move away from the window and rush past Justin, not stopping to listen to his lame ass excuses. I have to get to my car and get out of this house before I give Justin another black eye. You see, there are two lines Justin Randall Timberlake is not allowed to cross. One is to never lay a hand on me that instigates non-platonic contact and the second is to never ever, under any circumstance, is to drive Bentley Lexus. Period. The man is literally hell on wheels and the thought of him driving my baby is enough to make me throw up.

“Lauren!”

“Shut up!” I slur back as I race through his kitchen. I spot my keys on the counter and I snatch them up. I don’t want to listen to his explanations; I don’t want to know how I got haphazardly dressed in boxers and a Lakers jersey over my skirt and blouse. All I want is to get out of this house and see Neal. Knowing that he’ll be there at home for me will make everything better. He always manages to make everything better. He always manages to make everything all right when I’m seriously pissed at my boss.

“Lauren, where are you going?” I’m outside, blinking back the bright sunlight and trying to not yell in pain as the gravel from Justin’s unpaved driveway bites into my bare feet.

“Away form you,” I snarl and he looks hurt for a split second but I’m too busy rubbing my hands over Bentley’s enormous scratch to give a damn.

“You’re still drunk. You can’t drive…”

“Watch me,” I snap while I yank open the car door and throw myself inside.

“Lauren you shouldn’t go see him…” he says softly and I stop my frantic starting of the car to get a good look at him. His face is ashen and the bags under his eyes are enormous. Of course his crowning glory is the huge shiner on his eye. Purples, blues, greens, and a bit of red and yellow are all blended together on his face. Whoever hit him must have been really hit him hard.

“I can go see whoever I damn well please. Don’t come near me and don’t call me.” The car starts and I peel out of his driveway, not caring that I take out half of his outdoor lighting in the process with Bentley’s frantically spinning wheels.

***

It’s times like these that I’m exceedingly happy to see Neal’s house. For a Sunday morning, his street is pretty quiet and very peaceful. I’m guessing the families are all out doing the church thing or some late afternoon meal and here I am parked outside trying my best to freshen up.

It really isn’t going to work very well seeing as I don’t have any shoes, my clothes are wrinkled, my hair is a mess, and the hangover kicked in about twenty minutes ago. Getting out of Bentley, I walk up the path to Neal’s front door and let myself in.

For some odd reason all the blinds are drawn and the house is deathly silent. I know Neal likes to sleep in on days after Justin has parties but he’s never done the whole anti-sunlight a la Dracula routine before.

“Neal?” No answer.

“Neal?” I try again and I hear a slight groan coming from the living room. Heading in that direction, I see a bulky form sprawled out on the couch. “Neal are you alright?” I ask him but he holds up a hand and pulls himself up into a sitting position to face me. His face is taunt and no nonsense and I have a feeling that something absolutely terrible happened to make him look and act this way.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he grumbles and I take a step away from the sofa. It looks like he didn’t sleep at all last night and the look of utmost betrayal and pain slapped across his face is pretty much giving me the huge red flag that something is so not right in the world of Neal Feat.

“Seriously, what the hell are you doing here?” he asks again his blue eyes now emoting a slew of questions. What the hell is he talking about?

“Neal I came to see you…”

“I thought I told him to tell you that I never want to see you again,” he growls and I already know who he’s talking about but I decide to humor him.

“Who?”

“Oh don’t give me that ‘who,’ business. Justin. You were there, you know what you did so you don’t have to play stupid, Lauren.” Of course I’m thrown into complete confusion because I have no idea…he doesn’t want to see…what?

“I don’t understand…”

“Cut the shit Lauren. You two were all over each other last night; you’d have to be blind to not see it. I just can’t believe it took me this long to see that you were cheating on me with that bastard…”

“What the hell are you going on about, Neal? I never touched him! I would never touch him; you’re the only one for me!”

“I don’t need to hear this and you and I both know that we’ve been avoiding this conversation for a long time. I haven’t been in a relationship with you at all. It’s always been Neal the Third Wheel. Our relationship, it isn’t real. It never was…”

“How could you say that? After all we’ve been through…” I ask trying my best to wrap my head around what Neal is talking about.

“Look at all the times we’ve been able to be together over the past three years. Every time it’s because Justin has given his approval for you to take time off or you decided you had enough of his shit and left him. Hell, he’s the reason we became a couple and he’s the reason why we’re done. Tell me which one of us seemed more like a chore than a relationship, and if you dare say Justin ‘s the chore then you’re nothing but a damn liar.”

“You have to believe me Neal, I love you. I didn’t touch him last night,” I whimper completely beside myself with what’s going on. Is this really happening? Did I really get out of bed today to get myself dumped for something I didn’t do?

“Oh right,” Neal starts sarcastically, “which was why Justin took you back to his place and fu…” I don’t want to hear the rest of what I know will become absolutely hurtful words so I interject as quickly as possible.

“I was drunk! I had no idea what I was doing last night. If anything he saved my life.”

“So he’s Mother Theresa now because he kept you from splattering your brains out all over the highway. Christ, Lauren you are so screwed up, maybe if you could adapt…”

And it’s at that point that I’m done with playing stupid. I don’t want to listen to what he has to say anymore so I decide to get mad. Being mad leads to me yelling my head off at him and then maybe we could just make up and forget that this argument ever happened. If I stay mad I can cover up the fact that he’s breaking my heart…

“Adapt? Adapt? The last time I checked our relationship isn’t the fucking Discovery Channel, Neal,” I screech, “Can’t we just talk about this?”

“We’ve spent the three years talking about this relationship and I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” he counters and I know that he’s done arguing with me.

“Neal,” I plead.”

“Lauren.”

“You know I would never intentionally hurt you. I love you, I want to make this work.” He laughs, that huge cynical laugh that no one wants to be on the receiving end of. I give that laugh to Justin at least three times a week and the look on his face always makes me feel better about myself. But listening to his laugh and knowing that what I said caused him to laugh in my face isn’t making me feel better.

“You don’t love me. You love the idea of me. You love the idea that at the end of the day I’ll be here to remind you that there are people out there who aren’t complete jackasses like he is. You say you can’t stand him when he’s all that you can stomach. You keep coming back to me at the end of the day but for some odd reason you always run to the one thing that you claim you can’t stand. And that’s the exact reason why I can honestly say that I hardly know you at all after three years.”

“Stop,” I say, holding up my hand to cease his verbal assault. The tears are threatening to fall and I lean against the wall of his living room to support my weight. Everything is spinning and I begin to think that this is what it likes to feels like to have the world close in around you. Not only do I look like crap while Neal is dumping me, but I feel like shit and I have the worst hangover of my life. But the thing that’s even more horrific – my heart is breaking and there isn’t anything I can do about it.

“Neal,” I plead my voice cracking and I can feel the onslaught of tears stream down my face, “Please, you don’t have to do this…”

“I’m sorry, Lor, but you did this to yourself. Please leave your key on the table and get out of my house,” he says softly and just like that we’re done. I can see the tears starting to fall down his own face before he shakes his head in disappointment and walks out of the living room and away from me. And suddenly a new wave of tears has come upon me and I can feel the wave of panic start to rise up in my stomach.

I start to work Neal’s house key off of my key ring before I walk towards the front door of his house. I unceremoniously drop the key on the steps that lead to the foyer of his house. I’m a huge mess at the moment, choking back sobs and trying my best to not let my voice carry throughout the house. I don’t want to let him know that I’m hurting although I’m sure he has a damn good idea that I’m ready to throw everything away just for a second chance with him.

Once I’m out on his front porch, I slam the door and lean against it, pressing my hands to my hot face. “Shit,” I whimper while my purse drops to the ground. I replay the argument that just happened over and over in my head and the sudden realization that Neal and I are done hits me like a smack in the face.

My legs give out from under me and I’m sitting on my butt outside of my now ex-boyfriend’s house. To top it all off, I’m feeling the need to throw up again, which wouldn’t be a bad start to get revenge on Neal, aside from the fact that I hate to throw up. This day couldn’t get any worse.

“Lauren?” Okay it just got worse, “Are you okay?”

“Does it look like it? I thought I told you to leave me alone,” I mutter into my knees as I bring them closer to my body. I don’t want to look up and see Justin standing in front of me because that would make Neal’s words true; I can’t be an hour without his presence, which is so not true.

“Yeah, but that was when you were still drunk and I had no idea if you were going to…”

“Justin,” I start and my head snaps up from behind the hiding place of my knees. I don’t want to talk to him, I don’t want to talk to anyone right now but when I see that he’s kneeling in front of me, on my eye level and looking at me with eyes that are begging me to tell my life story, I somehow don’t want to stop myself. I want nothing more than to know that he’ll be there for me, to ensure that he can take care of me the way Neal did but I know I won’t be able to go to him for that kind of comfort. I mean, it’s Justin and he’s the one who comes to me for advice, for comfort, for reassurance. It isn’t the other way around and I don’t want it to come full circle. Because then that just proves that I do need Justin and I don’t want to prove Neal right. God that is the last thing I want to do.

“No offense,” I begin, “but why do you care?” I watch through squinted eyes as he leans back on his haunches and looks at me thoughtfully before he reaches forward and grabs my left hand that’s perched on my knee. He squeezes it and that forces me to look him in the eye, which is hard to do when you have tears streaming down your face.

“I care because I can. You’ve been there for me through a bunch of rough patches and now it’s my turn to be there for you. I know this is very uncharacteristic of me…”

“Very,” I mutter to my legs and he smiles before he squeezes my hand again and I look back up.

“But let me make sure you’re alright…”

“Justin,” I interrupt and I look him dead in his lopsided eyes. The swelling on his shiner has definitely gone up since the last time I saw him and I know for a fact that he needs to get some ice on that or else the whole left eye is going to swell shut and then I’ll have to deal with a whiny baby who can’t fathom why his eye has been shot to crap. “We didn’t do anything last night did we?”

“Hate to break it to you Lauren, but the uppity Personal Assistant Ice Queen isn’t exactly my type,” he says with a small laugh and I roll my eyes at him while trying my best to act like this break up is a natural occurrence. I hate it when people see how weak I am. I especially don’t want Justin to see this vulnerability but seeing as he approached me on Neal’s front porch bawling my eyes out, I believe he has the upper hand.

 “So we didn’t do anything? Please, this is very important.” For a split second there’s a flash of uneasiness in his eyes but he winces and grabs his beaten up eye before he shakes his head and stares at the door behind me. I half expect Neal to be standing there but I know he’s somewhere upstairs, no doubt crying or burning things or something monumental to end our relationship.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Justin says quickly. “I called a truck to come and take your car so it can get the scratch taken out of it. You can drive if you want to,” he offers while we get to our feet. I pick up my purse and fluff my disheveled hair. Marching past him I get right into the driver’s seat of his Escalade and he gets in the passenger seat. I would much rather have him drive, but I’m not going to let him see anymore into my feelings of rejection and loneliness. That is the last thing I need right now.

So I drive to the only place I know that will offer me solace and comfort.

***

“Denny’s? Why are we at an Denny’s?” Justin questions as I park the car and turn it off. I’m already out of his car and heading towards the restaurant. I really don’t care if he’s following me. He can sit in the car for all I care, but I need a Grand Slam like you wouldn’t believe.

A few minutes later I’m sitting in a booth and gazing at the menu, not looking up when I see Justin enter with a baseball cap pulled low over his head. I don’t know why he bothers with it right now; no one is going to recognize him with that huge black eye.

“Being in a public place with me looking like this isn’t exactly the best thing for me right now,” he whines as he sits down across from me and grabs another menu, hiding his face behind it. I sniff loudly, trying to break up the stuffiness in my nose before I look up at him and roll my eyes. A waitress comes by and we place our orders and soon we’re bathed in awkward silence. I want to say something because being left in silence is making me think about Neal and how we’re done and now I’m all alone and I messed everything up and…

“Do you need a tissue?” Justin asks softly and I look up at him, his figure a blur due to the tears welling up and falling from my eyes. I shake my head and swipe away the tears while Justin sighs and leans forward to get closer to me. “You know, you don’t have to act so strong about this. You have to be hurting, I mean you were dating for three years, you were practically married and…”

“Shut up, you’re making me feel worse,” I mutter and I rest my forehead on the table so I can avoid his penetrating stare. But even when I’m staring at my wrinkled skirt, the hot tears creating little puddles in my lap, I can still feel his eyes on me and I want nothing more than to reach across the table and blind him, or at least tell him to stop looking at me like I’m some kind of pity-fest.

“You’re a strong person, you’ll get through this and hopefully in a few months you can say ‘Neal who?’ and get on with your life.” I don’t think Justin understands why I’m so upset with this whole breakup. For one, there were the accusations that Neal threw at me and all of them are completely untrue. Another is the fact that I have no feelings for Justin outside of a very complex friendship that always ends up with one of us yelling at the other. And Neal was the only person I could talk to about how much of a prick Justin is being and he’d jump right in there and add his two cents as well.

Now who will I talk to?

I’m about to give him a smart ass comment but all of a sudden Freddie Mercury decides to add his two cents by ringing from my purse. Scrambling for my phone, I have the half-baked notion that it’s Neal calling to take me back. I watch with curiosity as Justin gets up and walks towards the bathroom, no doubt giving me privacy. Picking up the phone, I glance at the Caller ID and try my best to ignore the devastated feeling in my stomach.

“Hi, Mom,” I say sullenly into the phone and I’m hoping to God she doesn’t catch on that I’m a little less excited than usual to talk to her.

“Oh Laurie, darling how are you?”

I feel like shit and I was just dumped by my boyfriend. “I’m fine, how are you?”

“Lovely. Madagascar is magnificent! You should come out here and spend a week or two with us.” I can hear some kind of bird squawking in the background and my father’s voice coming through the receiver.

“Shelly come here! We need a picture of this bird!”

“Not now Dean, I’m talking to our only daughter. Take it yourself, you have the camera,” Mom snaps at Dad before she brings her attention back to our conversation, “So things are going alright? You still aren’t working for that tyrant of a man, are you?”

My parents don’t approve of me working for Justin. They were never ones to believe in the whole selling out to mega-corporations and they think I’m better suited at some indie record label rather than following around a multi-million dollar, egotistical musician. I don’t tell them half the stuff that Justin puts me through because I know for a fact they’ll be on the first flight back to Los Angeles, ready to give Justin a piece of their mind, while taking photos of his dogs in the process.

“Yes,” I mumble into the phone and I roll my eyes when she scoffs in response. It isn’t my fault my boss can’t be a courteous gentleman towards my plights and me. Well he’s being nice right now but I’m sure once I get better and over this newly formed heartache he’ll return to the same asshole he’s always been.

“We aren’t going to get into that topic of conversation because you know how your father and I feel about your boss and etcetera, etcetera,” Mom continues and I want nothing more than to fake bad reception and hang up, but she’s spending an entire plane ticket to call me right now and I have to be thankful that I talk to my parents at least once a month. Some young adults would revel in that freedom but sometimes it gets a little lonely to know your parents are halfway around the world. Kind of discomforting if you ask me. “But I wanted to ask a favor of you.”

“Go ahead.”

“Well if your boss will allow,” she says sarcastically as if getting a pardon from my boss was like going to the king to ask for permission to do something, “could you take a week or two off to go back home and check on the house and make sure it’s in working order and the farm is still running and Clive hasn’t died?”

Me, go back home? Is she crazy? I haven’t been home since college and I really don’t want to go back there with my tail between my legs right after my boyfriend dumped my butt to the curb. Because the thing you need to understand about Worden, Montana is that it’s tiny. Like super tiny. The last time I spent any time there, the population was just reaching five hundred and the city council was debating if a second traffic light should be installed on Main Street. And my mom wants me to go back there after I’ve spent most of my adult life running around the concrete jungles of the world? To make sure our house is in order and that our farmhand isn’t rotting in his cottage?

“Take Neal with you, or Melissa. Just bring one of your friends with you, Lauren. I don’t like the thought of you traveling alone…”

“Says the woman who’s been to more places in the world than my boss,” I state sarcastically. I guess now would be a good point to explain that my parents consider Neal to be like a son to them and now he’s estranged himself from the family for good. Wonderful. And the last time I checked, I didn’t even give my mother an affirmed statement that I would be going.

“I travel with your father, thank you very much. Just take a friend.” Too bad Neal and I are no longer together and Melissa is busy with a new account at work. There really isn’t anyone else to take.

I promise Mom that I’ll head up to Worden in a few days and I’ll take a travel buddy just to make her feel better. Once my phone is secured in my purse, Justin saunters back to the table, trying his best to stay incognito.

“What was that about?” he asks.

“For someone who’s all about keeping his private life private to the media, you certainly are nosey,” I bite at him and my stomach growls. On top of being heartbroken, irked by my mother’s commands, I’m also hungry as hell and I’m wondering why the people are taking so long with my Grand Slam.

“Touché.”

“If you really must know it was my mother. She wants me to go back home for a few days so I’ll need a week and a half off…” I start and I know that he’s going to say no. I can just feel it.

“Okay. Where’s home again.” That was a shocker. Time off with no questions asked? He must be taking pity on me due to the whole Neal thing.

“Worden, Montana. It’s really small…” I begin and he interjects.

“Like Shelby Forest?”

“Think smaller and more dust than rain,” I state and he nods his head thoughtfully.

“Sounds like fun, when do we leave?”

“As soon as, wait,” I pause when the full meaning of his words hit me, “What do you mean, ‘we?’” He shifts forward and leans across the table again, looking at me with a sincere gaze.

“Well do you really think I’ll be able to handle being on my own for almost two weeks? Trace is going to New York to work on the William Rast line and I have no idea how to handle any of my business shit. Besides, I need a vacation before heading down to Miami to finish the rest of the album, so why not go to Montana before then? And the last thing you need is to go up to a town that’s smaller than Shelby Forest all by yourself after that break up. In a place that boring you might start cutting yourself to take away the pain or go cow tipping or some hick shit like that.”

I can’t help myself and I start to laugh at his monologue before I sniff away the tears that were starting to fall.

“What?”

“I haven’t gone cow tipping since the eleventh grade,” I muse and his uninjured eye widens in shock while his jaw falls open.

“Are you serious? I was just kidding.” A spout of mumbled laughter falls out of my mouth and I look down at my lap once more. It’s strange to think that a mere two hours ago I was getting dumped by the man I thought I was going to marry and now I’m sitting in a random Denny’s with my enemy boss turned somewhat confidant. It’s times like this where I need to tell myself that excessive drinking at parties should be avoided. But for some reason, I kind of like this.

***

Deranged Delusions

11. Part Of Your World

I feel bad for not telling Lauren the truth about what really happened the night of that party. Okay so maybe I don’t feel extremely guilty nor do I feel really, really bad that I lied and told her that nothing happened between us, but when I really think about it, I didn’t flat out tell her no; I kind of avoided the subject.

So I didn’t really lie.

But really how could I tell her that the reason why Neal kicked her to the curb was because she was drunk off her ass and she came onto me? I don’t think she’d believe me and she wouldn’t really stop to listen so I could explain it was her fault. All it would take was a ‘yes’ from me and she’d be off, ranting and raving about how it was my entire fault that Neal dumped her.

But lying or not I’m still sitting in the passenger seat of a rental car, driving down a deserted freeway towards Worden, Montana. I have no idea what to expect but now right now, it’s the worst. Lauren’s been really quiet all day but I think it’s the jitters of coming home after being away for so long. I think it’s been five or six years…I don’t know, I never ask Lauren anything about herself.

“So is this all there is around here?” I ask while I wave my hand towards the prairie that’s stretched out all around the tiny strip of pavement that these people like to call a highway. Since it’s the beginning of March, there’s still some snow on the ground and I had to pack some of my winter clothes in order to not freeze my ass off while I’m here. Well, Lauren packed for me, I can’t remember the last time I packed my own suitcase for something.

Looking out the window I notice a tractor is working in a field way off in the distance and if I look out of Lauren’s window I can see a farm house too. Technology has yet to visit this area of the country because I haven’t gotten a text message from Trace since we left the city we flew into. The rental car I’m sitting in is in shambles and it would probably make Xhibit piss his pants for shame. I thought our pilot died of shock when I told him we were going to Worden, Montana of all places. Well, we flew into Billings and drove out of the city. Apparently Worden doesn’t have an airport or a Budget Car Rental. Did I mention that we’ve been sitting in this pile of metal for an hour and a half and the last time I checked we still had an hour to go?

Lord kill me now.

“Pretty much. There really isn’t a lot to do around here.”

And then comes the silence. It’s been like this for the whole trip. One of us would make a comment, the other responded, and then the car would go silent as the grave. I tried the whole radio thing earlier, but all I got was country. So I did the next best thing: I slept.

Before I know it, Lauren is nudging me awake and I’m opening my eyes to find that we’ve hit some resemblance of civilization. There are big blocks of concrete and wood that are supposed to represent buildings, maybe…I don’t know they’re pretty shitty looking. Most of them are weathered, beaten up places with chipping paint and faded signs. All the cars I see on the side of the street are pick-up trucks that don’t go above the year 1990. There’s the occasional compact car but they’re so rare that they jump out at you from a mile away.

Right now it seems that everything is covered with the hint of spring on the horizon, but there’s still a thin layer of brown slush that indicated that not too long ago there was snow on the ground. People are walking up and down crusty sidewalks and watching our car go by with curiosity. Apparently this is the kind of place where everyone knows all the cars that come in and out of town and this alien life form encroaching on the little town is piquing everyone’s interest.

“Welcome to Main Street,” Lauren says with a trace of bitterness in her dull voice. You can tell she is just thrilled to be here and she halts the car at a stop sign, zips up her parka and continues to drive down the deserted street trying her best to stay as incognito as possible.

Last time I checked I was the celebrity here.

The street isn’t that long and I’m surprised that Lauren’s going at cruising speed because you can tell she just wants to speed through as quickly as possible. But that’s a little hard seeing as there are bicyclists driving down the middle of the road, children playing on the front stoops of buildings. To go above thirty miles per hour was asking for a red flag to be attached to the back of your vehicle and a billion dirty looks thrown in your general direction.

“Wait, this is your main road?” I ask her and she nods with a roll of her eyes. Damn, I would have killed myself if I had to live here and…holy shit, did that guy just turn the corner in a horse drawn carriage?

“That’s Thomas Fredrick,” Lauren states cordially. You can tell she’s having a hard time trying not to completely die of embarrassment, “he drives into town at the start of every week to pick up groceries and buy things for his grandchildren. They’ve gotta be in high school by now.”

We continue to drive until we reach the heart of Main Street. Seems to me that the whole town is walking the streets and this is making Lauren even more uncomfortable. She pulls the rental car to a stop in front of a medium sized storefront that has a considerable amount of people hanging around on the front porch. It isn’t until I see the sign that reads, ‘Paul Oak’s Groceries and Deli,’ that I realize she actually wants to get out of the car.

“You coming?” Lauren asks and I can hear the hope in her voice that I’ll just stay in the car and won’t cause trouble. But I’m interested in this place and I can’t help but wonder if this place is at all like Shelby Forest and if this grocery store sells anything worthy of The General Store’s hamburgers.

I wordlessly get out of the car and follow Lauren into the store. She doesn’t bother to lock the car doors, which makes me feel a bit uncomfortable but when I see that no one around us makes a motion to inspect the car or reach inside to steal anything, I relax and walk into the store.

By the time I get my bearings, Lauren is halfway done with shopping and all I can do is stand off to the side and watch as she flits down aisle after aisle, picking up cereal, milk, and all the things that you can find in my refrigerator except they aren’t name brand at all. And I will not eat no knock off Captain Crunch.

I’m about to tell Lauren this but she’s already walking up to stand beside me. She’s about to say something but her words die in her throat as a girl our age comes round the corner of one of the aisles and gets a look at us. She screams at the top of their lungs and the sound of glass breaking all over the floor as she drops a jar of pickled pears on the ground.

“Oh my God!”

I can’t go anywhere without getting noticed.

“Is it really you? I can’t believe you’re actually here in this store, out of all the places in the world! You’re gorgeous!”

Flattery might not get some people anywhere but this girl’s public display of attention is definitely earning me some new points. Her green eyes are brimming over with tears and she quickly drops her shopping basket on the ground before she approaches us. It’s times like this when I wish I brought security with me but I figured I wouldn’t get noticed here so…

“This is just too much!” the woman exclaims and she walks towards us. I can feel the nervous energy from Lauren just erupting all around and I half expect her to jump in front of me to keep this woman at bay. Lauren playing the part of my bodyguard, now there’s something to think about. “I still can’t believe it!”

“Believe it,” I say with a small laugh as she stands a mere two feet in front of us. Before I know what’s happening, I’m being shoved out of the way and the screeching woman is embracing Lauren like she’s her long lost sister or something. Lauren awkwardly brings her arms around the woman’s shoulders to return the welcoming hug and I can see that her face has turned green with nausea. Is she really that nervous?

“Laurie Walters! Little Laurie Walters what are you doing here? The last time I saw you was at graduation and as soon as you got that diploma you were out of Worden like some coyote was chasing you!” This woman’s western twang is so heavy I almost have a hard time understanding her, but I don’t blame Lauren for getting the hell out of this place as quickly as possible. It’s a madhouse.

The woman’s outburst alerted the other customers as they’re all peeking their heads out of their respective aisles and watching the scene with curiosity. At first they were apprehensive but once the woman turned around, holding Lauren’s arm up in the air like she’s some prizefighter, they all smile and come out of hiding to greet their long lost community member.

They all shuffle past me and stand in front of Lauren some of them hugging her and others shaking her hand vigorously. What am I, chopped liver? Last time I checked I was the one who was world-renowned and had a kick ass promotional team who got my name into every nook and cranny of this entire nation.

Apparently they missed Worden, Montana. I must fire them when I get out of Hick Hell and back to civilization.

“Does Gretchen know you’re back?”

“How are your parents doing?”

“What are you doing now?”

I want to interrupt at that moment and alert the crowd that she’s the Personal Assistant to my wonderful self but seeing as I can’t get a word in edge wise, I stand off to the side and watch as the owner of the store practically closes shop and heads over to the mess of people to welcome back one of their own.

“I’m very busy, I have to go,” she states calmly while she bends down to pick up her basket. The owner stops her and rushes over to the cash register to bag her items before returning them to her.

“On the house. Welcome back Miss Laurie.”

What the hell is this, Little House on the Prairie?

“Thank you, Paul. Justin, let’s go,” she states quietly and slowly at least a dozen heads turn to look at me with curious and judgemental eyes. Now that’s more like it. Striding out of the store, I get back in the passenger seat and watch as Lauren loads the stuff in the back of the car before getting in the driver’s seat. The store has followed us out onto the curbside and they’re all watching us drive away from the store. I half expect some of the women to pull out handkerchiefs and wave goodbye but they all started talking at once.

Stopping at the first traffic light I’ve seen since we’ve left Billings, Lauren leans against her seat and sighs heavily before leaning forward to let her head rest against the steering wheel.

“Problem?” I ask her quietly not really enjoying her blatantly obvious cries for attention. I’m not going to read into them that much seeing as she’s probably just come to realize what it’s like to be me. What with the yelling people and everyone wanting to know your business and not letting you have a minute to think to yourself.

“This is just fucking great,” she mutters more to herself than to me. I lean back in my seat and watch her mini breakdown, not really knowing what to do. She’s been on delicate territory for the past couple of days following her breakup with Neal. She cried on the plane ride over and she was dormant and unresponsive every time I tried to bring up any type of conversation on the car ride over here.

“What? Green light, by the way,” I explain and she sits up in her seat and drives through the intersection before hanging a left and leaving Main Street.

“You don’t understand,” she states softly, “there are about five hundred people living in this town and in a town that small, everyone knows everyone. I guarantee there’ll be at least five people on my doorstep by the time we pull up to the house and we’ll be getting baked goods by dinner…”

“And that’s bad?” I ask her. In truth that sounds pretty sweet to me seeing as I don’t want to do any cooking and I’d rather not try out that cereal she bought for me back in that market, “Seems pretty cool to me.”

“Not really. They’ll be poking around and asking where I’ve been and why I’ve stayed away for so long, and who you are…”

“They should know who I am,” I say in a scandalized voice. Sure I still have that black eye, but the swelling’s gone down and I don’t think I look too terrible. How can she even suggest that these people don’t know who I am?

“If you were Keith Urban, Shania Twain, or George Strait, people would definitely know who you are. But you’re Justin Timberlake and that name is normal around these parts.” I laugh loudly and rest my head against the cold window while I look at her with a huge smile on my face. “What?”

“Did you just say ‘around these parts’?” I ask and she groans loudly before pounding her fist on the steering wheel, “Thank you John Wayne. When I see Butch Cassidy I’ll be sure to alert the sheriff.”

“Shut the hell up, Justin,” she mutters, “I don’t need you acting like a douche bag this week, I’m stressed out enough as it is.”

“I thought this was supposed to be a vacation?” I ask ignoring the fact that she has just called me a douche bag. “Well actually it’s a vacation for me, you’re here to watch your house or whatever…” I start to explain but Lauren silences me with a scathing look.

“Just because you’re jealous because for the first time in your life people aren’t paying attention to you, doesn’t mean you can be a jerk,” she snaps and I recoil like she punched me in the other eye.

Really now, I’m insulted. She thinks I’m jealous…of her? Please. I am so not jealous because she gets a huge welcome home from people she hasn’t seen in almost five, six years however long she’s been away. No, I am the furthest thing from jealous there is. I’ve had girls give me ceiling fans to sign with the rest of the group; I’ve had girls sneak into my tour bus! I’ve had thousands of people screaming my name in unison at sold out arena tours all over the world! I’ve had big homecomings where people almost knock over my bus! No, I’m not jealous at all…screw that notion!

“Whatever,” I say sullenly as she continues to drive away from town and into the wilds of Montana. So maybe I am being a douche bag and maybe I am a little jealous that, for the first time in her life, she got more attention than I did, but really, who am I to care? All I have to do is go back to a place that’s normal and watch as the girls freak out at the sight of me.

I just have to wait a few days to get the ego boosted again.

Twenty minutes later and we’ve pulled up in front of a modest, two story house that’s sitting on at least five acres of flat land. I notice in the back there’s a smaller house, a barn, and a corral with at least two horses lolling about inside of it. I can tell Lauren wants to get into the garage but it’s proving difficult seeing as there’s at least four pick up trucks parked in her driveway.

As soon as she turns the car off, the doors open and people are piling out of their vehicles and descending on our little car like they’ve just found the Messiah. Lauren is yanked out of the car and enveloped in hugs and cheers of welcome while I’m stuck in the car watching this whole thing take place.

Really, you’d think Lauren was kidnapped and she was finally brought back home in one piece the way these people are going on and on and on about how long she’s been gone and how great she looks and how they want her to come over for dinner and…what about me?

Ignoring the welcoming party, I grab the keys out of the ignition and pull the groceries out of the back of the car. I might have never been here before, but I’m sure I can handle getting a front door open and moving all this shit into the kitchen before it spoils. Maybe if Lauren weren’t so caught up in the hype she’d actually see that I need a bit of help unloading the car.

“Looks like you need help with that,” a voice says behind me and I turn around to see an older looking guy in a Stetson and some really nasty looking cowboy boots with spurs. Without waiting for a response, he whistles and the rest of Jesse James’ crew barrels over and unpacks the whole car in a single trip.

“There you go,” the same man says as he moseys back over to where I’m still standing. Seriously they need service like that at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills. The best thing is, they don’t even need a freaking tip.

Seeing that I’m going to be ignored for a while longer, I walk into the house blatantly overlooking Lauren’s obvious looks of despair. Really, she’s begging me with her eyes to save her from the group of people who are still grilling her with questions, but I’d much rather explore her house.

But before I can get a chance to fully look around, the front door slams and I hear the door lock. Walking into the front hall from the living room, I see Lauren standing there, looking extremely frazzled.

“Thanks for your help,” she grumbles before she picks up my suitcase and shoves it into my chest. She knocks the wind out of me and I have half the mind to shove it back at her but a little voice in my head stops me.

She doesn’t look like she’s in the joking mood and I don’t want to piss her off even further. She looks genuinely upset and now I can feel the guilt creeping up in the pit of my stomach. The last thing she needs after a break up like that is to be continually poked and prodded by people she probably didn’t even want to see. Then again that’s exactly what I went through with Britney except it was a little bit bigger than what Lauren is going through right now.

But still…

Someone’s knocking at the front door and it seems like Lauren is one knock away from pulling out all her hair. The look on her face is the breaking point for me and before she can go answer the door, I reach out a hand and stop her.

“I’ll get it. Go sit down or something.” She looks shocked but she nods her head and mutters a word of thanks before she disappears into another room. Taking off my jacket, I drop it on the steps that lead to the second floor and walk steadily towards the front door.

Once I have the locks undone, I swing open the door and I’m met with a short, plucky looking woman around our age. Her smile is so big and wide you’d think she was the Cheshire Cat and her brown eyes are dancing with excitement while she keeps shifting her weight from one foot to the other. I’m strongly reminded of Chris and I’m sure if the two ever met there would be a catastrophe of apocalyptic proportions.

“Howdy, who’re you?” she asks me with an enormous Texan sounding accent. She’s dressed in a chunky pink sweater and Wrangler jeans, a pair of worn in cowboy boots pulled over her pants. Her extremely short blonde hair is pulled back into even shorter pigtails and the mischievous grin on her face is, to put it bluntly, freaking the hell out of me.

“I’m Justin. Justin Timberlake.” I want to add, ‘maybe you’ve heard of me,’ but I don’t want to embarrass myself, “And who are you?”

“I’m Gretchen Jones. I heard that Lauren Walters is back in town. Is she here?” I push myself between the doorframe and the door, blocking the inside of the house from Gretchen Jones’ line of sight. I don’t think Lauren wants to see anybody else today, hell I don’t think she wants to see anybody else for a long time, so the less amount of people who see her the better.

“She’s a bit busy right now. I think she’s in the outhouse,” I explain. Isn’t that what they call bathrooms here? Gretchen throws her head back and laughs and I can hear Lauren’s muffled cries of laughter in the background. This is the last time I cover for her sorry ass.

“Outhouse? I think you mean bathroom,” Gretchen says once her peals of laughter have subsided, “I bet you’re one of her city slicker friends who doesn’t know the first thing about ranchin’. Never seen a cow in your life, never been on a horse…”

So not true. I rode a horse for that one *NSYNC video.

“Just tell Lauren that I came by. That’s Gretchen Jones…” she’s about to give me all her information but before she can continue, I feel Lauren creep up behind me and push me out of the way so she’s standing in my place. I nearly fall on my ass but I recover gracefully in time to see Gretchen jumping up and down and hugging onto Lauren like she’ll disappear.

And I thought Lauren wanted to be left alone.

“Oh my gawsh it is so good to see you! I thought you’d never come back here!” Gretchen exclaims loudly as she hugs Lauren again. “What are you doing here?”

“Just checking up on the house. Mom and Dad are out of the country for a while and I had to come to make sure everything was in working order,” Lauren explains and I walk over to the stairs and sit down so I can easily eavesdrop on their conversation without making it look like I’m trying too hard.

“You need to come over to dinner tonight! Peter just killed off one of the winter cows and we’re having a big feast tonight! You need to come, and bring your city slicker friend! Oh it’ll be just like old times…” Gretchen’s voice fades as she waits for Lauren’s response. I half expect Lauren to jump up in the air and with a ‘yee haw’ of delight, accept Gretchen’s offer. But she’s dead silent while she ponders this invitation.

I can’t take it anymore.

Getting up off my butt, I walk to the front door, pop my head out and say, “So how does five o’ clock sound?” Lauren glares at me and Gretchen’s eyes light up like a Fourth of July spectacular.

“Sounds wonderful! See you then, and don’t be late! The kids have been dying to meet you and Peter hasn’t seen you in ages!” Gretchen explains and Lauren takes a step forward as her old friend jumps off the porch.

“Wait, you’re married and you have kids?”

“Yup! You’ll see them in a few hours! Bye Lauren! Bye Justin!” And with that she starts walking down the road all by her lonesome self, whistling some random tune and gazing at the bland scenery around her.

“Good God she has kids,” Lauren mutters more to herself as we both walk back inside her house. She closes the door and runs fingers through her hair before gazing out the window and watching Gretchen’s retreating form, “What the hell have I been doing these past eight years?”

“Looking after my sexy ass?” I offer and she looks over at me before smacking me on the shoulder.

“You wish,” she retorts before she grabs her luggage and hands me mine, “Let me show you where you’re staying.”

She takes me upstairs and shows me to the guest room that is apparently right down the hallway from her old room. The hallway is lined with photographs of wild animals that I’m sure are native to the Montana wilderness and each room is dedicated to a specific animal. I’m apparently in the Eagle room since there’s a giant portrait of a bald eagle hanging over a sleigh bed that looks like the most comfortable thing on the face of the planet.

“So Gretchen’s an old friend?” I ask her as I throw my suitcase on the oak dresser across from the bed. She nods slowly and looks out my window that overlooks the backyard.

“We were best friends…since toddlers, actually. Her older sister used to baby-sit us all the time when we were young. We were practically like sisters.”

“What happened?” I ask as I sit down at the foot of the bed and face her, watching as she leans against the doorframe and rubs her upper arms even though a thick sweater covers them.

“I grew up, got a scholarship from Stanford and I knew that was my ticket out of here. When I started school I got so caught up in a life that wasn’t here I just didn’t go back. It helped that my parents pretty much picked up and left as soon as I was on my own. I never had any desire to go back.”

I can see her point, after dealing with the psychos in this town I wouldn’t come back anytime soon either. Lying back on the bed, I realize that this is even more comfortable than my own bed and, taking the hint, Lauren backs out of the room and leaves me to my nap.

I wake up maybe two hours later to the soft knocking on my bedroom door. For a split second I have no idea where I am but after a few seconds of looking around the room, I realize I’m still in Lauren’s house in some small little town in Montana.

“We’ve got about fifteen minutes before heading over there,” Lauren says through the closed door. I mutter in response and yank myself reluctantly out of bed. Opening the door, I walk down the hallway in hopes that I’ll find the bathroom. The first door I come across is ajar and, still hoping that it’s the bathroom, I push it open.

Definitely not a bathroom.

Bright and cheery yellow walls are illuminated by low-slung sun that’s shining through the window on the opposite side of the room. A day bed is directly underneath the window and the floral comforter looks even more inviting than the one in my room.

It’s definitely a room made for a girl. Photos grace the walls by a stout oak desk and upon inspecting them I realize it’s a teenaged Lauren in almost all the pictures. A majority of them show her wearing intricate western wear and she’s almost always perched on top of a horse, holding a trophy or a garland of roses, a winning smile on her face.

From the pictures I move onto the various framed objects on her wall. First place ribbons for science fairs, county fair cook offs, programs from choir and orchestra concerts, even a diploma from high school claiming Lauren was valedictorian. Is there anything she didn’t do while in high school?

“Enjoying yourself?” a voice says from the door and I jump away from a picture of Lauren, Gretchen, and two other people their age dressed in black graduation robes. My hand reaches up to the back of my neck, something that I always do when I’m uncomfortable or put on the spot. This is rather awkward…

“Sorry, I was looking for the bathroom,” I mumble as I walk towards her. Apparently she’s going back to her roots tonight. She’s wearing jeans, boots, and a button down plaid shirt something that I don’t think I’ve ever seen her wear. She’s never been this casual around me…aside from the time when I walked in on her in her room jamming out to Queen…

“Next door over. I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready to go,” she adds quietly and I want to apologize for snooping around in her room but she’s gone before I have the chance to open my mouth.

Half an hour later we pull in front of a two story farm house that looks a lot like Lauren’s house except it looks way more lived in. A pair of bikes litters the front yard and I can hear the sound of dogs barking and other various barnyard animals bleating and neighing from the backyard.

Getting out of the car, the smell of cooked meat immediately hits me and I suddenly realize that I haven’t eaten since this morning. Lauren looks nervous and I give her a comforting smile, hoping she doesn’t faint or make a complete idiot out of herself.

Next thing I know, Gretchen is in the front yard, hugging Lauren tightly before she rushes over to me and practically picks me up out of sheer joy. They must not get a lot of visitors.

“So glad ya’ll could make it. Here, let me take you round back and you can see Peter and meet the kids,” Gretchen says with bright eyes as she grabs both our hands and yanks us around the side of the house. The backyard looks like a tornado hit it. Toys are strewn all over the place and a fence separates the house’s backyard from the barn, corral, and work shed. The smell of steak drowns out the musty smell of horses and other animal scents and for that I’m grateful. Sorry, but my appetite would be kind of ruined if I had to smell eau de horse shit all evening.

“Hey, howdy Laurie!” a man from behind the grill says. I’m assuming it’s Peter seeing as he’s wearing an apron that says ‘PETER’ on it in huge letters and he’s the only adult in the backyard. “Good to see you again.” Lauren walks forward and gives the man a quick hug and peck on the cheek.

“This is my boss, Justin,” Lauren says quickly as she introduces me to Peter. I walk forward and shake his hand, noting the amount of calluses that rest on his skin. Hardworking, guess you have to be around here.

“I didn’t know he was your boss,” I hear Gretchen stage whisper to Lauren. She shrugs with indifference and looks out towards the barn, the awkward silence slowly moving in to make its killing stroke.

“MAMA!” a sudden voice screeches over the din of the grill fire. A blur of blonde, pink, and denim comes flying around the corner of the house and latches itself on Gretchen’s short leg. The blur pauses long enough for me to see that it’s a little girl about six years old and she looks down right pissed.

“Lizzy, what is wrong with you? You’re acting like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Mama, James is yanking on Georgie’s hair again…she’s cryin…” and sure enough a child’s shrieks rise up around the side of the house where this apparent Lizzy has come from. Gretchen rolls her eyes and picks up her daughter before she excuses herself and strides over to the side of the house.

“Who’re you?”

I turn around and look down to see a young boy around the same age as Lizzy watching me with a keen interest. He’s absolutely filthy, dust covering his overalls and patches of dirt are smudged on his cheeks and nose. Inquisitive brown eyes look at me from behind a baseball cap that’s holding down an unruly mess of brown hair. He’s the spitting image of his father that’s to be sure.

“I’m Justin. I uh…know a…” how do I explain that I’m a friend of his mother’s friend without totally confusing the hell out of him? I know how kids are, I have two half brothers and before you know it they’ll have this huge story about how you’re an evil person coming to destroy their family and…

“Niceth to meet you Uncle Jussin.” Apparently I’ve skipped over acquaintance and friend status and gone straight to Uncle. He smiles brightly and his two front teeth are missing which is probably why he has such a strong lisp. Poor kid, I’m sure he gets made fun of all the time. “And who are you?” and now he’s addressing Lauren who is looking at the boy with curiosity as well as reluctance.

“I’m Lauren, I’m a friend of your mom’s.” Apparently Lauren has been the talk of the town for quite some time seeing as the boy’s eyes light up and soon he’s hugging onto Lauren’s legs for dear life. Did my assistant somehow save this town from the plague? Why is she such a local celebrity?

“Golly! My Mama talkth about yew all the time! Yer her beth fwiend! Can yew show me how to ride a hoss wike yew?”

What the hell is a hoss?

“William, that’s enough,” Gretchen exclaims as she walks back towards us. She looks like a fucking jungle gym seeing as Lizzy is hanging on her back and she’s got a little girl in her arms while she’s pulling along a younger boy by the arm with her free hand. Good God I could not have that many kids this close in age. “Leave your Aunt Laurie alone.”

“But Mama! She’s the beth rider in the world! Yew said so yerself!”

“Was that necessary? You know I’m not that good,” Lauren exclaims, “And besides, I haven’t ridden a horse since senior year of high school…” Ah, so a hoss is a horse. Got it, got it. Okay I’m not in the dark anymore and I don’t feel like such an idiot anymore. Thank God.

“Well you do know he isn’t going to leave you alone until you get on one of the horses. He is my son after all,” Gretchen adds with a wink before she sets down the two girls and picks up the little boy. “Right now I’ve got to go put James in time out for harassing his sister and I’ll be back out. I’m sure you’ll find everything in the barn, Laurie,” Gretchen explains before she walks back towards the house.

“Pleath?” little William begs and I can see Lauren’s resolve quickly fading away. Sighing heavily, she reaches out for his hand and the little boy cheers with delight before he pulls his new friend towards the direction of the barn, talking a mile a minute about ‘hosses.’

“He was so excited when I told him she was coming over for dinner,” Gretchen says as she walks up behind me. I’m feeling very put out of place because: one, the boy wasn’t excited to know that I was coming over and two, I no longer have a safety net by the name of Lauren Walters to keep me from acting like a complete idiot in front of strangers.

“Why?” I decide to indulge myself in this conversation. Who knows, maybe I’ll find out some incredibly embarrassing story about Lauren and I can hold it over her head for the rest of the trip. I’m sure she’d love that. Gretchen leaves Peter to the grill and the two girls rush off to the front yard to no doubt ride on the bikes or play with dolls or covered wagons.

“Lauren is what you would call a legend around here,” Gretchen explains with a calm air as we make our way towards the empty corral. Off in the distance, I can see a herd of sheep grazing on the fresh new blades of grass pushing up through the dead earth. Over by the barn a horse neighs from the inside followed by William’s excited peals of laughter. “Before she got the notions of big city life in her head she was more country than your average person here at Worden…”

Lauren, country? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, and I’m currently spending my own vacation time in a place where the average person can’t count past fifty. She’s about as country as Trace is black.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“No. Lauren was the town darling back when we were kids. Back when we were in elementary school she was the State Junior Barrel Racing Champion. She pretty much put Worden on the map when it came to Women’s Barrel Racing because she won nationals when she was only sixteen. She was student body president, valedictorian, her cherry pies would win at the county fair every single year, first chair violin and soprano in the choir…everyone loved her…and they still do. Her coming back is kind of like Christmas coming early around here.”

Damn. Lauren managed to do all that without pissing people off or destroying them with her awful bouts of road rage? What the hell happened then? How did she change from this sweet, western cowgirl into a cynical, no nonsense type of person?

“She was Worden’s sweetheart and then she took off to tackle bigger dreams. The worst part was, she left without saying goodbye. We all woke up one day and she was gone. Took that car of hers and drove on out to California. Haven’t seen her since graduation all those years ago and, as you can see, things have changed. I just hope you treat her with the respect and kindness that she deserves. You’re lucky to have her working for you.”

I’m about to respond with an ‘I know,’ or even something as nice as, ‘I’m happy to have her in my life,’ or some shit like that, but the laughter of a child breaks our conversation and draws our attention towards the barn at the far end of the corral. Lauren and William walk out of the barn, the little boy leading a young looking, spirited horse.

“Is that horse well trained?” I ask, a feeling of premonition and dread sneaking into the pit of my stomach. The horse is prancing along and tossing his head, nearly pulling William off of his feet. Lauren reaches forward and holds onto the reins, making sure the animal isn’t going to take off without warning.

“Well we just broke him in a week ago. He’s a youngin’ but if anyone can ride Charger, it’s Laurie,” Gretchen says calmly, totally not caring that her son is in the presence of an insane animal. I’m a little nervous that Lauren is going to be sitting on something called Charger, but only because I don’t want to drive the hour to the nearest hospital to make sure she doesn’t die once this horse throws her and…

Oh who am I kidding? I just don’t want to see her hurt.

“Go stand by your mom, Will, and once I’ve got him warmed up, I’ll show you how to keep him under control,” Lauren explains once they reach the center of the corral. Will gives a dutiful nod before he rushes over towards his mother. Once the boy is safely on the other side of the corral, Lauren throws the reins over the animal’s head.

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this!” Lauren calls out from behind the horse. “Hopefully I’ll remember how to do it.”

“Please,” Gretchen responds with a bright laugh, “it’s just like riding a bike. You never forget.”

“I’ll remember that if I fall on my butt,” Lauren responds before she hoists herself effortlessly onto Charger’s back. His nostrils flare out and he tries to rush off while Lauren steadies herself on top of him. Leaning against the railing, the three of us watch with interest as she begins to put the animal through its paces. Charger goes about three paces before he gets his hindquarters underneath him and gives a few quick bucks.

I’ve seen rodeos before and I know that’s what horses do when they’re pissed off and want whatever it is on their backs off…I guess I should be thankful that she isn’t riding a bull around but still, I don’t like the fact that this shit crazy animal is trying to throw my assistant off its back.

My heart leaps up into my throat as Lauren’s tiny frame is thrown back and forth in the saddle and I find myself gripping onto the railing a lot harder than I thought I was. Gretchen gives me a knowing smile before she turns her gaze back on the horse and rider.

After a few more laps around the ring at a slow pace, Lauren sits back and finally gets comfortable in the saddle. Watching with bated breath, the horse moves forward into a faster gait and I almost want to jump in there and yank her off that crazy thing. Charger bucks yet again and Lauren doesn’t flip out or put him check. Quite the contrary, she throws her head back and laughs this delicious and carefree laugh that I don’t think I’ve ever heard from her before.

Charger goes and does what he does best, and charges around the far turn of the arena, his hooves pounding the dirt and keeping time to his breathing. William is jumping up and down from his position next to his mother and Gretchen can’t tear her eyes away from the pair thundering down the track.

If it’s even possible, the duo comes down the center of the ring even faster than before, the wind working Lauren’s hair loose from her ponytail. A huge smile is painted on her face, she laughs again, and for a moment I catch a glimpse of the Lauren Walters I’ve never seen before. The Lauren Walters that everyone loves and appreciates and can’t get enough of. As of right now she isn’t Lo, Lo-ho, or any of the other ridiculous nicknames she’s earned over the years. She’s just little Laurie Walters, the country girl and apple of everyone’s eye, and for the first time since I’ve met her, she’s free.

“Wow,” I whisper aloud and it isn’t until I see Gretchen’s knowing smile that I realize I didn’t just say that in my head. Dammit, what has gotten into me? All she’s doing is riding a horse around a freaking ring and laughing like some kind of maniac. At least that’s what a quickly fading voice in my head is telling me. The rest of me is rising up in support of these new feelings that seem to be surfacing and I really don’t want to face them. I really, really don’t because that would change everything. And I don’t think I’m ready for that just yet.

Lauren pulls up right next to us, the horse breathing hard, its fur damp with sweat. It seems that the animal has calmed down some because after running around like that I’d sure as hell want to go back home and sleep for a couple of hours. William has climbed over the fence and is gently petting Charger’s face and Lauren is looking down at Gretchen with an enormous smile on her face. Her cheeks are swollen and stained red from being bitten by the wind and her eyes are shining with the simplest kind of joy that it’s hard to not get caught up in her excitement. She just looks so damn happy and so pretty and…

God dammit, Timberlake you need to stop this right now! Stop thinking about her that way because you know she hates you and would never, ever look at you the way you’re looking at her right now. All I can do is thank God that she isn’t noticing the look of extreme infatuation that’s crossed on my face at this very moment, but I guess I have an overly excited William Jones to thank for that. He’s talking a mile a minute and lisping all over the place that it’s hard for Lauren to look at Gretchen and me. She’s too concerned about the kid getting trampled by Charger who’s getting excited again. Wonderful, Psycho Horse is going to take off again, which is something I don’t want to witness. All I want to do is pull her off that horse and tell her to never scare me like that again because I totally thought she was going to die up there. I want to do a few more things as well, but I don’t think that’d be entirely to appropriate for the six year old to be watching…and I don’t think it’s entirely appropriate for me to be thinking these thoughts about my personal assistant.

What did I do to deserve this? Why do I have to have these feelings for Lauren of all people? Especially now that we’re stranded in a place where we only have each other for civilized company? Fuck this shit, I’m calling Trace. If anything he can talk me out of doing something extremely stupid for the next couple of days.

Excusing myself from the group, I pull out my saving grace, my sidekick, and immediately dial the numbers that will take me straight to salvation. I swear to God if Trace doesn’t…

“Hey you’ve reached Trace. I can’t come to the phone right now…”

Bastard. He’s supposed to have my back in situations like this. Putting the phone back in my pocket, I notice that Lauren is off the Hell Horse and has placed William up in her place. If he were my kid, I wouldn’t let him touch that animal with a twenty-foot pole, but apparently Gretchen could care less. These crazy country people, now I know why Britney was all for letting Sean Preston ‘drive’ her car.

But a country hick’s kid is the last thing on my mind. I have to find a way to keep my mind off of a certain personal assistant of mine who is going to make avoiding her very, very hard over the next couple of days.

Dammit all to hell.

***

Deranged Delusions

12. A Whole New World

It’s hard to believe that I’ve only been back home for a few hours. It seems like I never left. It was annoying as hell to walk into Paul’s to find Tammy Lou Barker shopping there too. I don’t think I’ll ever forget her annoying as hell screech when she saw me. I could tell Justin’s ego took a massive beating because, for once in his life, people weren’t fawning all over him and asking him questions about his life. I would think he would take that as a breath of fresh air, but seeing, as he’s an egotistical ass I’m not surprised that he acted the way he did.

Shocker of the year was finding out that Gretchen had four kids while I was away. Four kids. Two of them twins and then the other two one right after the other. She’s the same age as me, we used to run around Worden all the time when we were little girls and now she’s married and has four kids. I don’t know how she does it because I can’t even take care of a grown man. If I weren’t so apprehensive about taking care of four little kids, I’d consider trading her jobs, but then again, Justin has been acting rather civil tonight and I have no idea why. Maybe it’s because he’s around people he doesn’t know that well, but I’m not sure. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.

After helping Will with ‘his’ horse, we settled down for dinner and it was a rather enjoyable experience. True to our western hospitality, the conversation always turned towards Justin and what he does for a living so he seemed to like that considerably. Gretchen and Peter were pleased to find out that Justin comes from a small town as well although not as country or wild as Worden. His words, not mine.

Once I finished eating the best steak of my life, I managed to sit down and talk with Gretchen about life and get the latest scoop on the town while Peter went out to take care of the sheep and Justin played with the kids.

“He’s really good with children,” Gretchen remarks as we take a break in our conversation on the porch. James and Will are currently climbing all over Justin’s back while Georgia is giggling on a blanket and Lizzy is watching with keen interest. Apparently they’re playing the appropriate, Cowboys and Indians and I believe Justin is playing the part of Indian. “Does he have any of his own?”

“Justin?” I snort before I take a sip of my coffee, “Please, he can hardly take care of himself. I’m sure he wants them…”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“God no. Justin’s my boss, we don’t talk about things like that,” I explain with an involuntary shudder.

“If he’s your boss then why is he up here with you. I would imagine a boss gives an employee time off to visit home, not follow along like a dutiful boyfriend,” Gretchen says with a huge grin on her face. I nearly get up out of my rocking chair and move away in disgust.

“Boyfriend? Please, Gretch, he isn’t my boyfriend and I think hell would freeze over before I even considered that thought! We aren’t even friends!”

“Then why is he here with you?” she implores and I want to smack her for her curiosity.

“Because he can’t function properly without me,” I snarl back with gusto before I moodily sip my coffee.

“See, that’s love right there,” Gretchen says with a cheery smile, “The fact that he can’t let you out of his sight for a few days means that he can’t live without you. That’s sweet…”

“No,” I say firmly, “it just means that he can’t take care of himself without someone there to tell him what to do. And sadly, I’m that someone.”

“And you love doing it,” Gretchen explains, “Else wise, you’d have come home a long time ago or at least stopped working for him.” I sigh heavily and watch as Justin picks up Will and tackles him to the ground softly. The boys are laughing their heads off and before Justin knows what’s hitting him, Lizzy has jumped in on the fray and now it’s three against one. Gretchen’s words are mirroring Neal’s and I don’t want to keep hearing what they have to say because in a way, they’re right. If I weren’t happy I would have been out of there a long time ago. But that doesn’t mean that I love him or he loves me. I refuse to believe that because, ew, it’s Justin for Christ’s sake.

“It has its perks,” I finally say and Gretchen nods her head before we continue to watch the battle before us. He has James pinned down with his left leg and his hands are busy tickling Lizzy and Will at the same time. The kids are laughing hysterically and their peals of laughter mix with his own and soon I’m closing my eyes and leaning back in the rocking chair reveling in the sound.

“Uncle Jussin! Uncle Jussin you win!” Will shrieks and I open my eyes to make sure Justin isn’t killing Gretchen’s kids and suddenly he and I are looking right at each other. He smiles that mega watt movie star smile that makes thousands of girls weak in the knees and he laughs that awful dork laugh that is usually followed by me making fun of him and before I realize what I’m doing, I’m smiling back and it isn’t the forced smile I usually give him…what the hell is happening to me?

I break the contact and look down in my lap before I finish the rest of my coffee. I do not need to be thinking any of these things and I definitely think looking at him is making my head fill with silly notions that I know are false and would never happen. Besides, I’m missing Neal a whole lot and I don’t want to fall back into something this quickly.

But am I falling back into something, and with Justin? Nah, I couldn’t possibly. I refuse to feel anything towards him that’s remotely romantic or liking, or anything! I’m going to blame being back home for these retarded thoughts. That’s it; I’m feeling this way because I can feel my biological clock ticking. I mean it’s not exactly the most comforting feeling in the world knowing your old best friend is happily married and has four kids with the intention of having more. But I don’t want to be tied down at twenty-five, almost twenty-six. That’s what my thirties are for.

There’s another huge dorky laugh from Justin Timberlake and I find myself requesting something a little stronger to drink. The last thing I need to is to let my thoughts stay on these rather troubling feelings because I’ll probably end up doing something really, really stupid.

Needless to say by the time we roll out of Gretchen’s house I’ve got a little buzz going on. Nothing dangerous or anything, and I don’t have a drinking problem but really, I don’t want to think about Neal, I don’t want to think about how lonely I’m feeling right now, and I definitely don’t want to think about Justin.

“That was a really nice evening,” he comments as I start to drive down the deserted road. It’s close to ten o’ clock, which is a late night for most people here in town. It’s going to take us about forty minutes to get back to my house but I have a little something I have to show Justin before we settle in for the night. “Her kids were cute.”

“Yeah, but I’m sure they’re little tyrants when guests aren’t over. I bet they take after their mother in that regard,” I quip and Justin gives a little chuckle as he rubs his hand over his chin. Why am I talking to him? Why am I trying to have a conversation, just shut up, Lauren!

“It was cool watching you ride like that. I didn’t know you could ride at all,” Justin responds after a few moments of comfortable silence. I nod my head and I’m glad that it’s dark so he can’t notice the blush that’s beginning to show on my face. I used to be a hot shot little teenager, but now I don’t like to talk about my past achievements. I keep my new life very separate from my old life, there’s no need for any one now to know about my humble home roots and for all they know I just came from a major city in Montana and not a town that had trouble pushing five hundred at the 2000 census.

“Yeah, it was a hobby,” I state casually as we continue our silent drive. Truth of the matter is I don’t know how to talk to Justin when I’m not lecturing him, reprimanding him, or just being extremely pissed off at him. We’ve had our moments were we’ve acted something like friends but that was only when one of us had gone through something extremely emotional and heart breaking. I’m pretty sure the only reason why he invited himself on this trip was to see if I could make that transition from employee to friend and now that that moment is finally here I want to make the effort, but another part of me just wants to keep that gap between us as big as possible. “I miss it sometimes, but when you do it every once in a while it feeds that hunger.”

“So you call eight years every once in a while?” he questions and I sigh heavily before I lean back in my seat and keep my tired eyes on the road. He just wouldn’t understand… “I mean I understand that you wanted to move on to bigger and better things, what with that whole college business and getting out of a small town but there are things you didn’t have to give up. I might have stopped doing the whole *NSYNC thing but I didn’t turn my back on the people in it. And there are parts of my boy band past that I am definitely not proud of, but I still admit to them and laugh about it and remember every once in a while. It’d be nice if you did the same, especially with your hometown.”

He has a point but I don’t want to tell him that he’s right. If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s to never tell Justin that he’s right because then you wouldn’t hear the end of it. The ego would erupt and then the only thing the conversation turns to is himself. And so far he’s been doing pretty well with not being all about him, and I want to tell him that, but again, the ego would come straight out.

“You looked really good up there…” he mutters and I’m almost positive he didn’t mean for that to come out of his mouth. I practically slam on the breaks and we both rocket forward, he puts his hand on the dashboard to steady himself and I’m gripping onto the steering wheel so hard I can hear my knuckles cracking over our heavy breathing.

“What the fuck was that for?”

“There was a rabbit,” I state quickly, “didn’t you see him? I don’t know about you, but I break for animals.” I take a deep breath and continue down the road only instead of a comfortable silence, it’s extremely awkward. He clears his throat and pulls out his sidekick, settling in his seat to answer a crap load of text messages and emails. Well I kind of asked for it…but then one of our rare, friendship conversations enters my head and instead of heading straight for home, I turn down a different street and keep driving. Justin is so preoccupied with his damn phone he doesn’t notice that we’re not heading back to my place.

After another ten minutes of steady driving, I pull off the side of the road and turn off the car, the headlights still illuminating a fence not far off in the distance. “What are we doing?” Justin asks, finally noticing that we haven’t reached my house. “Is there where you’re going to kill me?”

“Very funny. Get out of the car,” I instruct and he gives me a skeptical look before he pockets his sidekick and opens the door. I meet him at the front of the car just as the headlights turn off. We’re completely surrounded by darkness; the only sound the noise of our breathing and the distant chirping of crickets. Really romantic if I was going for that effect.

“Lauren, what the hell?”

“Jump the fence,” I order. My eyes are getting used to the darkness and the clear night is actually helping my eyesight. Justin is more than just a blur in the shadows; I can make out the confused look in his eyes and the nervous twitch in his movements.

“No. Not until you tell me what’s going on.” Well if he’s going to pussy out of this then I guess I’ll have to go myself. I lock the car from where I’m standing and, putting the keys in my pocket, I jump over the fence and start to jog away from the car and Justin’s questioning cries.

I hear a grunt and the sound of a body hitting the ground a few seconds later and soon, I can hear Justin running to keep up with me. We’re jogging up a small hill, the other side hidden in obscurity but I already know what’s on the other side. That is if the place is still here after almost a decade.

“Lauren would you tell me what’s going on? It’s fucking freezing…”

“Shut the hell up! You’re going to wake them up,” I snarl in a whisper as we reach the top of the hill. I stop my running and hold out my hand to keep Justin from running down the extremely tall hill. Looking over the small valley, if you want to call it that, there’s a huge expanse of land. To our left is a large farmhouse that is complete dark save for the back porch light, which illuminates twenty feet of the backyard. In front of us is an enormous corral that houses at least fifty…

“Cows? You brought me all the way out here in the freezing cold to watch some fucking cows?” Justin demands and I sit down on the damp grass and look up at Justin who’s still seething at the fact that I would drag him out of the warm car to come look at cows.

“We aren’t going to be watching them for very long,” I say with a huge smile on my face as he finally relents and sits down beside me. He releases a huge breath from his body and I can see the cloud his breath makes spiral up into the cold night air. He looks at me and then the corral of cattle before the knowing look finally dawns on his face.

“Oh hell no. You didn’t drag me all the way out here to go cow tipping,” he says his voice filled with negativity. I laugh and spring up to my feet turning around to look at him. “Lauren, I’m not some country hick who goes cow tipping in his spare time. I just want to go to sleep and this is majorly cutting out on my sleep time.”

“Well if you don’t want to do it,” I begin coyly. I know exactly where this conversation is going and I know for a fact that by the end of it, he’ll be tipping some bovines by the end of the night.

“I don’t want to do it. This is so stupid and juvenile.”

“I can understand if you’re going to pussy out. Because it is cold and it is pretty dangerous and I can understand you wouldn’t want to get caught and you value your sleep like the next…”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” Justin says as he holds up his hands to stop my talking, “I know you did not just say I was going to pussy out.”

“Well aren’t you?” I ask and I’m smiling so big you’d have to be blind as a bat to not see it. Apparently Justin is playing the part of the bat tonight because he thinks I’m serious. But then again I’m calling out his manhood and he takes that very, very seriously.

“No of course I’m not. I was just stating the obvious that it’s cold and I’m tired. Let’s do this,” and before I can explain to him the rules of cow tipping or what the hell he’s supposed to do, he takes off down the hill and towards the corral, a swagger in his step.

I catch up to him at the side of the corral where he’s watching the sleeping animals intently. Looking up at him, I lean against the rail and let my gaze land on the cows. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Haven’t got a clue,” Justin explains, “I mean this has to be difficult right?”

“No,” I state with a simple shrug, “You just hop the fence, run up to a cow and push it over.”

“No shit?” he asks nodding his head as if this is the most obvious thing in the world. I nod my head in agreement and he laughs a little too loud and I quickly silence him with a glare. “Sorry,” he mutters as he wipes his hands on his jeans.

“Nervous?” I ask him as we hop the fence together. He looks over at me and gives me a playful push.

“Not a chance in hell, Walters,” he adds before he takes off at a sprint towards the nearest cow. I hang back and watch as his outstretched hands make contact with the animal and with a surprised ‘moo!’ the cow flops over onto its side and stays there. Justin comes rushing back towards me, a look of triumph on his face. “That’s how it’s done,” he crows and I roll my eyes in his direction.

“Now that you’re done gloating, care to help me?”

“Why, does the great Little Laurie need help tipping a cow?” Justin coos and I return his earlier push.

“Actually I do need help,” I explain, “Seeing as I’m under a hundred and fifty pounds and the average cow weighs half a ton I might need a little assistance in pushing one over.” He grins and stands right beside me, a little too close for comfort. His shoulder rubs up against mine and I can feel my breath catch in my throat. “Ready?” I ask hoarsely and he jumps away from me and looks over with a curt nod. “Let’s go.”

We take off towards a cow standing in one place, both of us running side by side. Laughter catches in my throat and we’re about to make contact with the animal when suddenly she moves aside with a quick grunt. I lose my balance and, with a squeal of surprise, I fall on the ground, the wind knocked out of my body. Justin manages to regain his balance and stands over me, a goofy smile all over his face.

That’s before a dog starts barking and a light inside the house turns on. The smile on Justin’s face disappears and you can see the words ‘oh shit’ start to form on his mouth but the sound of someone moving about inside the house and the constant mooing of the cows drowns his cry of shock out.

Reaching down, he grabs onto my hand and yanks me to my feet. The back door opens up and someone fires a round into the air. Justin ducks down and covers his head, I don’t think he’s ever been shot at before but for me, it’s just like I’m still in high school, cow tipping on this same property every weekend.

“What in tarnation? You kids better git off my property!”

“Oh my God, he’s going to kill us!” Justin squeaks as we continue our dash towards the top of the hill. He’s still covering his head with his spare arm and I’m trying my best to keep up with him. The boy can run, and fast. We jump the fence and soon we’re rushing up the hill, his hand squeezing the blood out of my own.

We reach the top of the hill and the man fires off another round and Justin yelps again and keeps on running. I’m too busy laughing and trying to catch my breath to feel anything other than sheer amusement and it’s only when Justin realizes that we aren’t going to die and that we’re more than likely not going to get caught, he starts to laugh too.

Finally, we make it back to our car, the two of us still laughing like complete idiots. “That,” Justin starts his breath labored due to running and laughing, “was insane.”

“But you had fun,” I state with a smile and he laughs loudly and nods in agreement.

“Yeah, yeah it was fun.” And I feel a sudden pressure squeezing my hand. It isn’t until now that I realize he still has a firm grasp on my hand and we’ve been standing here in front of the car for a good three minutes. Realizing that we don’t need this physical contact anymore, I let go of his hand and hurry off to the car. A couple seconds later and Justin is sitting in the passenger seat and we’re speeding off into the night.

It isn’t until we’re on the road for a good ten minutes that Justin starts to laugh again. It’s that kind of laugh that people do when they’ve had a near death experience or just weaseled their way out of a shit load of trouble; it’s that nervous laugh, a combination of ‘holy shit did that just happen?’ and ‘holy shit that was awesome!’

“You okay?” I ask him while he leans against the window for support.

“I can’t believe I just did that…like, we could have died.” Obviously he’s overly dramatic because I have yet to hear about anyone who has died while tipping over sleeping farm animals. But then again it is Justin and he likes to blow every single dramatic event out of proportion. That’s one thing that I love…

Okay maybe not love. I don’t love Justin because that is just freaking ridiculous. He’s my boss, he’s an ass, and he just isn’t my type. End of story. I should rephrase that and say that the way Justin blows some things out of proportion is a trait that I find endearing…

Okay that doesn’t work either. I should not be trying to think of different terms to describe my boss right now. I should be living in the moment and laughing along with Justin and not be thinking about how I love the way his nose crinkles up when he laughs or the way his hand is sprawled open across the window as he tries to keep his dorky laughter in check…

Ugh, what am I doing? What am I thinking? Get. A. Grip.

“You know,” Justin says once he finally has a grip on his laughter and I’ve managed to get a grip on my wandering thoughts, “it’s times like these when I really miss being country.”

“Being country never really leaves you,” I explain, “You can take the kid out of the country but you can’t take the country out of the kid. You can think that you’re the biggest city slicker on the face of the planet but at the end of the day, you’re just a little boy from a small town in Tennessee and that’s always there. You can’t escape that and you shouldn’t try to. It made you the way you are and you shouldn’t change that…” I start to say and I catch myself before I can go on further. There are just some things I don’t want to say to him right now and getting into his personality is one of them.

I can tell he’s about to ask me about my little tangent of how he shouldn’t change and I brace myself for the question that I know I’ll have to give a smart ass answer to, but thankfully salvation comes in the ringing of my cell phone.

Thank God.

Don’t look at her. Don’t look at her. Don’t look at her. Dammit I looked at her. Why is it when she’s dressed in country clothes she looks normal and, dare I think it, cute? And why am I sitting here and thinking of Lauren Walters, of all people, like this? She just went on some philosophical bull shit that I was hardly listening to because I was too busy looking at her lips moving and now I’m wondering if she can kiss better sober than drunk and…

Jesus Fucking Christ Justin, what the hell? This happens every single time I find some girl attractive, I start to think with my dick more than my head and it gets me in trouble. Thank God her phone starts to ring because I know I’m about to say something that would probably make her slam on the breaks and kick me out of the car. Although I have no idea who is possibly calling her at midnight.

“Lauren Walters speaking,” she says in her tone of voice only reserved for very important calls. I don’t know why she has to answer it like that since I’m the only one who gives her very important calls and I’m sitting right next to her. But as soon as the person on the other line starts to speak, her demeanor changes and she laughs loudly, her eyes lighting up the entire car.

Oh God…I need some sleep or something, or maybe that farmer really shot me and I’m losing tons of blood and by the time we get back to Lauren’s house I’ll be a shriveled up prune. Then she’ll be sorry and it’ll be like a scene from Romeo and Juliet or something and…

I need to stop.

“Thanks so much Melissa.” Well that’s someone I don’t want to hear about for a long time. I’m still a bit bitter that she dumped me, “No I’m driving back home right now,” she pauses and bites her lip. Sexy. Stop it. “Yeah he’s with me…No he hasn’t tried that yet but I’ll be on the look out.” She pauses again, “Yes, now that I’m older I’ll definitely be wiser to that kind of irresistible charm you claim he has.” Has Lauren not noticed my charm? She’s only been working for me for almost four years, has she been immune to it all this time?

Apparently so because we would have been going out a long time ago. Stop it, dammit! Just stop it! After a few more minutes of chatting, Lauren finally gets off the phone with a final ‘thanks’ and ‘love you too.’ I look over at her and watch her for a second before I ask, “What did Melissa want?”

“Just wanted to call to wish me a happy birthday.”

Oh balls…her birthday is today? Fuck. “Your birthday? I didn’t know it was your birthday,” I say in a very, very small voice. I’m so freaking thankful that it’s dark inside the car because I’m blushing and I don’t think I could live that down at all.

She sighs heavily and rubs her temple with a free hand and I can feel the guilt filling my stomach. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Justin. You’ve never really taken the time to get to know me, which is why we could never be friends. You don’t really know the first thing about me.”

That is so not true! Okay, so maybe there is some truth to it, like the whole not knowing it was her birthday today, but sometimes I forget my own birthday so I should be exempt from that small blunder. And I might not know her parents’ names or what her favorite color is but a lot of friends don’t know those types of things about their other friends so why should this friendship be any different?

“Well you don’t know me that well either,” I point out and she actually pulls the car over because she’s laughing so hard. What the hell? She may be cute, she may take care of me, but this girl is fucking insane. Maybe she gets crazier with age, which makes me wonder what she’ll be like at thirty. I shudder at the thought.

“I don’t know you that well? It’s my job to know you inside and out!” Oh baby, is that a promise?

Oh fuck, Justin you really need to get your mind out of the gutter and in the present. Head. In. The. Game.

“Really?” I ask her my voice raising a challenge, “So tell me something about me. Something that someone wouldn’t know, something that Trace wouldn’t even know.” Oh I’ve got her there. Trace knows pretty much anything and everything there is to know about me so this is going to be a challenge. I’ll be astounded if she can dig up one thing about me…

“You’re scared shitless,” she states matter of factly and I look at her with a confused expression on my face. What the hell is she talking about? “You’re completely and totally scared shitless of this new album, of this new step in your life. You may not show it on the outside, but on the inside you just want to crawl back to your mother and have her protect you from the people who will judge you, who will step on you, who will totally and completely tear you down if you put one foot out of line.

“This isn’t like Justified. People thought you were just making that album to see what would happen should the group finally waste away into boy band obscurity. You surprised them with that album and once you were done promoting that album you took four years off. You’ve had those four years to work your ass off on an album that’s closer to you than your first album ever could be. And you’re scared because you’re putting your heart and soul on the line this time. You’ve spent over a year getting this thing ready and now you’re presenting your baby to the world and they can either love it or hate it.

“You’ll sit there and say that it doesn’t matter what the critics say, you just want your music to be heard, but in your heart of hearts you know that if you don’t get the reviews you so desperately need you’ll be no better than the other boy banders who tried to go solo. If it’s shit then the people who you’ve been trying to get the attention of will completely pass by and go onto the next hot thing in music and leave you in the dust.

“You’re scared that if this doesn’t work out you’ll have no choice but to go back to your old group mates and ask them for another go around with *NSYNC even though you were the one who didn’t want to go back.

“You’re scared that even though you have thousands of girls who want to be with you and would stop at nothing to get your attention, you’ll end up without that love you so desperately want and crave. You’re afraid that one day the world is going to wake up and realize that you’re just a normal human being who can just sing and dance better than the average person and that you aren’t some force to be reckoned with or some ‘very special gift from God’ and that’ll be the end of your career. Don’t sit there and give me that face because you know it’s true. You’re scared that even though you have everything in the world right now, you don’t know if it’ll give you true happiness and satisfaction in the end. And that is something you would never have the balls to tell Trace because you don’t want to seem like a huge sissy in his eyes.”

And for the first time in my life, I am completely and totally speechless.

“Of course you know this is all bull shit because you could probably record yourself shitting out the biggest shit of your life and you’d still sell over five million records,” she adds dryly and for some odd reason I’m laughing again despite the fact that everything she just told me is one hundred percent true.

I am scared shitless.

“Well let me tell you something about you,” I say in response and she stares at me in the dark with an expression that seems to say, ‘bring it.’ I’m pretty much going to be talking out of my ass here because Lauren is right when she said that I don’t really know the first thing about her other than she gets stressed out easily whenever I make her do things out of the ordinary (which is a lot), and that she throws a pretty good fast ball. Oh, and she has a pretty short temper. And I know when her birthday is now, so I know a bit more than I used to.

“You act like you hate this town and everything about it. You were the biggest thing to hit Worden since sliced bread and that lack of privacy and always being in the center of attention scared you. What if you screwed up? What if people realized that you were nothing special? There’d be nowhere to hide here seeing as it’s such a small town. So you got out as quickly as you could. You went to a place where you could just be a number and be exactly like everyone else. I don’t see why though, seeing you here has made me realize that you aren’t some frigid bitch who only cares about making a buck and making her boss happy. You aren’t just a number here, you’re a real person and you’re having fun and that’s why I’m…”

I have to stop there because I will not say those five words that would make this whole trip shoot straight to hell. I don’t even know if I believe those five words myself, which is why I’m not going to finish off that sentence with ‘falling in love with you.’

Good God this is so fucked up.

“You’re right,” she says after quite a bit of awkward silence, “I guess you have been paying attention…”

“No, I just know how to observe and read people. You find that you pick some things up when your job’s main focus is to entertain and please the general public,” I state quietly before she starts to drive the car towards home again. She stifles a yawn and I would offer to drive so she could rest but I have no idea where the hell we’re going. Apparently Worden doesn’t believe in roadside lights.

“I guess so,” she says quietly and finally the car turns up the driveway to her house. I have never been so happy and yet so upset to see a house in my life. Part of me wants to keep driving with Lauren because I know sooner or later what I want to say will come pouring out of my mouth, but a much bigger part of me is grateful that I don’t have to reveal what has apparently been hiding below the surface for quite some time. I don’t even want to begin to think what would happen after I told Lauren that I was falling…

Yeah, not going to think about it.

The car stops and she turns it off before opening her door. Turning to look at me she smiles and says, “And to think my boss wouldn’t be so understanding.” And that word hits me harder than Neal did almost a week ago.

Boss. I think that’s all I’ll ever be to her, and for some odd reason that hurts more than any rejection.

***

Deranged Delusions

13. Stove Fire

Everything about this trip was going fine, until the house caught on fire.

I’m upstairs sleeping when all of a sudden I hear the roar of something crashing to the ground and the frantic yells of Justin coming down the hall. Stupidly, I manage to stumble out of bed and grab my robe resting on the hook by my bed. Tying it sloppily around my waist, I open the door and see the inferno at the end of the hall by my parents’ bedroom.

Well shit, there goes the childhood home.

“Lauren! We need to move!” Justin screeches by the foot of the steps. His eyes are illuminated by the red and orange hues that the fire is creating and the smoke is absolutely suffocating. I stifle a cough as I close my door behind me and walk down the hallway calmly. For some odd reason I don’t feel panicked or upset that my house is falling down in ashes around me. I don’t really care that Justin is practically crying hysterically because he’s never been in a situation like this, but then again, neither have I.

“Oh God, what the hell happened?” Justin asks as I walk up to meet him. He reaches out and grabs my upper arm, pulling me close to his already hot body. His brow is drenched in sweat and he’s watching the fire creep its way down the hall towards the two of us.

“I don’t know,” I state shaking my head sadly. Why am I not upset over this? Why, why, why, why? It has to be the shock. I have to be in shock because I’m not freaking out, I’m not stressed out, I’m just…here I guess.

“We have to get out of here!” Justin yells over the snarling fire. A sickening crack echoes throughout the house and I see the rafters from the roof begin to weaken and cave in. If we don’t get off the second floor, the roof is going to fall in on us.

Now I start to worry.

I reach out and grab his arm with my free hand and both our grip tightens on the other before he lets his hand slide down my arm and into my own hand. I let out a shaky breath and he responds by pushing me in front of him so I can go down the stairs first. I have no idea how the fire started and apparently Justin is enjoying playing fire fighter because he’s yelling about a fire extinguisher and whether or not I have one.

Please, I lived in the boonies when I was younger, do you really think my parents had a fire extinguisher around there? People around here don’t even lock their doors when they go into the city. What makes him think I have a fire extinguisher?

“Justin,” I yell over the commotion. My voice is hoarse from breathing in all the smoke and the raspy sound comes out squeaky due to the fear that has now registered in my voice, “you do realize that the mother fucking roof is caving in? I don’t think a fire extinguisher is going to help any.”

“I don’t want to argue right now! We have to get out of here before the whole damn house falls around us!”

And as soon as those words are out of his mouth a enormous boom shakes the entire house and we both turn our heads towards the ceiling in time to see the beams holding the second story up crack and give way. “Oh shit!” Justin screams and the next thing I know he’s pushing me towards the front door, and out of harm’s way.

My room has now been relocated to the living room.

The force of the second story caving down around us knocks me off my feet and I’m thrown against the opposite wall, adjacent to the front door. My face has become rather personal with the ash and debris-ridden floor and I can feel the hot sticky feeling of blood trickle down the side of my face. I landed on my left arm which is now burning with pain, I pray to God it isn’t broken but I don’t pause to test it. Once the air that was knocked out of me is back in my body, I’m struggling to get on my feet, noticing that a huge barrier is now separating me from Justin.

“Justin!” I yell as I make my way over to the fiery border, trying to stifle a flurry of coughs and sneezes. Embers are flying down around me like some kind of hellish rainfall and it’s when Justin isn’t standing right beside me that I really start to flip out.

“Justin would you answer me? This isn’t funny!” I’m screaming myself hoarse but I don’t care. Not having any sort of human contact when I’m in the middle of hell isn’t doing wonders for me and I can feel the tears start to well up in my incredibly dry eyes.

“Lauren?” his voice is faint, almost too faint for me to hear on the other side of the crumbled up wall and furniture. I pray to God he isn’t hurt badly and… “I can hardly hear you.”

“Are you okay?” I shout back ignoring the fact that I can smell singed hair and the metallic taste of blood is the current flavor in my mouth. Fabulous.

“My leg is stuck underneath half of your dresser,” he calls back and my heart leaps up into my throat, “Get out of here, I’ll meet you outside…” his voice disappears behind the roar and bellowing of my parents’ room dropping into the kitchen. It’s so hot, I want to tear off my robe and everything else and jump onto an ice block and sit there for the rest of the night, but I quickly push my discomfort to the back of my mind. I don’t need to think about that right now, I have to figure out how the hell I’m going to get Justin out of here.

“I’m not leaving without you!” I call back once the roar tones down, “I’m going to get through this and get to you!”

“Don’t be so stubborn, Lauren! Get the hell out of here, I’ll be fine!” He’s lying I know it.

“Justin!” I yell back and I begin to claw at the huge wall of debris that’s separating us. My nails tear and my fingers start to bleed but the sheer adrenaline is blinding the pain. I’ve never been so scared in my life and to think that a few hours ago we were in some field tipping cows and running away from some old fart farmer who really didn’t give a fuck in the first place that we were knocking over his livestock. “I’m not going anywhere without you!”

A pause, then his voice comes through, high pitched and scared to death, “Lauren,” he begins and I can hear the sobs edging around his voice, “You need to get out of here. The whole house is going to blow…”

What the fuck? No, the house isn’t going to explode, it isn’t going to blow up, that only happens in the movies and this is real fucking life. The house isn’t going to…

“Lauren I swear to God if you aren’t out of here in five seconds I’m going to make sure I kill you when I get out of this!” Justin bellows so loudly it almost sounds like he’s right next to me instead of behind an entire room.

“Justin…” I mutter and I know he can’t hear me but I wish I had five more minutes so I could tell him everything that’s on my mind right now. I just want to sit there and tell him that I appreciate him and respect him and, if I had more time, I could show him, or at least explain myself…

“GO!” his voice is frantic and it scares me enough to get me on my feet and pushes me towards the front door. I manage to rush down the porch and onto the front lawn. Once I’m a safe distance away, I turn around and my breath completely leaves my body.

The entire top half of the house is gone, the only thing standing is the chimney but even that isn’t standing strong against the assailing fire. The smell of burning wood is so strong that I can’t smell anything else and I don’t think I’ll be able to get the smell of burnt clothes and hair out of my mind. It’s like the fucking Fourth of July Fireworks Spectacular has been set off in my house and the only thing I can think about is whether or not Justin has gotten out safely or not.

He has to, there’s no other explanation. I need him to get out safely. No excuses. Why the hell did I leave him in there? He’s probably scared out of his mind, I need to go back in there and help him get out. No matter what it takes, I don’t care if the whole house comes down in shambles around our feet, I can’t stand here like a fucking damsel in distress while he’s in there fighting for his life. Gathering my wits about me, I dash towards the house, head down towards the ground…

And then the left side of the house explodes.

The force of the blast knocks me off my feet and I land on my back on the damp ground, the wind completely knocked out of me. Dazed and confused, I struggle to sit up and I gaze at the sight of my childhood home, the place I grew up, and the aching thought that Justin is still inside, either blown to smithereens, dead, or close to it sends me to my feet.

I watch helplessly as the fire consumes the rest of the house, sealing the fact that Justin was still trapped inside the house. Oh my God, what if he didn’t make it out? What if he was still inside and I sat out here watching him burn to death? Oh my God.

“Justin!” I screech, my voice completely lost over the roar of the fire and huge of gust that has begun to sweep through my property. I struggle to my feet and hurry back towards the house, praying to God, Baby Jesus, Mary, Buddah, whoever the fuck will hear me that he isn’t hurt or worse.

The explosion confirms my worst fears when I rush through the blown off front door and notice that the wall that was once separating Justin and I has been disintegrated and blown away. Justin is nowhere to be seen; only the splintered remains of my dresser that had pinned him down remains.

“Justin!” I scream out again but there isn’t a response. The amount of damage to the house stops me from searching the rest of the place and I trudge out of the ruins and back to the front yard, trying my best to keep the tears in check.

It’s just too much. The fire, my house gone, Justin putting my life before his own, the thought of him dead…I crumple to the ground in a heap, the exhaustion and shock finally seeping in. My arm is hurting something terrible and my body is shaking and I can’t think straight.

He’s gone.

He saved my life.

He’s gone.

He put me before him, something he has never done.

He’s dead.

I never got the chance to say goodbye.

Poof. Bye, bye.

Gone.

I never got the chance to tell him that I love him.

Gone, gone, gone, gone, gone. Gone.

No more smart ass comments, no more making me do things so out of the ordinary it makes Michael Jackson look like a normal human being. What the hell am I going to tell his mother? Trace? How the hell am I going to get through this?

The past three years are rushing through my head in a huge blur. Every outlandish suggestion he’s given me, every kind word, every party I’ve helped him throw is on fast forward and his voice is running through my head, his face is in front of me every time I close my eyes, and I would give anything to see him again, to tell him everything and anything on my mind. I’d never let him out of my sight after this episode. Period. We’d be attached at the hip but right now that seems impossible because he’s not here. He’s barbequed.

“Jesus Christ, why?” I mutter under my breath before I’m reduced to sobs. I can’t see anything through my tears and the wind is howling something awful, as if God is crying with me, or the rest of the world has figured out that the fabulous Justin Timberlake is dead and they’re preparing for the storm that’s to follow.

The wind’s picked up his voice too and it’s a distant sound, on the horizon but I can hear it all the same.

“Lauren!” it’s sharp and crisp and it’s almost like he’s barking at me, the wind I mean. Because he’s dead and my mind is just playing tricks on me. God, do I have to face this for the rest of my life? Because Jesus, you can just kill me now if you’re going to torture me like this for eternity. I don’t think I could take this every single day.

“Lauren!”

Good God why does it sound so real? I’m still in shock; I have to be because there isn’t anyone around. I can’t see anyone and I know it’s my mind playing tricks on me. I heard that if you want something bad enough your mind starts to tell you that it’s actually there and you make it up in your head that it’s physically and psychologically there. I’m going insane.

“Lauren!”

“Shut the fuck up!” I yelp to no one through my tears. I hate feeling this helpless and I push the hair out of my eyes so I can brush the tears away. I never expected to see the figure standing about four yards away from me.

“What, you not excited to see me?” he asks and I choke back a fresh wave of tears as I sit up back on my haunches and look at his broken figure illuminated by the dying fire. It’s so not real. Like I said, I’ve gone insane and the next thing that happens is you visualize what you want. And I want to see him so badly; this isn’t real, so not real. “Lo-ho?”

And suddenly I’m up on my feet and sprinting towards him, closing the distance between us. I don’t slow down, I can’t slow down, and I won’t slow down. Running is all I can do to keep me from breaking down completely or turning around and walking away.

I collide into him, his body wonderfully solid and I can feel my breath leave me for the fourth or fifth time tonight, I can’t remember.

“Dammit Lauren, that hurt!” Justin gasps out but I don’t give him a response because my hands clasp themselves behind his head and before I know what I’m doing I’m kissing him for all I’m worth pushing myself tighter against him because I don’t want him to disappear again. There isn’t any breath left in my body and I feel like I’m suffocating but I don’t give a damn. He’s here, I’m in his arms, and he’s wonderfully alive. Oh Jesus, he’s alive.

His hands wrap around my waist and he tries to pull me as close as possible to him and, let’s face it, I’m not complaining. My hands leave the back of his head and wander down his neck and across his shoulders, checking for any damage and simply for the joy of touch. His hands have traveled up the small of my back and all I can do is hang in his arms as we continue to kiss and I can tell you I’ve never been more overjoyed and relieved in my life.

He breaks away from the kiss and I’m suddenly showered with tiny kisses on my forehead, my eyelids, my nose, and my cheeks and then back to my lips where I’m all too eager to oblige to his onslaught of kisses.

We’re not stopping and I don’t care right now. I don’t care that there’s the sound of sirens in the distance, I don’t care that the burning is still infiltrating my senses and I don’t care that I’ve got a huge headache and my sinuses are shot to shit. I’ve got him and that’s all that matters.

“I love you,” I whisper to him, “I didn’t know it could hurt to love someone this much, are you okay?”

“I love you too,” he mumbles back before he kisses me again. He pulls back again and hugs me tightly, and I’m afraid that if he loosens his hold on me he’ll slip away from me again. The sirens are louder; it’s getting hard to hear his response even though our faces are inches apart from each other.

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you,” I whisper in a chant. I must sound completely psycho but I really don’t care. When the person you love is almost taken away from you and you never got a chance to tell that person how you really feel, you’re going to spend the rest of your life telling them everything on your mind and how you feel and yeah… I love him.

“Shit!” he yells loudly and I’m catapulted away from him, the sirens so loud I can hardly hear myself think. “Shit!” he yells again and the burning smell is getting stronger and my head is getting heavier.

“Justin, what’s going on?”

“Shit, Lauren! Shit!” he all but screams at me. “FUCK!”

And I thought I was the one going absolutely insane. I watch as he turns around and throws his hands up in the sky out of frustration before he lets out another slew of curses, the sirens censoring his angry cries. What the hell is going on?

Smoke comes through, the sirens…I can’t hear anything. My head feels like it’s going to explode and Justin is still screaming ‘shit’ even though I can’t hear him. I sit down on the ground and put my hands over my ears and close my eyes tightly.

I open my eyes and I’m on my back, staring up at the ceiling of my not burned down room. My eyes are watering because of the haze that has managed to waft its way through the cracks of my door. It’s morning out, the sun is shining through the windows, but there’s the horrible wailing sound of sirens coming from the front driveway.

“SHIT! LAUREN!”

Something’s burning, and it’s coming from downstairs.

Stumbling out of bed, much like the totally random and disgusting dream I just had, I grab my robe and walk out of my room, trying my best to not cough at the light smoke that has made its way up the stairs to the second story.

“LAUREN! HOLY SHIT!”

“Shut the fuck up, Justin! I’m coming!” I screech at him as I descend to the first level. The smoke is heavier and I realize the sirens from outside are being produced by the biggest fire engine I have ever seen. Oh that asshole did not call the fire department.

Great, this will be all over town by lunch. Maybe even sooner if Justin doesn’t kill everyone in the damn house. I really don’t need this on my birthday, of all days.

Opening the door into the kitchen I almost fall over in shock at the sight that’s in front of me. Justin is standing off to the side of the kitchen, watching the stove with a look of intense fear and premonition on his face. He looks like a little boy who just got his hand caught in the cookie jar, a very big cookie jar.

The kitchen is a complete mess. Bowls are strewn all over the counters with different batters and random breakfast foods thrown into them. The sink is filled to the brim with dirty plates and mixing utensils and the stove is billowing over with smoke, a few frying pans in the middle housing burnt food that smells terrible.

“What the hell did you do?” I ask him as I lean against the door. A fire fighter walks back into the room with an empty fire extinguisher, a bemused look on his face. Great, it’s Richard Travers — an old friend of my dad’s. He’s probably already phoned him, laughing about how some random city slicker schmuck almost burned down his house.

And this is the first and probably the only time I have ever seen Justin Timberlake blush. He’s embarrassed as well he should be. It isn’t even nine o’ clock in the morning and he’s managed to turn my world into complete chaos. Well if you count that retarded dream last night, then he’s managed to make my life chaos twenty-four/seven.

“I was making breakfast!”

“Why? You don’t cook!” I counter shrilly.

“I know! I bake,” he yelps, “I just wanted to make you something nice for your birthday.” That part catches me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting him to respond with something that…nice or caring. I mean this is Justin, a few hours ago he didn’t even know it was my birthday and now he’s sitting here trying to make me a Denny’s Grand Slam breakfast in my own kitchen.

“It seems that this young man was making breakfast, lost control of the stove and managed to severely burn your breakfast,” Richard explains with an enormous smile on his face, “All you had to do, sir,” he explains, and now he starts to giggle, “was turn the stove off. You could have completely avoided calling us by simply turning the dials off.”

Oh. My. God. He is officially the biggest dumb ass on the planet. Richard is now laughing hysterically and I can hear a few other people behind the door into the living room laughing as well. Wonderful, I’m sure the whole fire brigade is here this morning and they had to witness this little, well huge idiotic attempt at making breakfast by Justin Timberlake — International Superstar and Suck Ass Chef.

And pretty soon, I’m laughing too. Crying hysterically is more like it because I’m practically sitting on the floor due to Justin’s stupidity. This is the best birthday present I could ever ask for, Justin making a fool out of himself in front of authority figures and myself included.

“Do you even know how to turn off a stove?” I ask him in between my giggles and he scowls at me before he pulls off his oven mitt.

“I had to turn it on didn’t I?”

“But you’re Justin Timberlake, you can turn anything on!” I howl with laughter and he shakes his head and fires off a rude gesture in my direction. Once I get a hold of myself, I thank Richard and the rest of the brigade for coming out on such short notice. They assure me that this was probably the best call they’ve ever received in at least ten years and that if Justin or I need any other assistance with stoves, refrigerators and other household appliances to direct our calls to Sears and not the fire department.

“I can’t believe you,” I say to Justin once the firemen have left the house and are pulling out of my driveway, “I mean you don’t know how to turn off a stove so you call the fire department? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Okay first of all,” Justin states, “I was trying to make you breakfast for your birthday, you know, because I feel bad for forgetting it, and I didn’t want to wake you up for you to help me. So I decided to do it myself. And I turned on the stove and started to cook but it got out of hand because a fire started on the stove and it was mother fucking huge. Like as big as Trace…”

“That isn’t that big, Justin,” I state and he rolls his eyes and silences me with a glare before he continues.

“I panicked. I didn’t know what to do, so I called the fire department and then tried to wake you up but you wouldn’t wake up. All you could say was ‘I love you…’”

Oh sweet suffering Jesus. I can feel the color drain from my face and he looks at me with a concerned look on his face before I turn away and become interested in the completely burnt eggs and bacon. So he walked in right on the middle of my dream but he couldn’t wake me up. But those fucking sirens did. God they were loud.

“So I went back downstairs and by that time I though the fire was going to reach the gas and blow up the whole house so I panicked some more. The fire department finally got here and they turned off the stove and had the situation handled. Sorry.”

And this is the first time he’s ever apologized. A blushing and apologizing Justin Timberlake? This is the best birthday ever. I’m going to scratch the fact that he heard my dream, but he doesn’t even know what it was about. And besides, I don’t love him. Lord no, not after this fiasco and not ever.

It’s Justin.

“Well let’s get this cleaned up,” I state before I pick up a few of the plates and dump them unceremoniously into the sink. He looks at me with a confused expression and I give him a questioning glance.

“You aren’t going to yell at me? I thought you’d be pissed.”

“I’m not going to yell at you on my birthday, no matter how much satisfaction I’d get out of it. Accidents happen, and besides, you can buy me breakfast when we get to the diner.”

“What diner?” Justin asks me and I laugh loudly as I turn on the sink. Oh this boy is going to get the shit embarrassed out of him.

The drive to the diner is pretty dull. I keep quiet for most of the way but I keep finding myself laughing under my breath every time I think of Justin standing in the kitchen freaking out at a little fire that didn’t need anyone’s attention but the fire extinguisher’s attention. Of course every time I laugh he looks over at me with an accusatory glare and I find myself becoming quiet once again. And only when it’s quiet do my thoughts return to my retarded dream.

I have no idea why I managed to dream what I did. The whole house on fire thing tied in with Justin’s stove fiasco, but really, the dream felt so real, like the fire burning and the house caving in. Even the dream-kiss with Justin felt real even though thinking about it now makes me feel awkward and rather disgusted. I mean you couldn’t pay me to kiss Justin right now like the way I did in that dream. No way. And the whole, ‘I love you,’ business I guess my dream self was caught in the heat of the moment, no pun intended, and just couldn’t help herself. I can only think that you’d want to be close to another human after a near death experience.

But that dream was way too weird. I hope I don’t have any more of them because that would just blow beyond anything I’ve ever imagined. I think I’m going to blame it on the steak and potatoes I had at Gretchen’s last night.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Justin suddenly questions me and I turn to look at him.

“What?”

“You look troubled. Anything I can do to help?” Why is he being so nice all of a sudden? He was never like this on my other birthdays, but then again he didn’t know when my birthday was back then so I don’t have an excuse as to why he’s being this…cordial. Maybe he’s just trying to make up for the birthdays he forgot about. “Lauren?”

“It’s nothing. I just had a weird dream last night, kind of freaked me out.”

“D’you want to talk about it?”

“Not really. I mean it’s no big deal…” I start to say but he interrupts me,

“Was I in it?” well he certainly isn’t trying to keep his nose out of my business. What a surprise.

“No,” I find myself saying quietly as we turn onto Main Street. “I just dreamt that my house was on fire. I was a little girl and it was just really strange. I blame it on you destroying our breakfast.”

That shut him up quick. He glowers at me before I park the car a few streets away from our actual destination.

“What is this place we’re going to?” Justin asks as we get out of the car. A group of high school girls pass us, gawk at Justin, and then fall into a fit of giggles. I have to give props to Justin because he’s walking around with his head held high and acting like nothing is out of the ordinary. For me, this proves my worst thoughts true; the fire brigade told the town about the stove incident.

“I can’t believe you’re making me go out in public after I made a complete ass out of myself,” Justin whines as he continues his walk of shame.

“It’s not my fault you don’t know the basics of domestic living and besides, you didn’t need to get the fire department involved.” He responds with a heavy sigh before he puts his hood up over his face. The way he’s going on, it’s like he’s expecting the paparazzi to come popping out of some random building in the middle of nowhere. Not even the best pap would think of looking for Justin here. Period.

“Just shut up and get me in this diner,” Justin mutters and I want nothing more than to pull off his hood and shout for the whole town to see that the man who managed to get the volunteer fire department out of their beds at close to eight o’ clock in the morning was in their midst. Of course, he’d kill me and probably make sure I don’t live to see twenty-seven but the thought is still delicious.

After a few minutes of silent walking, we finally make it inside the diner and Justin mutters a groan of displeasure when he sees that the diner is almost filled to capacity. I guess I forgot to mention that Boardman’s Café is the most popular hang out spot in town for pretty much the entire population.

I haven’t been in Boardman’s Café since my senior year of high school and yet nothing’s changed. The checkered floor is the same with a few of the small squares missing in a few places and the hideous bison head is still donning the Santa hat I threw on it during my last holiday working here. And then there’s the bell that the waitresses ring every time someone walks in that hasn’t been in Boardman’s for over six months. I only hope…

‘Ring, ring, ring, ring!’

Shit.

“ATTENTION PATRONS!” I want to kill Gretchen. Of course she would still work at her father’s diner and of course she’d be the one to ring that damn bell to alert the entire restaurant of my arrival. Of course. “WE’VE GOT A VERY SPECIAL GUEST! JOINING US ONCE AGAIN FOR THE FIRST TIME IN EIGHT YEARS, IS ONE OF OUR OWN, MISS LAURIE ELIZABETH WALTERS!” The place erupts in hoots, hollers, and a couple of yee-haws. It’s completely safe to say that I’m embarrassed though not as much as Justin, who is almost beet red.

“Say Justin, can you come show me how to turn off a stove?” Gretchen asks cheekily while she walks up to us. Justin turns an even darker shade of red and rubs the back of his neck. Poor thing.

“Funny,” he mutters before Gretchen snatches two menus from the hostess stand and takes us to a booth.

“Best table in the house. Sure you don’t want to wait a few tables for old time’s sake?” Gretchen asks and I find myself shaking my head vigorously and sticking my tongue out in disgust. The last thing I need is for Justin to see me wait tables. He’d just start complaining that I’m never that efficient with my planning back in LA and I definitely don’t want him to hold anything over me. Not after I’ve been teasing him relentlessly for his stove blunder.

Before Gretch leaves with our drink order, Justin whispers something in her ear and with a toothy grin, she leaves and heads for the kitchen. “What was that about?” I ask and he merely shrugs before he hides behind the menu.

Gretchen moves with a swiftness and soon our orders are placed and we’re left with the awkward limbo of waiting for our food. Boss and employee, employee and boss…it’s a rather interesting situation to be in because I have no idea what to say to him. I don’t want to remind him of work because he’s actually gotten out of being a work-a-holic up here but that’ll change once we go back to LA tomorrow. He’ll start getting into the album, the promotion, and that’ll give me a million and one things to do and I am not looking forward to doing it.

The past day and a half has been peaceful, almost incident free if you scratch out that random dream and Justin calling the fire department. Up until this morning I was really enjoying my time but right now it’s sort of bland. But I blame the silence.

“So you used to work here?” Justin asks ready to make small talk.

“Yeah, I started back in the eighth grade. It’s been in Gretchen’s family since her great-great grandfather,” I explain not noticing the pride that’s seeped into my voice. If I had explained that to Justin a week ago, he would have laughed in my face, called me a loser, and proceeded to tell Trace that I worked in some dumpy diner for five years. But now, now that he’s been here, he’s changed. He smiles and nods his head before he sips his orange juice.

“Sometimes I wish for a normal life, you know? I think being here I’m as close to normal as I can be. Of course I’m still the village idiot because I can’t turn off a damn stove,” he jokes with a bitter laugh, “But still, those are the types of things that being famous can’t get you - that normal.”

“Nah, that stove is tricky. I had problems with it when I used to live here…” I’m siding with him? What is wrong with me? I should be taking this opportunity to laugh in his face and remind him what an idiot he is, but instead I’m trying to make him feel better! Ugh, I need food.

“How come you never baked pies back home?”

“You never asked,” I respond, “I try not to bake anymore because I know that the second I put something in the oven, you’ll call and want me somewhere,” I snap. Why am I being this guarded now? Oh that’s right, it’s my first birthday in four years without Neal and I’m talking to Justin of all people. Makes sense now, but I still feel bad. “Sorry…”

“No, it’s okay. I was never that nice to you, huh?”

“You say ‘was’ like it only happened in the past,” I mutter as a different waitress brings us our food.

“I’m trying to be better,” Justin points out as he cuts his sausage in half. He’s right; I’m still being guarded and bitchy.

“Sorry…” he’s about to respond but a loud gasp and a shout disrupts his response.

“Oh my God! I don’t believe who I’m seeing! Laurie is that you?” A voice says behind me. I instantly flinch at the voice because I know what’s coming and I don’t want it to arrive at the head of our table. I especially don’t want the owner of that high pitched, almost girlish voice to come sit next to me.

“Damn,” I mutter under my breath and Justin looks at me with concern before another loud combination of a giggle gasp breaks my concentration. “Come sit next to me,” I say quickly and Justin’s expression changes to confusion.

“Huh?”

“Don’t ask questions, just come sit next to me!” I hiss under my breath, “Quick, before he sits here!” Justin doesn’t ask twice, thank God, and he quickly moves over to sit next to me just as the man with a huge mop of flaming red hair sits down in the spot where Justin was sitting.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re here! I heard rumors and everything but I didn’t actually think you’d be here! How are you Laurie?”

Truman O’Malley - the bane of my existence back in high school and apparently he still is now. His enormous toothy grin is practically leering at me and I want nothing more than to smack it off of his face. He’s dressed in the same thing he’s worn since 1994, overalls, a plaid shirt, and a really disgusting pair of work boots.

I can’t believe I dated him.

“Well did the farm cat go ahead and get your tongue then? Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asks me and again, the urge to punch him in the face is extremely strong. I hear Justin snort back a howl of laughter and I want nothing more than to kick him or bring up the stove incident just to put him in his place. But I have to put Truman in his place.

“Anything,” I say snappishly and Truman looks at me with a confused expression. Of course, he’s a moron; he wouldn’t understand a joke as simple as that.

“Well gee, it sure is great to see you,” he states as he brushes a lock of red hair out of his face, “I mean I haven’t seen you in ages and all of a sudden yer back in Worden. How have you been?”

“Fine. I’ve been fine, what about you Truman?” I ask. I guess I can humor myself and see how far I can take this conversation before I start to get really rude.

“Waiting for you to come back,” he says in a soft voice and I swear he almost reached out at that moment to grab my hand, “You didn’t exactly stick around to say goodbye before you left for that fancy school in California…”

Yeah, because you were coming over to my house right after graduation to propose and the thought of being tied to Worden for the rest of my life scared the shit out of me. I skipped town as soon as Gretchen came up to me and blurted that I’d be the first out of both of us to be married. Secrets aren’t secrets for long in Worden.

“Well I had to leave as quickly as possible. Sorry,” I say even though I’m not sorry at all. It took me all of two days in California for me to realize that I could do so much better than Truman O’Malley. “You know how I always put education first, Tru…” Oh God I’ve gone back to using the pet name I had for him back when we were kids. Now he’s going to think I want to fall back into what we once had and that is the last thing I want to do. Truman isn’t exactly the brightest crayon in the box.

“Yeah I know, Moof, I know.” This is mortifying. I look down in my lap and see Justin gripping the ends of the table in an effort to keep his laughter in check. Great, now he’s going to call me Moof for the rest of the trip, I just know it. “I missed you so much though. We should go out tonight…”

Oh no. I don’t want this; I really don’t want this at all. The last thing I need is to go out on some date with this lunatic whose idea of a good time would be joy riding in a tractor. When I was younger I would enjoy something like that, but now. Oh God no. I start to reply but I stop when Justin suddenly puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer to him.

“I guess I should introduce myself since Moof didn’t have a chance to,” Justin interjects with a bright smile. I look up at him with a confused look while he extends his free hand in Truman’s direction, “I’m Justin, Lauren’s boyfriend.”

Holy strawberries Batman it looks like we’re in a jam.

The awkward silence is louder than a jumbo jet taking off from underneath our table. Truman looks crestfallen and totally asunder because of this announcement and I can hear some people behind us murmuring about how ‘Little Laurie found herself a man.’ What is this, Oklahoma?

“Golly that’s news,” Truman says disappointed as he rubs the top of his head, “How long have ya’ll been together?”

“Almost four years now I think,” Justin explains with a beaming smile as he pulls me closer to him still. Is he trying to mold us together or something? I mean I’m grateful for the help he’s giving me right now, but seriously this is getting to be a bit uncomfortable.

“Wow. Well count yer lucky stars she’s one in a million that one,” Truman says while he puts on a brave face. I stay close to Justin and my stomach nearly leaps out of my throat when I feel his lips touch the top of my head. Did he just kiss my head? Did he just kiss my freaking head? “Don’t know what she sees in you, but I guess there’s something.”

Oh snap

“Yeah I count my blessings every day. I’m so grateful to have someone like Lo-ho in my life.”

“Wait, what?” Gretchen interjects from the head of the table. Great just what I need, more people to find out about this charade Justin is pulling right now. “You two are dating?”

“I thought you knew,” Justin says with a huge smile and I can tell he totally loves this. He’s pulling the wool over Worden’s eyes and he’s enjoying every minute of it.

“No! Just last night we were talking…”

“We decided to keep it a secret,” Justin interrupts quickly before he picks up my limp hand and kisses it. Shivers shoot up my spine and I look up at him again with a look of complete befuddlement on my face and he leans down and pecks my forehead with his lips.

Okay, I can wake up now.

“Well isn’t this just the cutest thing. You know the Saint Patrick’s Day Barn Dance is tonight I know ya’ll are going to come, right?” Gretchen says with a big smile.

“Yeah that’d be a roaring good time!” Truman exclaims and you can tell he’s trying to mask his sheer disappointment. I’m still a little put out that Justin is acting this way because he never really tries to back me up at all and now here he is, saving me from certain death who’s name happens to be Truman O’Malley. “Are you going to come?”

“I don’t…”

“Of course we are!” Justin interrupts and I really want to smack him now even though we’re supposed to be playing this supposed lovesick couple. He looks over at me and smiles sweetly and I give him my cheesiest, fakest smile I can muster. Justin must know he’s in for an earful when we get back into the car because the look on his face is a mixture of amusement and imminent doom.

He is so going to get it.

***

Deranged Delusions

14. Stay With Me

Okay so maybe it was wrong of me to claim that Lauren and I are dating. But what else could I do? That Truman guy was annoying the hell out of me and I could tell Lauren was ready to drop kick his ass into the twenty-first century. I had to say something.

But it was so hard for me to keep my hands to myself. I mean she was right there in my arms and I wanted to do nothing more than throw her on the table and kiss her to within an inch of her life. Okay, thoughts out of your head because you don’t need that right now. You have to be on your game tonight, Timberlake, because you’re going to a barn dance and you have no idea what a barn dance is.

How do I get myself into these things? I swear.

But she looked so cute this morning. Oh God I need to stop this right now. How the heck am I going to properly function around her if all I can think about is the cute confused look on her face when I told Truman that we were dating. And I can’t stop the conversation we had on the drive home over and over in my head. Well, it wasn’t a conversation, she pretty much just yelled at me and asked me what I was thinking.

I don’t really think about those things when all I can think about is how hot she is when she gets really mad.

Again. Need. To. Stop.

“Are you almost ready?” her voice calls me from down the hall and my heart leaps a bit like some love sick little puppy. Ugh I hate this. I hate being even more dependent on her than I already am and I want nothing more than to tell her to shut up and leave me alone. But that’s a big contradiction.

“I’m having a little bit of a problem with this outfit,” I say with a little waver in my voice. I mean she wants me to wear these tight ass Wrangler jeans, a plaid button down shirt with a boa tie and…well it looks exactly like the fashion hell no that I wore back on Star Search.

“You know you’re going to have to wear it!” she yells back at me and I sigh dejectedly as I pull on the jeans. How anyone can stand to work in these all day is beyond me. I know the skinny jeans are supposed to be in season for the summer and shit, and I know I’m supposed to be all ‘country’ when it comes to the clothes Trace and I market, but this is ridiculous.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter under my breath. I know she’s going to bust a gut when she sees me in this full western garb and I think I’ll have to smack her upside the head or at least call her Moof a thousand times over tonight.

Ten minutes later and I’m ready to go. I walk down the hall towards her bedroom and stand outside her closed door. I can hear her moving around and my mind starts to wander to what she is, or isn’t wearing. Great, the last thing I need to do is excuse myself so I can go take a cold shower. Think of something totally not appealing.

Yeah, thinking of Truman definitely helps.

I knock on the door and I can hear her disgruntled sigh before the locking mechanism on her door turns and the door slowly opens. Her hair is French braided, a few wisps of hair framing her face and a pair of turquoise earrings are dangling from her ears.

“Hey,” she says with a huge smile on her face. She’s wearing this big, huge bottleneck blue skirt that probably fans out really far when she spins around. A white and blue plaid top is snug on her shoulders and she looks…well, she looks good. “Well I guess I should say ‘howdy,’” she adds with a laugh and I can’t help but smile at the amounts of carefree attitude that she has.

“I’d reckon so, ma’am,” I reply before I hold my arm out to her. She has to oblige seeing as Gretchen and her husband are waiting downstairs and apparently the entire town thinks we’re dating. And I thought Hollywood was bad with the whole spreading of gossip business.

Her arm slinks around mine and I can’t help but think that this is the way it should be. But then I remember that she’s my employee and there is no way in hell it would ever work out. I mean, she can’t stand me and I’m supposed to act like I can’t stand her even though that’s a complete lie now.

“Do you even know what a barn dance is?” Lauren questions me for about the tenth time tonight. Earlier, I never gave her a straight answer but she has to know that I have no clue what the hell I’m doing. I finally relent and shake my head.

“Oh lord,” she says flatly before she shakes her head, “You’re in for a rude awakening let me tell you.” She then goes on to tell me that barn dances take place inside barns and the music is completely live. Sounds like my kind of scene, right? Wrong. Apparently it’s all crazy country music and all people do is square dance and do-si-do and do other crazy things that I don’t know how to do. Box step, yeah I got that down. Hip hop combinations that would make Fatima’s head spin, been doing it since I was fifteen. But square dancing? Do-si-do? I’m completely lost.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath and Lauren nods her head.

“It’s going to be an interesting night. But I think the main reason why is because I’m supposed to have been dating you for almost four years. I’m glad you finally got around to telling me today. Guess that was my birthday present, huh?”

Not if you play your cards right…

“Ya’ll look so cute!” Gretchen croons from the bottom of the stairs as we make our grand entrance. She pulls out an ancient looking camera and takes a quick picture as we descend the steps. Lauren is rolling her eyes in her friend’s direction and I can’t help but smile because I know that sooner rather than later one of us is going to be getting that picture.

“You two don’t look so bad yourselves,” Lauren says as her arm leaves mine and she embraces her friend. I shake her husband’s hand and before I know it we’re out the door and heading for the Jones’ pickup truck.

We know how to roll in style.

The ride over is pretty much in silence but as we get closer to the enormous barn that’s lit up like a late night construction site, the excitement in the truck begins to build. Gretchen is practically jumping up and down in her seat and Peter is tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. Lauren is sitting up straighter and I can see her hands reaching up to feel her hair to make sure it’s in place.

“Don’t worry, you look fine,” I mutter softly in her ear. She jumps away as far as she can, seeing as she’s almost sitting on my lap due to the fact that there is very limited space in this particular truck model, and looks at me with a confused face.

“Thank you?” she musters and I smile in her direction before I rest my arm against the door. I can feel the nervous butterflies in my stomach because I have no clue what the heck I’m going to do once I get into this barn. Probably crash and burn but I’m not going to think about that just yet.

Peter parks the truck and soon we’re heading towards the brightly lit building, the heavy country music is practically flooding my ears and making them bleed before our group even gets inside. I’m too busy focusing on Lauren’s hand in mine that I completely don’t hear her talking to me.

“Did you hear me?” she asks giving me a small nudge with her body. I break out of my reverie and look down at her with a confused glare.

“Huh?”

“I said to not make a fool out of yourself tonight. These people take barn dancing very serious and…” before she can finish a chorus of cheers breaks out and suddenly I realize we’re inside the barn and the place is freaking huge. Like, enormous. I think the entire town has been shoved in here but I’m trying hard not to make eye contact. They all probably know me as Stove Man or something to that effect and I don’t want anybody to be reminded.

At the opposite end of the building is a makeshift stage that houses an eight piece band complete with fiddles and two banjos. The center is cleared out for dancing and the area surrounding the dance floor is dotted with tables and chairs. The place is lit up like a Christmas tree and some of the lights are teetering around in the small breeze that’s traveling through the edifice.

“They’ve out done themselves this year! It looks great,” Gretchen comments towards her husband before the two head on out to the dance floor ready to bust a move, I guess. I look over towards Lauren who looks highly embarrassed thanks to all the looks she’s getting from people I guess she knows and I’m starting to feel bad for her. She doesn’t deserve all these people gawking at her and then turning their backs to gossip about her on her birthday.

“Come on,” I find myself saying and before I know what I’m doing, I’ve got a hold of Lauren’s hand and we’re rushing out onto the floor. She makes a noise of protest but I ignore her. I don’t think she knows how nervous I am, because I am absolutely petrified of making myself looking like more of an ass to these people than I did yesterday.

“So?” Lauren asks me as we stand in the middle of the floor. People are dancing around in fast circles all around us and this is a completely different style of dance than what I’m used to. Where are the booty pops? The girls grinding together to make the guys flip out and buy more drinks at the bar? Where is the bar? I kind of need a drink right now because people are starting to look from the sidelines to see what we’re going to do.

I watch a few of the people around me dance around in continuous circles and I wonder how they don’t fall down from losing their center of balance. Lauren clears her throat and toys with the end of her braid and I’m quickly losing my nerve. If I don’t do something soon, I’m going to end up storming off the floor and I’ll look like a complete pussy to everyone in this entire barn.

With an exasperated sigh, Lauren grabs my left hand and puts it on the small of her waist before she grabs my right hand with her left and places her other hand on my shoulder. I look at her with wide eyes and before I know what we’re doing, we’re flying with the other dancers, spinning and twirling and…holy shit I’m barn dancing! Like I’m dancing in a style that I would have never danced before and I here I am doing it…

“Ow!” Lauren yelps and I blanch for a moment when I realize that I just stomped on her cowboy boot clad foot.

“Oh, sorry!” I say loudly as I stop in the middle of the floor. I start to bend down to inspect her foot but I realize how retarded that must look to other people so I stand straight up and readjust my hat. “Um…yeah, I meant to do that,” I try to say smoothly but it really doesn’t work. Lauren looks at me and laughs loudly before she grabs me by the upper arm and leads me from the floor.

“I think I’m going to need a drink if I’m going back out there with you again,” she states with a suppressed giggle and I couldn’t agree more with her because I think I’m going to need one if I’m going to go back out there again.

But before I can go on my search for the bar, a huge yee-haw rises up to the rafters and a blur is embracing Lauren. I can feel that familiar twang of jealously and protection raise up in my stomach, which is something I get every time I’m not next to Lauren or at the center of her attention. I realize that it’s Truman and he’s yanking my apparent girlfriend to the floor.

“You don’t mind, do yew Justin?” Truman asks me and I almost tell him that I do mind but the last thing I need to do is create a scene which involves kicking Truman’s ass in front of the entire town. Lauren’s a big girl, she can handle herself.

Taking a seat at an empty table, I watch as the pair practically sail across the floor. You can’t deny that they’re the best dancers in the whole barn and it’s just magical watching them. They’re floating as they spin around and twirl and she looks so gorgeous. Her skirt is billowing out around her so it’s almost like she’s floating on a cloud…

Okay, where the hell is the bar? I’m thinking like some kind of madly in love person and I am not madly in love with Lauren. I like her, I think she’s spunky, and she takes care of me, and okay, she’s absolutely beautiful but I do not love her. But I can’t pull myself away. The way the lights are swinging to and fro up in the rafters catch the small beads that are integrated in Lauren’s skirt, something I hadn’t noticed when I first saw her back at the house. The whole atmosphere and the way she looks like she’s in her element right now, it’s intoxicating and entrancing all at the same time. She looks over at me from time to time, avoiding Truman’s intense gaze, and by the way she’s looking at me, I can’t help but think that she has an idea of my true feelings, or at least a premonition of what they really are. This isn’t fucking fair.

Closing my eyes, I take a few breaths before I stand up and start my search for the bar. If I keep watching them, I’m going to do something extremely stupid. My search isn’t in vain because I finally find what I’m looking for and soon I’m sipping on a beer (the only thing they have in this place. Do they not believe in martinis?) and watching the dancing continue. I think Lauren is still out on the floor but I can’t be too sure. All I know is I’m halfway done with my first beer and I’m going to need a second soon.

Four beers, a few dances with Lauren, and one extremely pissed off Truman O’Malley later, we head out into the night. I have to say that the night was really nice and I enjoyed my time. Granted I couldn’t dance worth a shit and that’s something a tipsy Lauren isn’t letting me forget as we walk towards the Jones’s truck.

“You were sooooo funny! You stepped on my feet like four times!” she says with a laugh as she hangs on my arm. I try to stand up straight but I end up leaning underneath her weight seeing as I’m having problems standing up as well.

“I’m plum tuckered out!” Gretchen announces as we pile on into the truck. Lauren doesn’t even scoot on over, instead she plants herself firmly on my lap and I already know that trouble is starting to brew. I don’t know if I’ll be able to contain myself if she continues to play this charade of us going out to the extreme that she’s playing.

“Me too!” I say a bit louder than I intended. Lauren flinches slightly seeing as I practically screamed in her ear, but I can hardly hear anything seeing as the alcohol has muffled my hearing considerably. Thank God I’m not driving, Lauren too.

The ride is a jovial one and it seems that Lauren and myself are able to sober ourselves up en route to her house. She’s starting to slide off of my lap, which is a good thing because I’m sure poking her wouldn’t be the best way to finish out the evening.

We finally arrive at her house and after saying our goodbyes to Gretchen and Peter, we start our slow journey up the porch steps to her house. Lauren simply opens the door and walks inside the house, which is still something I can’t understand. I mean, why do people not lock their doors here? Have they not seen Capote? I mean two guys went into a house and blew an entire family into smithereens! What makes them think it can’t happen here?

“That was a good time,” Lauren states as she throws her purse on the coffee table in the living room. She pulls out her braid and I can’t help but love the way her hair comes out all wavy once it’s fully down. Lauren turns to look at me and she smiles as she sits down on the couch. I have no idea what to do, so I take off the cowboy hat that’s been slammed on my head all night and rest it on the coffee table next to Lauren’s purse. Sitting down next to her, I rest my feet up on the table and look over at her. She’s looking intently at a photograph of two penguins standing in the middle of a blizzard. I’m guessing it’s a picture one of her parents took on one of their extravagant expeditions, but she’s looking at it with respect and, do I detect a hint of longing?

“They mate for life you know,” Lauren states simply as she continues to stare at the picture, “the male finds a pebble and presents it to the female and if she likes it, they end up getting paired for life. If one of them dies, they don’t find a new mate. Sometimes I wish our world was more like that…”

Wow, well that was Straight Out of Left Field starring Lauren Walters. What the heck is she talking about? I mean, I’ve seen that documentary with Morgan Freeman or whatever and I know all about how penguins march and stuff but really I couldn’t stand to watch after one of the little baby penguins froze to death. I’m all about survival of the fittest, but do they have to show dead baby animals?

“Are you okay?” I ask her quietly and she shakes her head before she leans back against the couch and lets her head slump against the cushions.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, “It’s just the first birthday I’ve had in a long time without Neal and, well, I miss him.” And just like that the small buzz I was feeling is completely and totally gone. Vanished in a puff of smoke because here she is bringing up Neal again when it’s been a few weeks since he dumped her and she really should be getting over it.

But then again it was a pretty random way to be dumped, especially since she didn’t remember anything about it. And I’m carrying the entire blame for that, but I don’t think telling her right now would be the best thing.

“S’okay,” I find myself saying softly, “he doesn’t deserve you.”

“Then who does?” I want to say ‘me’ so badly but I know that would not go over well. She’s already buzzed, she’s depressed, and having me somewhat come out about my feelings would be the icing on her totally pissy birthday cake. “I mean Neal was everything I wanted and more, he was perfect for me and I blew it with him. I don’t know what I did, but I completely ruined it.”

Cue the guilt trip. All I have to do is tell her the truth that we really did kiss and that would be the end of it. She’d quit, run off to Neal, and tell him that it was Big Bad Justin who pulled them apart and I would never see her again. I can’t have that, she’s Lauren Walters and that name is monotonous with Justin Timberlake. Period. What would I do without her?

“Lauren,” I mutter quietly and she looks over at me, tears in her eyes. Oh boy this is not going well. I want to tell her but I don’t think I could stand to see her angry with me right now. She’s been so amazing on this whole trip I don’t think I can handle seeing her eyes glaze over with that hatred and frustration she usually gets when she’s yelling her vocal chords hoarse at me. “I’m not saying this as a boss, I’m saying this as a friend,” I begin and she looks at me intently while she fights the constant stream of tears that are trying to knock down her barriers. “You’re a good person, a great person, hell you’re one in a million. You take care of me, you put other people first before yourself, and you get your jobs done. Not only that but you’re compassionate, sweet, and you know how to have a good time. If Neal can’t see that, then he doesn’t realize what he’s missing.”

Good God, Justin, you are on dangerous territory and you better watch yourself before you say something you’re really going to regret. Sitting up, Lauren looks at me with this strange look in her eyes, something I’ve never seen before and quite frankly it’s exhilarating and scary all at the same time. I can’t quite place what it is, but before I know what she’s doing, she’s hugging me tightly around the middle.

“Thank you,” she mutters into my chest and I can feel my heart practically pounding it’s way up into my throat as I rest my chin on the top of her head. I have no idea how long we’ve been sitting here, but I’m just living in the moment of having her in my arms because I know soon enough, we’ll go back to the employee/boss relationship and the friendship we’ve managed to build while in Worden will fall behind work schedules, recording sessions, and party planning. “Thank you for being here.”

“Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” I blurt out and my body stiffens while I wait for her response. I don’t know if she heard me but she pulls away from our embrace all the same. There’s that look in her eyes again, like she wants to do something but she’s uncertain of how to go about it. The confusion shining in her eyes is apparent, but for some odd reason I disregard it. She’s leaning forward, I’m leaning forward, our foreheads are touching and our noses are tip to tip, and her breath is filling all of my senses. All I have to do is lean forward just a little bit more and all the barriers I’ve been trying to break will shatter into a million pieces and I’ll get exactly what I want — her.

She sighs my name softly and I stop my slow advance. The way she said it, like she was trying to say something else other than my name, the way there was a hint of a question almost as if she’s questioning what she’s doing right now. I don’t want to be a rebound, which is exactly what is going to happen if I kiss her, or let her kiss me. We’ll fall into something that neither of us want and…

I can’t do this. I really can’t. Not when she’s depressed and missing her ex-boyfriend, not when she’s lonely. Not when I know she’ll regret it the instant we actually do kiss. I can’t do this when I’m feeling so guilty. It’s my fault we’re in this situation right now and I can’t take advantage of her like that.

Pulling away, I rub my face with my hands and sit into the couch. She hasn’t moved from her position and I get up to my feet, grabbing my hat in the process. “I’m tired, I’m going to sleep. What time do we leave tomorrow?”

“Before ten,” Lauren says softly. Do I detect a hint of disappointment in her voice? No, I’m imagining things. Trying to mask my frustration, I rub my eyes and stifle a fake yawn as I walk towards the stairs.

“You should try to get some sleep,” I say quietly, “Big day tomorrow and everything.” God I feel like such an ass but I don’t care, I’ve got to push her away or else one of us is going to get hurt and as much as I hate to think it, I don’t want to get hurt again. Lauren is so much stronger than me, but if she breaks my heart I don’t know what I’d do.

“Okay,” she whispers as I turn my back on her to climb the stairs. I can’t face her because then I’d be forced to rush over and kiss her and do things I know I’ll regret in the future. No, it’s better to walk away and not deal with it right now.

Walking into my room, I pull out my sidekick and flip it open as I find Trace’s number and dial it. He picks up on the second ring and even though he sounds like he’s busy, he takes the time to talk to me. That’s what I love about Trace; he’s there for me whenever I need him the most.

“Sup?”

“Trace, I need you to do me a favor,” I ask as I sit down on the edge of my bed and start to work off my boots with my free hand. I think he can hear the confusion in my voice because he forgoes the standard jokes of sexual favors and immediately asks me what’s wrong.

“Just call Jive when you can tomorrow and have them remove Lauren from my services.” No joke about sexual service, just silence. I can hear Trace breathing heavily on the other line, as if someone has taken a sledgehammer to his stomach. Funny, I feel the same way.

“What’d she do now?” he asks a few minutes later once he’s found the ability to form a sentence.

“Really, it isn’t what she did, it’s what I did. Just have her promoted or something like that. Don’t have her fired or anything,” I add as an afterthought. That’s just what she needs, on top of a breakup and a rather disastrous return to her hometown — getting fired.

“You going to be okay?” Trace questions and I know I’m going to get the fifth degree when I get home, I’ll have to tell Trace everything and I’m not looking forward to that at all. I can’t even give myself the fifth degree when it comes to Lauren because it isn’t even needed. My feelings are so obvious but apparently she has no clue.

And I want to keep it that way.

“Wake up.”

No. Go away, I’m sleeping.

“Justin, you need to get up.”

Did you not hear me the first time? I’m trying to sleep, I had a rough night last night. Leave me alone.

“Justin, please get up.”

How many times must I repeat myself? Leave me the hell alone.

“You stubborn ass, get out of bed!”

“Jesus Christ!” I holler into my pillow as I turn my head to see who’s yelling at me when I’m trying to sleep. Lauren is sitting next to me, at the edge of my bed, her hand resting on my leg as she tries to shake me awake. She’s looks perplexed and angry that I won’t get my lazy butt out of bed and she couldn’t look more…put together. She isn’t taken aback that I’m yelling at her, or that I look like I just went through hell and back while I was asleep. She’s just there. “God, Lauren I’m getting out of bed you don’t have to yell at me,” I mumble into my pillow as I snuggle under the covers. I can feel the wave of sleep come over my body and soon I’m stumbling back into sleep.

That is until Lauren starts to shake me awake again.

“Justin, you need to pack up your things and get ready to leave. We’ve got to make a really long drive back into Billings,” she explains, a hint of urgency in her voice.

“I’m not packing up my things. You do it,” I reply, “Let me sleep.” I can tell I’m pissing her off and that’s a good thing. I don’t want to continue the friendship we’ve managed to build and maintain before and during Worden. I have to push her away before one of us slips, I won’t be the one who slips.

She scoffs and her weight leaves the bed as she wordlessly begins to pick up my strewn clothes and chucks them into my suitcase. She’s mumbling to herself under her breath and I slowly try to wake myself up so she doesn’t get even more upset than she already is. I want to make her upset that she won’t talk to me, I don’t want to get her so pissed that she’ll throw something at me.

I’m about to make a catty remark when my sidekick starts to ring the familiar riffs of ‘My Style.’ No, I haven’t changed it since December and I have no reason to change it at the moment. I hear Lauren let out a held breath as I reach over to the bedside table and pick up my phone.

“‘Lo?” I grumble into the phone.

“Hey J, it’s Trace.” His voice is perky, almost too perky and I want to reach through the line and wring his neck for being this happy when I’m on the borderline of being so miserable.

“Please tell me something good.”

“I called the studio today and I managed to get Lauren a job working in close proximity with Clive Davis. They said he needed a new assistant and I told them that after working with your sorry ass for almost four years, Clive would be a piece of cake and they immediately signed her on!”

I’m too happy about this situation to yell at Trace for being a douche bag for calling me an ass. This means that Lauren can work within the label and I can keep an eye on her and make sure she’s doing alright and she can go and get her dreams taken care of and, best of all, I don’t have to deal with the thought of being in love with her. I can let that nagging feeling in the back of my head go, once and for all.

“So when does she start?”

“As soon as you get back from wherever the hell you two jetted off to. I don’t know what it’s called, aren’t you in Idaho or something?” Trace questions and I laugh out loud as I sit up straight in bed while I watch Lauren rush around my room as she tries to get everything ready as quickly as possible. I’ll miss that.

“We’re in Montana you idiot. I’m glad you know where I’m at should you need to come up and get me for something,” I joke and Trace laughs before it subsides quickly.

“Well you have Lauren up there with you so it’s not like I really need to know where you are,” he explains and my good-natured fun with my best friend comes to a halt. After today Lauren won’t work for me any more and that thought is enough to send me into a sort of panic. How am I going to survive without her? I mean, she helps me with everything, more than Trace and the last time she left my life was nearly in shambles.

“I have to go. I’ll see you later tonight, Trace. We’ll party…” Lauren makes a noise in her throat and I look up at her once I put my phone back on the table. She’s holding onto one of my sneakers with a look of indifference on her face. “What?”

“You do realize that you can’t really do anything once you get home tonight because tomorrow you have studio time and you have to get ready for Miami because you have studio time there in three days, and it’s with Rick Rubin mind you and…” my mind starts to block her out as I watch her pace around my room and recite all the different things I have to do this week. She has it committed to memory, which is absolutely astounding; Clive is going to be lucky to have her…

“Lauren sit down,” I blurt out and she stops mid pace and looks over at me with questioning blue eyes. Obediently, she drops the shoe in my suitcase and comes to sit on the opposite side of the bed. She’s keeping her distance from me, which is a very good thing. I don’t know if I’d be able to hold myself back if she was sitting right next to me. “I have to tell you something.”

“What?” she’s not looking up at me, she’s busy inspecting the folds of the sheets on the bed. Her finger reaches out and starts to play with the edge of the fabric and I have a chance to get a good look at her without having her realize that I’m staring at her like some crazy person.

Her hair is still wavy but not a single hair is out of place. She’s back to her business wear, grey pencil skirt, hosiery, white blouse, and I’m sure her blazer is back in her room or waiting with the rest of her already packed luggage that’s resting by the front door. I can hear her tapping a heeled clad foot on the hardwood floor and I know she’s keeping beat to some random song in her head while she waits for my belated answer to her question.

She doesn’t look like the girls that I’ve dated in the past. They’re all gorgeous, super model types and longed legged things that adore dressing up and making an impression for all the wrong reasons. Lauren, on the other hand, dresses to impress because she’s going somewhere in life, she’s going to the top and she’s so normal looking. Not that that’s a bad thing. She’s the closest thing to normal I’ve had in my life in a very long time and I’m going to miss that sense when she leaves.

“Do I have something in my hair?”

Shit, she noticed me looking at her. A slender hand reaches up for her hair and feels around for the invisible piece of whatever that isn’t lodged in her brown hair. Shaking my head I reach out across the bed and grab her hand, bringing it away from her hair.

“No, I was just trying to figure out what to say, in my head.” Oh brilliant Timberlake, so fucking brilliant. Now you sound like a complete idiot. She raises a cynical eyebrow and clears her throat before she looks down at her lap. Well I think she’s clearing her throat because now that I think about it, it sounds like she’s choking back laughter. Great.

“Well I have to tell you something,” I explain as I surge my way through this conversation that I know will either end in hard feelings or a good parting of the ways. I can only hope it’s a mixture of both. I don’t want her to shout her praises to the heavens when I tell her Clive is her new boss and I don’t want her to tell me that she doesn’t want to leave.

“Yes?” she asks quietly. Emotions. In. Check. Don’t think of how soft her voice is and don’t think about the fact that you’re still holding onto her hand. Don’t think about anything; just think about what you have to tell her. Focus. “Justin?”

“Sorry,” I mumble stupidly, “Look, we’ve been together for almost four years, right?”

“Right,” she starts slowly and you can tell that the gears are starting to shift in her head. “What are you getting at?”

“Trace got a phone call from Jive last night,” I explain my voice soft and low, really I feel like I’m telling her that someone in her family died the way I’m going on about this. She’s looking even more confused than when I first sat her down and she tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “Apparently Clive Davis is in need of a new assistant, one who has to come highly regarded. I told him to put your name in and…” I throw my free arm up in the air in excitement and look at her with a huge smile on my face, “he wants you!”

She’s silent for a good couple of minutes, her eyes still trained on her lap. I’m watching her intently and I can feel my heart seize up as her hand slowly pulls itself out of my own grasp. Just like that, I’ve lost her.

Standing up, she smoothes the folds out of her skirt and turns around to look at me. Her face is blank, I can’t read it, and she walks over to the dresser and picks up a shirt that I packed but didn’t wear at all during our trip. How it got out of my suitcase, I don’t know, but she folds it up all the same and throws it in the awaiting luggage.

“When do I start?” she asks her voice a smooth level of monotony. I’m really having a hard time trying to keep my composure because my hands are twisting up in the sheets and I can feel the fabric wrap around one of my fingers tightly. Way to lose the circulation, Justin, way to go.

“As soon as we get back to LA,” I explain, “He’s got a lot of parties to plan and he needs help with some publicity for Nick Lachey’s new album release. You’ll be on your toes, but it isn’t anything you can’t handle…what’s wrong?” I stop my listing for a moment because I can hear her sniffling but I can’t see if she’s crying because she’s facing my luggage and holding onto one of my other shirts. “Lauren?”

“Sorry,” she says quietly before she sniffles again.

“Why are you sorry, this is what you’ve always wanted! You’re working for Clive Mother-Fucking Davis! He’s the Record Executive!” I find myself saying even though all I want to do is say, ‘just kidding, you’re staying with me because I love you!’ and throw her down on the bed.

“I know this is what I’ve always wanted, I just never thought I’d live to see the day,” Lauren states as she turns around. Her face is fucking glowing. She looks like she just found out that she’s giving birth to the second coming of Jesus and the tears in her eyes aren’t from sadness, they’re happiness. Of course, she’s escaping my clutches and going to work for a man that can make all her dreams come true. What am I? I was the taskmaster for four years. She was just biding her time, of course. I am such an idiot.

“Well believe it, because today is the day. You’re going straight from the airport in LA to the executive offices to meet with him. From what I hear he’s excited to meet with you,” I find myself lying. He’ll probably find out five minutes before their scheduled meeting time that his new assistant is in his office but I can’t just sit there and tell her that. I’ve got to build it up, I have to get her excited, I have to make her forget about me as quickly as possible. And by the look on her face, I don’t think I’m going to have a problem.

“I can’t believe it, thank you so much!” she all but yells in delight. Throwing the shirt into my suitcase unceremoniously, Lauren leaps onto the bed and scurries over to me before she throws her arms around my neck and hugs me tightly. My hands are too tangled up in the sheets to return the hug so I just sit there on my bed and let her hug me, her excited cries of ‘thank you’ echoing in my ear.

Why is this so damn hard?

And before I know what I’m doing my hands become untangled from the sheets and I’m hugging her. One of them, my left or my right, I don’t really know which is which right now, starts to stroke her hair while the other one keeps her there, right next to me. This is probably the last time I’ll ever get to hug her like this, “Stay,” I find myself whispering more to myself than to Lauren.

Too bad she heard me.

“What?” she asks while she pulls away abruptly. I can feel my composure start to fall apart and I know if she gives me that look, the one that she always gives me whenever I say something she doesn’t understand, I’ll just let everything slip. And I can’t do that to her, “What did you say?”

“I said, ‘hey,’” I state nonchalantly as I get up off the bed and run my fingers through my nonexistent hair.

“Why did you say that?”

“Because you were getting a little too close. What you want to get the famous Justin into bed before you cart off to work with Clive? Please, don’t flatter yourself.” There I go again, I’m like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde when it comes to my ‘relationship’ with Lauren. If you could even call it that. I don’t even know what we are.

But she scoffs and rolls her eyes before she gets off the bed and continues to pack away my things. God love her, she sticks to her job through and through. I can only hope Clive can treat her with more respect than I ever could. That’s where I royally slipped up and continue to fuck up every time I’m with Lauren.

If I could start over, I totally would.

She’s mumbling to herself in my room about incoherent things and I really want to know what she’s saying. Is she thinking about me? Is she thinking about Clive?

“Stop it, man,” I say to myself as I walk down the stairs so I can fix myself some breakfast in the kitchen, “It’s over.”

***

Deranged Delusions

15. You've Got A Foe In Me

Why did God decide to make July so hot? I mean really, being over one hundred degrees, is that really necessary? Granted in Worden it would be a lot worse because tons of people don’t really believe in air conditioning up there and if I still lived with Melissa, she’d refuse to air condition the apartment because she didn’t want to foot the bill to pay for that glorious box that makes inside like a freaking ice cube when outside it’s hotter than hell.

Thank God I get to work in a cold office most of the time. My summer wardrobe consists of the kind of things I never got to wear while I was working for Justin. Business casual clothes, nice suits from Ann Taylor, and maybe even the Banana Republic. I wear more sweaters than I ever did before and I’m starting to fear that once fall and winter come around I’ll be wearing parkas and bear skins inside the office.

At least I can go home to my own place and control the air conditioning there. I get to play God and decide if it’s going to be hot or cold. No more sweating in bed because the heat is unbearable. No more blowing a cheap ass Wal-Mart fan on my face while I try to sleep. Nope, I get honest to goodness air conditioning tonight.

Which is why I’m glad I’m not living with Melissa anymore.

I miss her, I mean she was my best friend. I say was because we aren’t best friends anymore. Hell, we aren’t even acquaintances. In fact I would say we’re more like enemies now than ever before. And I have Justin to thank for that, as always.

I haven’t seen him in four months and yet he can still find a way to make my life a living hell. My first week working for Clive was supposed to be a dream. Get to know the man, do a few things around the house for him, plan some parties, answer phones, kiss babies, call managers from other artists…but no. Instead I was trying to pick up the pieces of a destroyed friendship and trying to move out of my apartment while trying to find a new place to live and do all that shit for Clive. Yeah, thank you Justin for making my life hell.

I don’t think Melissa was expecting Justin to call her up out of the blue after he and I parted ways. Especially since she dumped him back in February. But he did. He called her cell phone and asked her out and they hooked up again. And I specifically told her that he was doing it for a booty call but she didn’t care. So she went, got some, and he broke her heart. Next thing I knew he was with some leggy model and Melissa was left high and dry on the side of the curb. I tried to nurse her back to unbroken heart status but she wouldn’t have it. She bitched, and she moaned to the point where I just told her to get over herself.

And I did.

And that was the end of our friendship. So thank you Justin, thank you for coming back into my life and destroying it further. I swear one of these days I’m going to find him and give him a real piece of my mind.

But I love working for Clive. He is such a sweet and wonderful man and I can’t believe I put up with Justin’s shit for as long as I did. Clive is a freaking saint compared to Justin’s Satan and I am so glad Justin was able to give me that opportunity. Yes, I owe him for that because if it weren’t for him I’d still be running around LA, granting Justin’s impossible requests.

Although it was really strange the way Justin completely dropped me. I mean I freaking cried when I found out I would be out of his grasp, but part of me didn’t really want to leave. I mean sure Justin can be a complete asshole and so inconsiderate towards others, but in Worden he was beginning to turn around. He was actually a joy to be around and I was having fun with him. I mean you can’t enjoy cow tipping or barn dancing with just anybody and Justin did almost destroy my house because he didn’t know how to properly turn off a stove. But right before we had to leave he completely changed. A complete one-eighty. I have no idea why he acted the way he did but I try not to think about Justin much anymore. I mean, I have bigger fish to fry.

But for now I’m perfectly content with my life. The living situation is good, my boss is amazing, and I’m just fine living for myself for once. Sure I have to make sure that someone else is completely satisfied but Clive has this thing where he makes sure his employees are comfortable before he asks them for things. He just doesn’t demand anything and expect the person to bend over backwards. He has respect for the hard working assistance of this world and I give him a crap load of reverence for that.

I pull into the parking lot of Marmalade’s Café and I’m ready for my power breakfast before heading into the office. It’s going to be a pretty lazy day because Clive is taking a few days off at a spa in Malibu and so he basically just wants me in the office to answer phone calls and take messages. Fine with me, I don’t have to run around to dodgy parts of town to buy weed or continue to plan for crazy parties that miraculously fall into place at the last minute. Nope, I get to sit on my butt all day, answer some phones, and then surf the Internet for random things. Thank God for Clive.

Marmalade’s is a small little eatery that’s just down the street from Clive’s offices. It’s a natural hang out for Young Hollywood and others who want to be apart of the whole scene. Me, I just have a love affair with their omelets and pancakes. I think they’re the reason why I don’t have a boyfriend right now. Not that I care, again, I’m still a bit too busy and for some odd reason, I keep thinking that Neal and I will happen again.

I haven’t seen him since our breakup but I know he’s been doing well for himself. He finally got his restaurant off the ground and its earned fairly decent reviews. I don’t have the balls to go over there and try it out for myself because that would mean running into him. And that would mean having a conversation with him. And I think I would make a complete fool out of myself seeing as I would have to tell him that Justin is a liar and didn’t tell me we did anything and I was too drunk to notice that we had done anything. No, the awkwardness would just kill me.

Getting out of Bentley Lexus, I head towards the restaurant and head inside. I’ve become such a regular that the head waitress smiles in my direction and grabs a menu before immediately taking me to a seat towards the back of the restaurant. I like to eat while facing the whole restaurant so I can take in the whole eatery. I love to people watch on my morning breakfast runs and it looks like today is going to be insanely interesting.

It seems there’s some comic book convention of sorts at one of the larger hotels down the street because I have never seen so many overweight, greasy haired, middle-aged men in my life. They all have X-Men shirts on or some other sort of superhero that I can’t place but I know if I were with Trace, he’d be naming them all and giving his opinion on each comic book star. The other various regulars are looking highly affronted that their hangout is being invaded by Star Wars Junkies and Trekkies but I find it rather hilarious and quite entertaining.

I sip on my orange juice, completely oblivious to the person who has just entered my domain. In fact, it isn’t until I finish my light breakfast that I notice him at the small counter where you can order drinks during dinner hours. I’m heading out the door when he calls my name and I almost fall over out of shock. I wasn’t expecting to hear that voice in a very, very long time.

Turning around, I keep my eyesight trained on the ground, hoping that he’ll just disappear if I don’t look up anytime soon. This is really not going well but hopefully I can turn this into a positive situation.

Because if I don’t I’ll probably snap.

“Lor, you okay?”

“Neal,” I say as I throw my head up and look up at him with a huge smile on my face, “how are you?” I shouldn’t be asking that, good God I should not be asking that. He looks fucking amazing. He’s lost some weight, he’s impeccably dressed, and that brightness is still looming in his eyes. I think I just fell in love all over again.

“Can’t complain, how are you doing? It’s been a while,” he states casually before he sips on some random smoothie concoction that I’ve never seen, or smelled, before. I bet that’s how he’s lost that weight. I would want to vomit that, and everything else I ate before it right into a toilet. It smells horrendous.

“Pretty good,” I explain before my voice fades off. Oh we are heading straight towards the territory of awkward ex-silence and I so don’t want to go there. “I heard about your restaurant. Congratulations,” I explain and he smiles sheepishly, that impish grin that I love before he rubs the back of his neck.

“Thanks. We worked hard on that and I’m glad it’s getting the recognition it deserves. What about you?” He’s about to ask me something else but my cell phone starts to ring and I roll my eyes before I dig around in my purse. I can hear Neal sigh heavily before he greedily sucks on his shit-smoothie.

“Sorry, I’ve got to take this,” I explain before I throw the phone up to my ear. “Lauren Walters speaking.”

“Hello Lauren, how are you this morning?”

“Fine, what can I do for you, sir?” I love how he asks me how I’m doing. He doesn’t get straight into the ‘I want, I want,’ but he takes the time to see what his employees are up to. God I love him.

“I need you to head over to the McKennan Studios when you’re finished with your breakfast and pick up some stills for the shoot they’re doing there. Drop them off on my desk and then you can take the rest of the day off.” I freaking love this man.

“Sure thing! Have a wonderful time at your spa, sir. Safe trip home too,” I kindly state into the phone before we hang up and I throw the phone back into my purse before I look over at Neal.

“Still working for Justin?” he asks and I can hear the tension in his voice. Apparently he still doesn’t like the guy, which is good news for me because once he hears what I have to say, maybe, just maybe, I can get another chance.

“Actually,” I start coyly, “I’m not.” His eyebrows shoot up and he looks at me with a shocked expression plastered on his handsome face.

“Really? I would think you’d still be with him after all the stuff you’ve been through. What are you doing now?” he questions and my smile widens as I sip on the remnants of my orange juice.

“Well I was promoted to Clive Davis’s personal assistant about four months ago so I’ve been with him since March,” I explain with a heavy nod of my head and Neal nods his head in approval.

“Wow. That’s great Lauren, I’m proud of you. Glad you could get away from that douche bag while you had a chance,” he states and I shrug with indifference as he slurps on his shitty ass smoothie. Really, who the hell would drink that stuff?

“Look, Neal,” I start realizing that it’s now or never, “I know we left on the wrong foot and everything and I know that was partially my fault. But you have to understand that I never meant for us to end that way…” I so do not need to be thinking like this at nine o’clock in the morning and I don’t want to start my day like this either. Because the way I’m seeing this, I’ll either walk out of here with my boyfriend back or a broken heart. But I’ve got to take the chance.

“I was drunk out of my mind that night. And no, I didn’t kiss Justin I swear I didn’t. I didn’t mean to hurt you and I think…I think we can make things work out between us if we just went out and had dinner or something, maybe a drink or two, just to catch up…”

“Lauren…”

“I mean I can understand if you’re busy this weekend but maybe next weekend or something, or maybe…”

“Lauren…” I can’t hear him, I’m rambling up a storm because I am so nervous that this isn’t going to work out or that he’ll laugh in my face or he’ll just leave me standing here like a complete idiot. That’s just what I need.

“…Maybe we can figure something…”

“Neal, sweetie, are you ready to go?” And just like that an unrecognizable, female voice breaks my incoherent ramblings and sends me on a complete tailspin. A hand appears on Neal’s shoulder and wraps it’s way down his chest before a blonde head appears next to his shoulder.

He turns to look towards her and an ear splitting grin appears on his face as he turns towards this woman and grabs onto her hand. A hand, I might add, that has an enormous diamond ring sitting on one of her fingers. A ring that would have been mine had Justin not fucked everything up. Oh Jesus…

“Who is this?”

“Oh, Sharon, this is Lauren Walters…an old friend of mine,” Neal states as he presents this woman to me without so much as a stutter. Sharon the Amazon Blonde steps forward and offers me her hand to shake. I can only stare at her with my mouth open and look over at Neal with an accusatory glare. So we’re just old friends now? The three years we spent going out and pretty much fucking each other’s brains out meant nothing to him? Nothing?

“A pleasure, Lauren.” Yeah, a real great fucking pleasure. The reason why my heart is breaking is because it is such a fucking pleasure to meet you. To meet the woman who I’m supposed to be right now.

“Yeah. Nice to meet you,” I say trying my best not to sound completely miserable. I think Neal can already tell, but Amazon Blonde is totally oblivious. Well that saves me some embarrassment.

“Sharon is my fiancé, Lauren,” Neal explains. No shit, Sherlock, I kind of figured that out by the huge ass rock hanging like a dead animal from her Daddy-Long-Leg finger.

“Oh,” I say in a small voice, “that’s nice.” And here comes the mixed look of pity and the ‘this could have been you,’ glare from Neal. I don’t know if I can take it right now so I quickly clear my throat and fiddle around with my purse. “It was nice running into you, Neal, but I really have to be going. I need to do a few things for my client. Very busy, you know.” And now I’m rambling again when I really need to be getting out to Bentley Lexus, Queen, and my road rage. They’re the only things that really understand me now.

“It was nice meeting you, Lauren. Hopefully we can get together and have lunch or something,” Amazon Barbie proclaims and I shake my head.

“Don’t think so,” I start, “I mean, it would be a bit awkward sitting there with my ex-boyfriend and his fiancé. Maybe we can get together and discuss how abnormally small his penis is though. He probably still has my number, give me a call,” I bite before I quickly turn around and haul ass out of Marmalade’s.

I don’t stop to look back and it isn’t until I’m safely in Bentley Lexus that I look in the rearview mirror to see if they’re walking out of the restaurant or not. I can’t see them so I guess that’s a good thing. But that still doesn’t stop my heart from cracking, or from feeling like complete shit.

There’s only one thing running through my head as I head towards the studio Clive has instructed me to go to today:

That could have been me.

McKennan Studios is located just off of Sunset Boulevard behind a civilized diner and a small park. I’ve never been here before, but apparently the people who run the place are the up and coming photographers of Southern California. I know Clive is sending most of his clients there now because the photographers take great photos, but they do them for cheap.

I’m just here to pick up stills that Clive and his production teams will go over so they can decide what kind of message the artist in question is trying to send to the general public that will more than likely eat up the music. If there’s one thing Clive knows how to do, it’s to market an artist to the rest of the world.

Parking Bentley Lexus in the visitor parking, I get out and head towards the front door of the studio and walk inside. The interior is modest; nothing too crazy although I’m sure they’ll be doing some remodeling once their high end clientele escalates. The throbbing sound of music is definite in the background and I’m sure that someone is in the middle of a pretty big shoot and I can only hope I don’t have to go in there and watch some new musician prance around awkwardly to old music and a photographer yelling at them that they’re a ‘reluctant fawn,’ or something.

A woman is sitting behind a front desk, answering a frantically ringing telephone. She offers me the most welcoming smile she can muster before she puts at least five calls on hold so she can attend to me. And I thought my desk job was frantic. I’m lucky to get five calls in half an hour let alone five minutes.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m Lauren Walters, I was sent here by Mr. Clive Davis to get…”

“Oh sure, we’ve been expecting you. Go right on through the back and find Archie. He’ll have the stills for you,” the girl explains before she throws me an apologetic smile and gets back to answering her phone. Taking that as an invitation to leave, I walk through the doors that will take me into the depths of the studios and leave the foyer behind.

The music becomes stronger and soon I’m dumped out into this huge hanger of a studio, the music surrounding me almost making me want to find some cotton balls to plug into my ears. It’s that loud. I’m still trying to get my bearings right when suddenly there’s a flash of light in the far corner of the room and the sound of someone laughing. Heading in that direction, I almost run into someone who’s heading in the same direction as me.

“Sorry,” I begin to say but I hear a muffled yelp of surprise.

“Lo-ho! What are you doing here?” And just like that my day just got a thousand times worse.

“Hey, Trace,” I say quietly as I push my hair behind my ears. Just wonderful. Knowing that Trace is here means that Justin isn’t too far off and I’m sure that we’re both heading towards him right now. “How are you?”

“Long time no see, I’m doing fine. How’s life?”

Oh it could be a hell of a lot better. “Fine. Just fine. Do you know where Archie is?” I ask hoping to God he’s in the opposite direction of the photo shoot going on.

“Yup, he’s over here,” Trace says before he points towards the area I would rather not venture over to. Perfect. God, can you throw me a fucking bone here? Trace saunters off towards the sound of the music and I muster up my strength and follow him.

He’s sitting in front of a black backdrop, a large amount of disco balls strewn about. He’s wearing a three-piece suit and the music is thumping from a huge stereo system off to the side of the backdrop. The flash illuminates the area and I see a man hunched over a camera, taking various pictures and shouting things at Justin.

Trace leans against a table laden with food and I stand behind him, hoping to stay out of Justin’s line of sight. I don’t know why I don’t want him to see me, maybe it’s because I don’t want him to be a complete ass to me, or maybe I’m afraid that the past few months have been a dream and I’ve really been working for Justin all along. I have no idea, all I know is I don’t want to converse with a man who is, unbeknownst to him, making my life a war zone.

“Archie, can we take five? I need some lunch,” Justin says before he picks up one of the disco balls and unceremoniously lets it drop to the floor. Archie snaps a photo of the ball exploding into smithereens and he nods quickly before he sets down the camera and walks off towards the stereo.

The music turns off just as Justin walks over towards us. I keep my head down, inspecting the small finger foods that are cold and stale on the table. I would have never let them get in that state if I were still working for him.

But I’m not going to think about that.

“Can we get some fast food or something man? I’m fucking star…” Justin begins to say but I know he’s seen me because I can feel his eyes boring into the top of my head. He clears his throat and that action alone forces me to look up.

Our eyes meet and he’s glaring at me. Glaring at me like I did something wrong, like take away his right to a first-born child or something. I look over at Trace and he’s noticed the tension between us because he’s quickly backing away and stammering about how he has to call someone to get the fast food delivered.

Thanks Trace.

“What are you doing here?” Justin asks me and I sigh heavily before I start to walk away from him. I try to act interested in the crappy food that’s been laid out for Justin to snack on but all I can think about is the fact that he’s staring at me like I’ve done something terribly wrong.

“I have to pick up some stills for Clive,” I say quietly as I pick up a baby tomato and press it between my thumb and index finger.

“Well then do it. I don’t want you around here.” Excuse me? Who the hell does he think he is?

“Last time I checked, I don’t work for you anymore so you don’t have any right to order me around,” I snap and he chuckles slightly. I hate that stupid little laugh he has. It is so annoying. Why doesn’t he shut the hell up?

“Well I can just as easily call Clive and tell him that one of his employees is bothering me at a very important shoot,” he counters and I look up at him with a scathing look.

“Why the hell are you being so hostile towards me? All I did was come here to get some stills. You don’t even have to talk to me!” I say my voice rising. The last thing I need to do is lose my temper in front of him. That would make everything just…well it would certainly put a wonderful end to an almost wonderful day.

“You’re messing up my artistic flow. And you expect me not to come up and talk to you when I haven’t seen you in almost five months? Jesus, Lo-ho…”

“Don’t call me that…”

“I can call you whatever the hell I want. I can call you a bitch mother fucking ass bitch if I wanted to…”

“Well guess what Einstein, you just did,” I cry back while I try my best not to lose my composure. I can feel the tears start to prick at the corners of my eyes and I refuse to let myself cry in front of him. It isn’t even Justin who’s making me feel like I want to break down and sob. It’s the fact that I have to look at him and realize that he’s the reason why I’m not going to have dinner at some fancy restaurant with Neal tonight. He’s the reason why I don’t have a best friend and why I live all by myself with only my TiVo and goldfish for company. I live a sad, single life because of him and I have nothing positive to show for it.

“Jesus Christ, Lauren, why are you making everything so difficult?” Justin mutters more to himself than to me. I’m starting to lose it. The tears are pooling now and at any moment they’ll fall and then my transition into huge loser will be complete.

“Why am I making things so difficult? Shit, the last time I checked you were the one who jumped down my throat the minute I came in here. What the hell is your problem?” I ask and my voice is cracking and starting to get hoarse because I refuse to break down and cry in front of him and let him think he’s the whole reason for it.

“Whatever. Just because you can’t amount to anything without me doesn’t mean you have shove yourself in here and act all pious and righteous in the things you do right now. Sorry you’ve hit rock bottom without me there to keep you on your toes…”

I’ve had enough. He’s being mean and spiteful just to get a reaction out of me. Well it’s safe to say that he’s won. Why did I ever think we could be anything like friends? Why did I think I could change him for the better? He’ll always be a stuck up, self centered little asshole and there’s nothing I can do about that.

“Thank you for making me see that I can amount to nothing in my life, Justin. Thanks for helping me understand that the reason why Neal has gone and gotten himself a fiancé is because I make everything difficult for everyone else. Maybe I’ll just go to my apartment and just sit there because apparently I won’t move forward without you there to shove orders down my throat and bitch at me every single day because your life doesn’t go according to your fucking perfect plan.”

And before I start to completely lose it, I turn around and hurry out of the studio. Fuck the stills, fuck my job, and fuck him. All I need to do is go home, sit on my couch, and watch Lifetime Movies while pigging out on Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.

I can forget about Melissa, forget about Neal and Amazon Man Stealer Barbie, and I can forget about him.

***

Deranged Delusions

16. Can You Feel ‘My Love’ Tonight?

There is something so relaxing about sitting down on your overstuffed couch and stuffing your face with Ben and Jerry’s. It really makes you look back on the day and not think about the truly bad things that happen, but the positive ones instead.

But it seems that there was hardly any positive in my day. Wonderful, Lauren, you have officially hit rock bottom. I’m still having trouble believing that Justin acted the way he did seeing as we left on such…amiable terms the last time we were together. We were actually acting something like friends before I went to work for Clive and now we’re worse off than when we started.

I don’t know what happened to warrant this change in Justin but I don’t like it at all. Even though he was crass and a bastard towards me most of the time, he never went so far as to make me feel like a complete and total piece of crap. At least not like today. Today he was the biggest dick I have ever come across and I don’t even want to think about the things he said to me. He was just so unfair and…

I shove more Double Fudge Chunk into my mouth and sink into the couch. I try to become immersed in my Lifetime movie but it isn’t really working. The heroine is down but she ain’t out yet. I can’t help but feel I’ve been thrown down and I’m out for the count. No more depressed feelings, shove another mouthful of Double Fudge Chunk in mouth.

But the worst thing about it is, I want to go and change him. I want him to stop being the chauvinistic pig and jumbo douche bag that he is and switch him back to the respectable and somewhat fun loving person I got to know in Worden. Do I have a death wish? Why the hell do I want to go back working for Justin? The thought is ludicrous.

I’ll have a death wish after Clive finds out I didn’t get him those stills. I was so upset with Justin giving me shit that I completely forget to hunt down Archie McKennan and take those photos back to his office. Clive doesn’t normally get upset at small blunders but seeing as Justin is heading into heavy promotion for his new album, mistakes aren’t looked kindly upon.

I should start looking up new jobs now.

I try to get back into my movie but I find that it just isn’t working. I’m too busy thinking about what an idiot Justin is and how much it’s going to suck to try and find a new job once Clive gets back from his little spa weekend. Besides, I can’t even think with the pounding coming from my front door…

Oh, someone’s there. I am so out of it tonight that I didn’t even notice someone has been knocking on my door. It’s probably the Mormons again; ready to give me more Bibles. God bless them. Oh well…that’s kind of redundant.

Getting to my feet, I pull the blanket I had draped around me close around my shoulders and pad my way to the front of my apartment. Whoever the hell is at my door is practically banging it in. If they break it I am so not paying for repairs.

“Open the door, Lo-ho!” a familiar, all too annoying voice demands on the other side. Wonderful, just what I need at a time like this.

I throw open the door and lean against the doorframe as Trace tries his best not to fall into my apartment due to his incessant pounding on my door. “What do you want, Trace? I’m very busy.”

“Right, because sitting around in your pajamas with ice cream stains all over you consists of an eventful evening,” he quips while he leans against the opposite side of the door. I roll my eyes and hold the blanket closer to my chest.

“Seriously, Trace, what are you doing here…wait, how do you even know where I live?” I ask him. Wonderful, Trace has moved on up to more advanced forms of harassment. Joy of joys.

“I called J Records and had the secretary read off your address. She was more than willing when she found out who I worked for…” there he goes again, using Justin’s star power to get him what he wants. Trace doesn’t use it very often; only in dire situations so I’m guessing whatever it is he needs to tell me, in person, is something important.

Or he just likes to harass old coworkers for shits and giggles.

“Seriously, Trace, what do you want?” I question a slight edge in my voice. There’s a new movie on Lifetime starting in fifteen minutes and I want Trace off my doorstep by then, maybe even earlier if I’m mean enough.

“Well just to let you know, I dropped off those stills at Clive’s office since you forgot them this afternoon, which I can understand why. So you don’t have to worry about that at all, they got to his office…” I find myself letting out a held back breath of relief. Thank God, I don’t have to go job hunting this weekend and I don’t have to deal with the look of disappointment on Clive’s face when he was going to fire me.

“Thanks, Trace…” I begin but he interrupts.

“And, I came to apologize,” he starts but stops when I throw him a questioning look. Why does he have to say he’s sorry? He saved my ass.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Except show up on my doorstep unannounced,” I add as an afterthought. Trace shakes his head and adjusts his hat.

“No, I’m here to apologize for Justin. For what he said this afternoon…”

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

“Wow, Trace,” I begin, “I know you like to run around and do Justin’s dirty work but I had no idea that going to apologize to other people for his blatantly rude mistakes was part of the description.” I am so upset at both of them I just want to slam the door in his face. What gave Justin the audacity to send someone over to apologize for him? Is he really that self-centered? I can’t even…oh lord give me strength.

“That’s not it at all. He’s in rehearsals tonight and he couldn’t come and do it. He’s sorry for how he treated you today and he hopes that you can forgive him,” Trace rambles and I shake my head sadly.

“If he were really sorry he’d be here apologizing instead of you. So I don’t accept his apology and you can tell him to shove his abnormally large head up his lily-white ass. And yes, you can get a direct quote on that,” I lash out at Trace and he flinches. Good. He can take that back to Justin and I won’t give a damn.

“But dammit he is sorry!” Trace barks and he slams his hand against the doorframe, which causes me to jump, “He’s sorry about a lot of things, more than you’ll ever know actually. Why can’t you just wake up and see what’s right in front of you?” I have no idea what Trace is talking about and I don’t want to analyze it at all either.

“The only thing I see in front of me is a vertically challenged personal assistant who doesn’t have the balls to tell his hybrid boss-best friend that he’s full of shit when it comes to me. Drive safe, Trace, and have a good weekend.”

And before the little pipsqueak can utter a sound, I slam the door in his face and make my way back to Ben, Jerry, and TiVo. Life doesn’t get much better than this.

I am the biggest dick on the face of the planet. If you dressed me up in a penis suit and had me parade around naked up and down Sunset Boulevard that wouldn’t be enough of a dick to compare to how I’m acting right now.

I was caught off guard, I never expected to see Lauren waltz into that photo shoot after not seeing her for four months. I panicked, I didn’t know what to do, so I lashed out and acted like the biggest ass on the face of the planet.

I made her cry, which is something I have never done to her before. After almost four years together I don’t think I’ve ever made her cry, not once, and it’s only when we aren’t working together that I make her practically sob in front of me.

Way to go Timberlake. You are such a moron.

Trace practically ripped me a new one after Lauren bolted from the studio. I’m not going to say that I deserved it. I mean he has to know that I haven’t seen her in four months and suddenly having her pop up out of the blue, with no warning, really threw me for a loop.

“How do you expect her to know how you really feel when all you can do is make her feel like shit?” he asked me, and while he does have a point, I don’t think Trace really understands. I mean he and Elisha always talked about their feelings and stuff but look where they ended up? She’s not with him anymore and I got to write myself a pretty little song about it. I still can’t believe I told Trace how I’m pretty much in love with Lauren. But then again he practically forced it out of me when I came back to the house and she wasn’t with me.

He laughed for freaking hours. And I’m not kidding.

Trace was even more upset with me when I told him he had to go apologize for me seeing as I’m kind of tied with my career right now. It didn’t go over well because apparently I’m supposed to shove my head up my ass but if I had a dollar for every time I heard that, I could retire.

But I have to keep my game face on tonight. Tonight marks my debut on an American stage in over three years. I’m not nervous or anything, just excited. Johnny just called me about twenty minutes ago from the front of the House of Blues I’m performing at and told me that I am so money.

I guess there are a lot of people. That tells me that I don’t suck.

I’m getting ready for the show the best way I can, kicking back in the dressing room with my mom, Trace, and Marty. It’s a nice little group and I’m enjoying myself before I have to go out onstage and entertain the pants off of a mid sized crowd.

Lord it feels good to be back.

“I’ve heard rumors about people showing up for this show,” Trace explains with a hint of a smile on his lips. Great, he’s hiding something from me; this is just what I need — Trace being secretive. The last time this happened I managed to almost kill myself in the hotel I was staying at while in Hawaii.

“Really? Like who?” I don’t really care about who’s showing up for this show. I know the one tomorrow night is going to be insane and the one in New York…I don’t even want to think about that one right now.

“Don’t know, just some people,” he’s really pissing me off now and my mom is picking up on it because soon she’s shoving Marty and Trace out the door so I can get my wits about me before going out on stage.

But she’s back five minutes later with a small grin on her face. What the hell? Did Trace tell her something? I hate it when I’m the last to know everything.

“What?”

“Clive just showed up, dear,” Mom tells me and I nod my head before giving her an indifferent shrug. I wrap a scarf around my neck and take a swig of water, “Lauren’s with him…”

Fuck.

“That’s nice,” I try to say nonchalantly while I try to get rid of the nerves that are suddenly piling in my stomach. She wouldn’t know about the songs, she wouldn’t know about any of that because she hasn’t heard my music. But she will tonight.

Oh this is not good.

“Are you okay, baby?” Mama asks me and I nod before I sit down heavily on the couch. Why am I so nervous that she’s here? It’s just freaking Lauren. She hates me, but I don’t hate her.

“I’m fine. I just got a heat wave all of a sudden.” Yeah, a heat wave because I know she’s going to be out there, looking at me, watching me, judging me…

“You should take off that scarf and that jacket then if you’re so hot. I don’t know why you always wear that before you go out on stage,” she chides and I know she’s being her motherly self but it really is annoying me right now.

“Can you go get Trace?” I ask her and she wordlessly nods before she flips out her phone and starts to get Trace on the line. It’s not that I can’t talk to my mom about this; it’s just that…Trace has been there for me since the beginning of this whole Lauren thing and he’ll know what to do.

Five minutes later, I’m still flipping out, and I was supposed to be out onstage about five minutes ago. Man those fans are going to be pissed. But I don’t care; I’m about to piss my pants.

“Sup?” Trace has oh so gracefully announced his entrance into the room.

“Is she out there?” I ask him almost frantic.

“Who, Lauren? Yeah, she’s sitting next to Clive.” Trace states as if there is nothing wrong with this statement. My heart is only going a mile a minute. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t go out there. I can’t perform, not with her watching me,” I mumble.

“What? Am I supposed to go out there and escort her from the audience because you can’t go out and sing with her watching? Grow some balls man and suck it up! You’re being ridiculous!” Trace rambles as he paces about the room. There’s something slightly comical watching him traipse around the room but my thoughts quickly go back to Lauren and suddenly I feel like I have to throw up again.

“But what if I screw up? She’ll laugh at me!” I counter and Trace rolls his eyes and sends me a glare as if to ask me if I’m really serious about that statement.

“Really, Justin? If you screw up she isn’t going to notice. She has no idea how your set list goes and she doesn’t know how your songs go…” God I forgot about the songs.

“But the songs,” I croak, “I mean, some of the ones I wrote. Do you think that she’ll know?” Trace shrugs and picks up a beer bottle that was probably his before my mom kicked him out earlier. He takes a swig and brushes the excess liquid off of his lips.

“Won’t know until you go out there and sing them. Who knows, maybe hearing them will finally wake her up in the sense of how you care.”

This is true. If I go out there and sing some of the new songs that she doesn’t know about, she might completely overlook the fact that they’re pretty much about her. I can do this. I mean, I’m Justin fucking Timberlake and while I can be a major prick most of the time, I am still the best entertainer on the planet.

“Thanks, Trace,” I state while I get to my feet. I tug on my scarf and walk over to him, clapping him firmly on the shoulder, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d probably be pissing your pants or canceling the show, which would result in a huge ass mob outside, but yeah, I know where you’re coming from. Just go out there and give them a killer show.”

Yeah…I’ll do just that.

I was so skeptical when Clive told me he wanted me to attend Justin’s concert with him. He could have taken his other assistant, Kate; she fucking loves Justin and would probably kill to be in my position. But I guess he wants someone who will keep her head at a concert starring Justin Timberlake. I don’t even want to imagine what Kate would do should she ever have the misfortune of meeting him. Probably hump his leg or do something of equal Justin Ego Boosting proportions.

But here I am, sitting next to Clive on the second level of the House of Blues in Anaheim, watching the crowd milling about and pressing up against the stage. You couldn’t pay me to stand down there and it’s kind of pissing me off the way some people are getting antsy down below. I mean, they’re booing now, is that really necessary? Seriously?

Idiots.

All of a sudden the lights dim and the crowd goes nuts. I find my heart leaping up into my throat and I lean forward before I grab onto the railing. Why am I so anxious about this? Really, it’s just Justin and yeah, he’s an ass but I still can’t help but feel nervous for him. This is the first time he’s performing on American soil in like three years.

“Relax, Lauren,” Trace says as he comes up behind me. He hands me a bottle of beer and I take it without question. He sits down in the chair next to me and studies my face as I watch the band play their intro.

Inspector Gadget…what the hell?

“I am relaxed,” I state simply before taking a swig of my drink. Trace gives me a knowing smile and I look back at him before the screams escalate and Justin walks out onstage to begin his first song.

Is he looking up here? Why is he looking up here? I turn around to see why he’s looking in our direction but when I notice that no one is behind me I turn back to face him and see that he’s busy entertaining the throng of people below. Weird. I could have sworn…

“It’s cute that you’re nervous for him,” Trace croons and I roll my eyes before I take another sip of my beer. Trace is the type of person that would cause you to turn to drink so you can ignore his annoying habits with just a bit of drunkenness. Not that I’m going to get drunk, I am here on the job.

“I am not nervous, Trace and if you don’t leave me alone, I’m throwing your body over the balcony and you can crowd surf,” I threaten and he laughs loudly before he stands up and starts to dance in place. What a retard.

The concert continues and before I realize what’s happened, Justin has stopped singing and is taking a small breather, taking off his scarf and hat. Thank God, I don’t know why he got into the whole three-piece suit thing. Granted he looks really good in it and…

Shut up.

He segues into his new music and he’s singing a song about his love or something of the sort. It’s a catchy song, I’m enjoying it, but I am not enjoying the fact that he’s staring straight at me while he’s singing. I’m also not liking how the fans on the ground floor are turning around to see who he’s looking at.

Great, people are pointing at me now. Wonderful, thanks Justin. He won’t stop singing to me. I stare right back at him, roll my eyes, and he starts to laugh in the middle of his song, a huge dorky smile on his lips.

I don’t think I’ll ever understand him. Ever.

“What is that song called?” I bark at Trace and he looks down at me seeing as he’s still standing up and dancing with Justin’s mom. His best friend is grinning from ear to ear and he kneels down so his mouth is right next to my ear.

“My Love,” he practically screeches into my ear and I clap a hand to my injured external organ and give Trace a very offended look. Now that my ears are bleeding I have time to take into account the song…

Well that is until he breaks into a new song and I find myself entranced by what he’s singing about. If there’s one thing Justin knows how to do, its how to perform and keep an audience interested in what he’s saying and doing.

The strange thing is he keeps looking at me throughout the show and I’m really getting uncomfortable. He hates me, why is he looking at me while he’s singing all these love songs? And then it hits me. It hits me like a huge fucking semi running over a rabbit on the interstate.

He’s making fun of me.

That bastard! That little bastard! He knows I don’t like public attention and here he is staring at me causing a scene, and making everyone around me look at me as if I just bagged the biggest fucking prize of the century and I don’t even like him! I can’t stand him and here he is making things difficult for me! That little schmuck!

“You look upset,” Trace comments and I look up at him and nod curtly before I take a sip of water and look over at Clive. He’s enjoying himself, he’s gone into enjoyment mode and that’s all there is to it. “Why?”

“Because he’s making fun of me!” I lament and Trace gives me a confused look before I tell him everything I was just thinking. Trace mumbles a disgruntled and discomforted phrase and I totally miss what he’s talking about. “What?”

“You don’t get it do you?” Trace yells over the strains of one of his new songs. I think it’s called ‘Love Stoned.’ “You really don’t get it!”

“Get what?” I yell back.

“She’s got me hooked, it just ain’t fair but I’m love stoned and I could swear that she knows, I think that she knows, knows…” Justin croons from the stage and out of the corner of my eye I can see him looking up at me again and I just want to pick up my bottle and chuck it at the stage.

“For someone who prides herself for being so smart and in the know about things, you are so in the dark about this one. I hope you can see what’s in front of you before it’s too late,” Trace reprimands me and I roll my eyes before I settle back to watch the performance.

Another half hour later the show is over and the audience begins to shuffle out of the venue. Clive has gone to talk with some industry people who came to see the show and I know he’ll go backstage once the show is over. I just keep my butt in my seat and watch the general excitement of the fans as they push and shove out of the extremely hot space. I’m about to stand up and go find some water when suddenly a girl moves in front of me and prevents me from moving.

Oh I love confrontations.

“You’re Lauren Walters aren’t you?” This girl, probably around twenty asks me as soon as the house lights come up. She looks vaguely familiar and for some odd reason I have the sudden sense of déjà vu. Like we’ve been in the same atmosphere before or something like that.

“Yes, why?” I ask cautiously. The last thing I need is for this girl to call me out in front of Clive and then all hell would more than likely break loose. I try to remember if I told any girls off in the past year or so in regards to Justin or even Clive. You wouldn’t believe the number of girls who approach the poor man asking him if they can sing him a couple bars of ‘Amazing Grace.’

“Is there something going on between you and Justin? Because he was looking at you a lot during some of his songs,” she comments and I want nothing more than to smack the questioning, Nancy Drew look off of her pretty little face. I know she isn’t a fan because a lot of them are down below trying to fight the sea of people so they can get some fresh air that doesn’t have the faint aroma of sweat and booze. Plus I just realize that she gave Clive a hug when she first walked into the room before the start of the show.

“Of course not. I haven’t spoken with him since March,” I explain. Wow, has it really been that long?

“Well I mean you were making out with him back at that party he had in late February or early March…”

What the hell is she talking about? Is the girl on the pipe or something because I have no idea what the heck she is babbling on about. I have never made out with Justin and I never have the intention of making out with him. I guess the girl noticed my confused expression because she’s choosing to elaborate,

“You were so drunk I don’t even know if you remember, but you had yelled at me about something and then he came over and tried to get you to calm down and then you were going at it.”

Oh my God. That lying, no good, piece of shit scrotum sucker! He lied to me! He lied to me after I specifically asked him the morning after if we had done anything at all! He’s the reason why Neal and I broke up and why my life has somehow gone down the drain even though I’m working for Clive fucking Davis. Oh my God I am going to kill him!

I don’t say another word to the girl. I merely turn around and walk towards the door that will lead me to the backstage area. I know Clive can handle himself and he only needs me if he’s too damn lazy to go get a drink from the bar or if one of his new clients calls him while he’s enjoying the concert. He’s too busy schmoozing right now to care what I’m doing which is good because later on he’ll be caring that I beat the shit out of his most promising artist!

Security lets me by with a quick nod and I even get a small wink from Eric. I hope the boys are ready to deal with me tonight because it’s going to take all of Justin’s security team to pull me off of him once I get my hands on him.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt more betrayed or put on in my entire life. He lied to my face and told me that we didn’t do anything and yet apparently we made out at his retarded little party that ended up getting me a one way ticket to Single Town. This is all his fault and oh boy is he going to know it.

Walking down the condensed hallways I know exactly where his dressing room is seeing as there are about twenty different people crushed outside the hall waiting for a chance to see him and tell him what a great job he did. I want to do the exact opposite and tell him what a douche bag he’s been and how I can’t stand him and that he will never have any children once I’m through with him.

Pushing through all the people, I make my way to the door and bang on the heavy slab of wood. There isn’t an answer so I pound harder. I don’t care that I’m getting strange looks from the various admirers and I don’t care that his mother is looking at me like I’m some kind of insane lunatic. All I know is I have to punch him or do something because he pretty much destroyed my future with one single word.

The door opens and Justin is escorting a group of reporters out of the room. A gaggle of young women are waiting by the door and he’s about to bring them in when he sees my face. An expression of surprise and something else appears on his face and for some odd reason words fail him. He opens his mouth to speak but all that comes out is silence, he looks like a fish caught out of water and pretty soon he’s going to be a gutted fish.

I don’t waste any time. Surging forward, I push him back into the room, ignoring the blatant cries of outrage from the women, and I slam the door behind me. Locking it quickly I turn around to face Justin who is just standing in the middle of the room, still at a loss for words.

“Lauren…”

“Shut the fuck up,” I spit. I’m so mad I’m seeing red and I just want to jump on him and start smacking him over and over and over again because I am that angry with him. I don’t think I’ve ever been this mad at him before and that’s counting the time he slept with my best friend, ruined my chances of a promotion, claimed that I was his girlfriend to my entire hometown, and then gave me a promotion on top of that when I was first starting to realize that we could actually be good friends, maybe something more…

“What the…”

“I thought I told you to shut the fuck up?” I bark, “How could you do this to me?”

“I —”

“Shut. Up.” I’m fuming, I can’t see straight, the room is spinning, and I want a drink really, really badly. And Justin looking at me like I’m some loony escaped from an institution is not helping. But then again I must look pretty scary. I mean, I am pissed beyond words and the way he’s looking at me, like I’ll disappear and never be in the same room again is making me want to throw him against a wall, “I mean really, what were you thinking?”

“What…”

“Jesus, would you just shut up?” I yell at him, my reserve finally starting to crack.

“How the hell can I shut up when you’re asking me god damn questions?” Justin yells at me. What the hell does he have to be angry about?

“Don’t you realize they’re rhetorical?” I snip, “God you are such a mother fucking retard…”

“I only learn from the best and she’s standing right in front of me,” he quips and I turn around and pick up a random, empty plastic cup and chuck it at his head. He dodges it easily and responds by picking up a half drunken beer bottle and throws it towards me.

I duck and it shatters against the door behind me. “You sonuvabitch! You could have freaking killed me!”

“Good, then at least you’d be out of my face and not in my head all the damn time!” Justin snarls and I blanch for a second.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I glower and I guess he’s realized that he’s gone too far with some internal battle in his head because he quickly checks himself and stares at me with the expression he only reserves for blatantly rude fans and nosy paparazzi.

“You are such a fucking bitch. What gives you the right to come into my dressing room and give me shit about something I know nothing about?”

“Oh you know something about it and the only bitch in here is you. You only fucking took advantage of me when I was shit faced drunk and then lied about it the next day!”

“Jesus Christ, is that what this is about?” Justin asks as he throws his arms up in exasperation before he laughs that sinister little laugh of his that he keeps on the back burner for songs dealing with exes and other weird ass shit that I try to not get involved with, “You do realize that you came up to me and started to kiss me, right? That whole doing was your fault!”

“You could have stopped me!” I say shrilly before I pick up a plate of food and look down at it. Always good to have some ammunition because I know he’s going to say something highly offensive. That’s just how he is.

“Please, you needed the Jaws of Life to get you off of me. Just goes to show that even Lo-ho the Frigid Bitch can’t get enough of Justin Timberlake.”

And he has just crossed that big ass double yellow line.

With a gnarled scream I hurl the plate of food towards him and, while he’s dodging out of the way, I sprint towards him and run into him, sending his body into the wall behind him. I can feel his breath leave his body and before I know what I’m doing, I’m pummeling my fists into his stomach and yelling something fierce about how he would never amount to anything without me and how all along he was using me for just about anything and everything.

“I hate you! I hate you!” I chant over and over again and suddenly I’m being pushed away and sent reeling back towards the small couch set up in the middle of the room. Leaning against the back of the couch, I look up at Justin and see him doubled over trying his best to catch his breath.

“What the fuck was that for? Jesus Christ, Lauren you are psychotic.”

“Takes one to know one you little Timberfuck. You think I like being this way? You made me the way I am. I’m this crazy and this rude and crude because I had to deal with your sorry ass for four fucking years! You ruined my relationship with Neal, you ruined my relationship with my best friend, you just ruined everything!”

“You did that to yourself!”

“Did not!” I counter as I stand up straighter and brush my hair behind my ears. I’m breathing heavily and so is he, for some odd reason. We fall into silence for a few seconds; the only sound heard are our breathing and the questioning muffled voices coming from outside his dressing room. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m running at him, ready for round two but he’s ready for me.

Right as I’m about to run into him, he stretches out his arms and picks me up underneath my arms. Lifting me completely off the ground, I start to fight in his grasp but I soon stop when I catch the look in his eyes.

They are just so intense and so…Jesus they’re so blue. And the look he’s giving me is a mixture of confusion, anger, and something else. There’s…passion in his eyes and it’s a kind I’ve never really seen or taken the time to notice before.

“You are so fucking stubborn,” Justin says, his voice low and husky and…good God what the hell am I thinking? He sets me down in front of him and I go to smack him in the face but he quickly reaches out with his hand and catches my own.

I don’t know who moved first, but the next thing I know there’s this roaring sound in my ears and some sort of animal is welling up inside of me and before I know what’s hit me his mouth is on mine and I can’t keep my damn hands to myself.

The first time I kissed Justin I was apparently too drunk to remember. The second time was in a dream when I thought he was dead but in a way that didn’t really happen. But I guess third time is the fucking charm because this is amazing. Truman couldn’t kiss like this, Neal couldn’t kiss like this and I don’t think Justin would be able to kiss like this if he weren’t so pissed off at me.

A growl escapes his throat as he breaks his mouth away from mine and starts to kiss my neck and my collarbone and all I can do is stand there and pray to God I don’t make some kind of noise that will alert him that I’m actually enjoying this. Like he said, I’m fucking stubborn and he’s going to have to work for it.

I lean forward and start to bite on his ear, which results in him starting to giggle like an idiot. I roll my eyes and start to work my hands up and down his back, shivering slightly at the thought that the only thing separating me from his naked torso are one of those wife beaters that he’s been wearing since he came out of the womb.

He tugs my hair loose from its ponytail and suddenly I’m grabbing both sides of his face and jumping up into his arms. His hands instantly clasp underneath my butt and my legs wrap around his waist as he starts to walk over towards the vanity, our lips meeting again for, it can’t only be the second time can it?

And suddenly I’m being slammed against the back of the vanity, the sound of different glass bottles and trinkets being thrown around and crashing to the ground is muffled by the sounds of our grunts and groans and I can’t help but think this is something one would probably watch on late night HBO or something. I mean this isn’t the way I would expect to kiss someone at all. They’re supposed to be sweet, romantic, sometimes awkward but this…this is entirely different. This is spontaneous, wild, and somewhat sexy and I have no idea why.

“Oh God,” I whisper against his lips as he caresses my face with his hands. This is getting to be too much and I know I can’t handle this. My body is burning up right now and the only thing that’s cold right now is the counter I’m perched on and Justin, which is strange because he should feel hot but for some reason…

Jesus, Lauren don’t think, just do.

I unwrap one of my legs from his waist and lodge my foot against his stomach. Smiling against his perfectly plump lips I push him away from me and hop off of the counter before I grab both sides of his face with my hands and start to push him back quickly towards the opposite side of the room. He crashes into the wall and he reaches out and grabs my waist for support.

“Ouch,” he manages to gasp out before we’re attacking each other again. I really do feel like some kind of wild animal because I have never done anything like this before but it feels so fucking good. The huge weight has been lifted off of my shoulders and I realize that it’s probably all the frustrations that I’ve garnered over the past four years and it feels so good to get it off my chest.

His hands are everywhere. My stomach, my arms, my butt, my breasts, my back, they don’t freaking stop and I love it. My own hands are currently nestled behind his neck but they soon find themselves traveling down his chest and towards the collar of his shirt. I swear they’ve got a mind of their own because they gather the folds of fabric together and soon the sounds of ripping join the symphony of bodies slamming and the moans and groans that you’d only hear as a back for a Lil’ Jon song.

“Someone’s a bit eager…” Justin mutters against my jawbone and I silence him by meeting his lips with my own and we continue at the pace we had already determined when we first started this little tryst.

Neal would have never done something…

Neal. Party. Drunk. Kiss. Break up. Justin. Liar. Asshole!

My body immediately goes on lock down and I push myself away from Justin who was just starting to work the buttons on my blouse open. He looks at me, eyes filled with disappointment and I can only stare at him with disbelief.

“Why’d you stop?” he asks, “I was having fun. And I think you were too.”

Oh God, why does he have to be such an asshole?

“Fun or not you still lied and you’re nothing but a jerk and an ass and a fucking hypocrite,” I explain my voice taking on the familiar snarl I get every time I’m in an argument with Justin.

“Jesus Christ, Lauren why are you always blowing hot and cold? One minute you can’t keep your hands off of me and the next you’re ready to kill me!”

“Oh shut up, Justin! I wasn’t the one trying to push you into the mother fucking vanity mirror!”

“Well you’re a bad kisser! At least you didn’t bite my tongue this time,” he retorts and I stare at him with my mouth open.

“Excuse me? Just because you think you’re God’s gift to earth doesn’t make you a good kisser. Neal was so much better than you!”

“Sure, I don’t think he ever made you make noises like that. Ever.”

“What noises were you making her make, Justin?” a familiar and all too annoying voice sounds from the door. My heart skips one, two, three beats and I turn around to see Trace standing in the threshold, key in his hand, and all of Justin’s security, his mother, and Clive standing behind him. Justin is paler than a ghost and I can feel the blush creeping up my cheeks to reside permanently in my face.

“Shut the hell up, Trace,” Justin mutters under his breath as his best friend walks into the room to inspect the broken beer bottle and the various beauty concoctions that were splattered all over the ground by the vanity. The devilish grin on his face is enough for me to know that Trace has a pretty good idea what was going on in this room but he doesn’t voice them out loud to the rest of the group that is still standing in the hallway.

“You guys were pretty busy, huh?” Trace comments and I really just want to run out of the room. I turn around and face Justin as I button up one of the undone buttons on my blouse and he avoids looking at me completely. So much for trying to explain this together.

“If you must know,” I begin before I whirl around facing the group and trying my best not to look like I just got caught in a pretty intense situation with Justin, “I came back in here and he was choking on a damn piece of food…” God this is so lame but what else am I going to say? ‘Oh we just decided to make out and see what happened…’ yeah, that would go over wonderfully. “I just got it out of his mouth when you opened the door.”

Trace so knows we’re lying but I know he’s going to save his ammunition for when we aren’t in such a public area. Well, he’s going to give Justin a hard time because I don’t think I’m ever going to want to be around Justin ever again after this. Not when all that just happened.

“You okay man?” Trace asks and Justin nods his head, much to my surprise. I’d figure he’d just make it harder for me and say that he wasn’t eating anything at all and that I had made up the whole thing. At least he has enough sense to keep what we just did under wraps.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks Lor.” That word stung. Only Neal called me Lor and to hear it come from Justin just brings back the thought that it was because of Justin lying that I’m here in this situation.

I’m about to reply when Clive steps forward and clears his throat. Now there are certain things that Clive does that makes you pay attention to him immediately. The clearing of the throat is a big one and it is amazing to see how many people turn to look at him as soon as he makes his need to speak known.

“Well thank goodness you were here to assist Justin, Lauren because sending Justin to the hospital would be a travesty after such a magnificent night.” I know that Clive knows I’m lying seeing as there’s a glint of mirth in his eyes, but I don’t say anything. It’s best not to mention anything because that would just make what we did all the more real.

Don’t think about it and it will all go away.

“Which is why I wanted to tell you something, with Justin present as well,” Clive adds and I can feel a sinking feeling start to settle in my stomach. This can’t be good. Any announcement that involves Justin and I can never be good. I brace myself for the worst…

“Your management called me, Justin, and told me that your clothing venture is really taking off. I know that you started that with Mr. Ayala and one of your other friends but it is really growing on a large scale that we need to have someone from the founding group on the project at all times. We need Mr. Ayala to focus more on the aspect of the line and you need to focus on this tour. Of course you still need someone to look after you and your needs while on this tour which is why I have decided…”

Oh no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no…

“…to put Lauren back with you for the remainder of the club dates.”

Fuck.

***

Deranged Delusions

17. A Girl Worth Fighting For

Awkward is my middle name.

No, really, it is. I mean sure Mama thought ‘Randall’ was cute but in the truth of it all, my middle name is Awkward. Justin Awkward Timberlake. Why I agreed to go with Trace to take Lauren home is beyond me and I really, really don’t want to talk to her, but I know I do.

I have to figure this out because I am so god damn fucking confused.

Clive pretty much demoted Lauren back to her old job, which I’m sure, must be a huge insult to her, but really I couldn’t be happier. Well okay, I could be happier. Happier would exclude Trace from this journey to Lauren’s apartment and would include just the two of us getting it on in her room or finding some hotel, or shit, right here in the car would be fine.

I will stop thinking with my dick in three, two, one…

“You weren’t really choking were you? I mean Lauren could have been choking on something…” Trace pipes up from the passenger seat. Wrong statement to be making right now because I know Lauren is going to…

“Shut the hell up, Trace. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Lauren snaps and Trace lets out a yelp as Lauren reaches from the darkness of the backseat and swaps Trace hard on the back of the head. I try my best to cover my laughter and it comes out as a huge snort. That was attractive. But apparently Lauren isn’t done with her physical and emotional attack on Trace. “You are the biggest douche bag on the planet…”

“Really? That must be saying something because just the other night you were saying that Justin is a huge asshole who deserves to have his dick chopped off…”

“I never said that,” Lauren counters.

“But you were so thinking it. And you definitely weren’t thinking tonight because from what I saw you two weren’t going to chop anything off…more like blow…”

“TRACE!” both Lauren and I yell at once and I almost turn into a gas station to let the little twerp off so I can at least think straight and not have Trace talk about everything that Lauren and I probably would have gotten around to doing had he not come barging in.

I blame him.

“What? Can’t I be the purveyor of truth, justice, and the ways of dressing room hookups?” Trace questions and I manage to shake my head and lean it against the cool window. How the hell do I get into these situations? “I mean the way you were going at it, you’d think it was going out of fashion.”

“Trace, I would appreciate it if you would just shut the hell up so Lauren and I can talk about this, okay?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Lauren speaks up and I pull to a stop at an intersection before I turn around to look at her. She looks so small in the enormous backseat of my Escalade that I just want to crawl back there and keep her company. The weird thing is, she’s letting me drive her home, which is something she never let me do when she worked for me a few months ago. I guess when you cross that line from ex-friends and ex-boss/employee to…wait, what are we exactly?

“What do you mean you don’t want to talk about it?” I ask shrilly, “We have to talk about this. What this is going to do to us…”

“Us? There never was an ‘us,’ Justin. There’s just you and then there’s me. We never have and never will have ‘us.’ Because everyone and their mother knows that it’s always been about you,” she explains quietly. I can’t face her any longer because the light has turned green and I have to keep driving.

“No it hasn’t! You are so full of shit, Lauren!”

“I’m full of shit? Jesus Christ, Justin! Would you just shut up and leave me alone?”

“No. Not until we talk about this!” I counter and she groans loudly and I can hear something make contact with a hard object. Trace surges forward and reaches out to the dashboard for support. Apparently Lauren has kicked the seat in front of her out of rage.

“Dammit, Lauren! I’m fragile don’t do that!” Trace blurts out and Lauren kicks yet again. “Do it again and I’m coming back there, and I won’t be making out with you!”

Trace moves forward again.

“That’s it,” Trace growls and he fumbles with his seatbelt, still muttering under his breath. Before I know what’s happening, Trace is crawling towards the back of my car, grumbling obscenities and reaching out for Lauren. Shit, not good.

“What the fuck are you doing? Trace!” Lauren squeals and I can’t take it anymore. I pull into the nearest parking lot I can find while Trace and Lauren are screaming incoherently at one another. I know Lauren can fend for herself, but when Trace gets into one of his moods, it’s dangerous for all parties involved.

I throw the car in park and jump out of the vehicle, Trace and Lauren still squabbling inside. Tearing open the car door, I see Trace and Lauren on the opposite side of the car, Trace sitting on top of Lauren and pinning her upper body on the car door. He’s inches from her face and yet they’re both screaming at each other. Reaching in, I grab Trace by the collar of his shirt and yank him out of the car. He stumbles and falls to the ground and I turn around to face him, but Lauren is already out of the car and rushing towards him, picking him up off the ground and smacking him hard across the face.

“Holy…” I wince, but Lauren and Trace are completely oblivious to me.

“No one ever speaks to me like that! Ever!”

“Funny, you let Justin talk to you like that all the time!”

“I do not, Trace, you don’t understand anything! You have no right to touch me or speak to me like that!”

“I do when it involves fucking around with my best friend!”

“I am not fucking around with Justin! Do I have to spell that out to you?” she hollers and it looks like she’s about to rip out her hair from frustration.

“No, you don’t. But from where I’m standing you are completely and totally fucking him over left, right, and center! You are totally oblivious and I’m sick and tired of this bull shit!”

“You’re tired of this bullshit? Please, I didn’t ask for this! All I want is to go to my apartment, watch Lifetime, and stay out of your lives! I never asked to be thrown back into it, and now I have to follow him around the entire country when I have no idea what the fuck is going on in my head and I’m confused and I don’t know what to do! So I would appreciate it if you could shut the fuck up and just stop!”

“Stop?” Trace starts, his voice low but it’s threatening all the same, “Stop! Oh honey, I’m just getting started…” And he moves closer to her, ready to start another round of high intensity screaming. If they don’t shut up they’re going to draw some attention and I don’t really want that right now.

“Trace, leave it alone,” I say quietly, but they’re totally oblivious to me once more. They can really go at it, I must remind myself to never have them both pissed off at me at the same time.

“Do you have any idea how many times I had to sit there and listen to him and take his shit? You have it easy, Lauren! So shut the hell up and don’t even try to judge me for who I am and what I do and say…”

“But you make it so easy, Trace! So fucking easy…”

“Enough!” I yelp but apparently I’m still too quiet. They go right on with their argument and now people are slowing their cars down to look out their windows at the two quarreling strangers who are stopping short of knifing one another. Although if one of them had said weapon, I’m sure one of them would be on the ground.

“You are a sorry excuse for a human being! You ungrateful sack of horse shit!”

“I’m taken for granted twentyfour-seven! You’re just Justin’s bitch, Trace, and that’s a huge difference from what I do!”

“Whatever! You’re more Justin’s bitch than I’ll ever be! You always keep coming back for more, you can’t fucking quit!”

“BOTH OF YOU SHUT THE HELL UP!” I find myself screaming at the top of my lungs. I’ve had it. My hands are at my sides, balled up into fists and I know my patience with the two of them is wearing thin. They’ve both stopped their arguing long enough to look over at me, Trace looking a bit shocked that I’ve found my voice, and Lauren looking at me with a look of disdain. They’ve seen me pissed before, but this time, I’m done.

“I am sick and tired of you two bitching and moaning at one another about me when I’m fucking standing right here! Right now you guys don’t deserve to be my bitch! Or bitches…whatever. The two of you are acting like conceited assholes…”

“Takes one to know one,” Lauren mutters under her breath and now I’m starting to question why I even started to like her, maybe even love her.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that from you, Walters,” and just like that I’m back to last name basis with her. Weren’t we practically down each other’s pants a couple hours ago? Can we please go back there instead of in a random parking lot in the middle of the night? “Trace you are seriously overreacting and Lauren you’re only encouraging him…”

“So you’re blaming this whole thing on me? She started it, she kicked my seat!” Trace whines and I roll my eyes. I can’t believe he’s going to stand there and argue with me and act like a mother fucking two year old.

“Trace go sit in the car and cool off. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Sure,” Trace mutters before he throws a menacing glare in Lauren’s direction, “Blame it on me because I don’t have a pussy…”

“I’m not going to listen to you right now,” I begin and I turn towards Lauren but I find that she’s walking towards the busy street, her hands balled up into fists while she pounds her way towards the sidewalk, “Where the fuck are you going?”

“Away from you!” she calls and her voice is almost thrown away due to the wind that’s starting to pick up. This isn’t the greatest place in town and with her walking around like it’s broad daylight, fresh from an emotional fight, she’s bound to get into some trouble.

“Lauren, come back here, it isn’t safe!” I run after her, leaving the car in the empty parking lot. Trace will watch it, either that or he’ll drive away and leave us stranded just to get back at me for pretty much taking Lauren’s side.

“I don’t care!” her voice is a mixture of anger, frustration, and tears and I want nothing more than to take her in my arms and to tell her that everything will be okay. But that’s not such a good idea seeing as she’d probably clobber me within an inch of my life and I don’t think people will like that at the venue tomorrow night.

“Lor, come…”

“Don’t you call me that!” Lauren screeches as she whirls around, her face contorted with rage and a trace of something I can’t quite place. “Don’t you ever call me that. I swear to God, Justin you are so infuriating some times! I don’t know why I can still stand it because really it’s enough to drive any sane person crazy!”

“Then maybe you’re nuts?” I offer and she glares at me, “Come on Lauren, we need to talk…”

“I don’t want to talk. I just want to go home and go to sleep and forget that this night ever happened! Hell, I want to forget that you ever happened!” I recoil and look at her with questioning eyes. What the hell is she talking about? I mean her words hurt a bit, they sting, and it makes me realize that my feelings are one sided. I don’t think she could ever care for me the way I do. Or did…or, fuck this is so confusing.

“Lauren, please…I think you’re just as confused as I am.”

“The only thing that confuses me is why I’m still talking to you at quarter to three in the morning!” she makes a disgusted noise and looks at me again with those eyes that drew me in hours ago. They’re like a magnetic field and I can’t turn away. Intoxicating, that’s what they are.

“Lauren…” my voice is losing it’s demanding edge and I’m turning into a helpless pile of goo because, quite frankly, she’s just sucking all the energy out of me. The way she’s pacing, throwing her hands up in the air and having an internal argument with herself. I just want her to stop so she can take a fucking breath!

“…and now I have to work for you again when everything was going so well and I don’t want to! Oh Jesus I don’t want to, because you’re going to do exactly what you do every time and make me feel like shit and make me do stuff that I hate and I have to go all around the country when all I want to do is stay put and get my fucking life back together…”

She continues her rambling and her pacing and I’m getting a huge headache so I do the only thing I can do, I reach out and grab her arm to stop her from moving around all over the place.

Lauren is thrown off balance and steps back, but I’m there to catch her and now she’s standing super close and I can feel her breath rising and falling quickly seeing as she hasn’t slowed down for at least twenty minutes now. She opens her mouth and takes a deep breath to start yelling at me again but before I can ask myself what I’m doing, I’m grabbing onto her chin with my free hand and forcing her to look at me.

And that’s when I kiss her again.

It isn’t really a kiss. I mean, it is in no way, shape, or form like the ones we shared back in my dressing room, and my tongue isn’t down her mouth or vice versa so I don’t count it. Really, I just did it so she would shut the fuck up. It was either that or throw my hand over her mouth, which could have been bitten or spat on, or something of equal discomfort.

She squirms for a moment and I hold onto her for as long as I can, and before she pushes me away, I let her go. I know I’m in for a talking to and I pray to God that Trace wasn’t watching although I’m sure I’ll get an earful from him once we drop Lauren off…that is if we ever get around to doing that.

Lauren’s eyes are huge, as if she can’t really believe that I just did what I did. Truth be told, I can’t really believe that I did that either. We look at each other in silence for a while before she furrows her brow and gets right up in my face.

Here we go…

“Don’t you ever do that again. If you lay one hand on me during this next month, I will cry harassment and reveal some very incriminating photos that could very well end your career. Don’t think I’m yanking your chain, because I’m not. This ends here.” And without another word she stalks towards the car, leaving me in the middle of the parking lot.

This month is going to blow ass.

***

Deranged Delusions

18. And He Shall Smite The Crackheads

Ah, Boston. You’re so great, I love you to death. Really I don’t know what I would be doing with myself if we were holed up in some random town in Kansas or something. At least I’m not bored out of my mind and I can go do some things here while Justin is in the middle of press or partying with his band. Not that Justin and I spend any quality time together or anything. We’ve hardly said anything to each other since our last blow up fight after his Anaheim show. I mean we have talked to each other, but it’s on a complete professional level and…

Ugh, why am I still confused about this? I mean this is the easiest job in the world now. Justin doesn’t make huge requests, he stays out of my face and I do the same. It’s been quite enjoyable and I’m enjoying the free time I have to walk around the different cities and take in the different places and faces.

But then again that gives me a lot of time to think about our situation.

I never would have guessed that Justin and I have a ‘situation,’ but we do. I told him to never touch me and he hasn’t. Not so much as a pat on the shoulder to tell me good job. I think he’s really freaking scared that I’m going to mess him up and reveal to him the pictures I’ve taken of him throughout the years and so that’s frightened him enough to stay away.

I mean do I want him to kiss me again?

Fuck, no.

Well, maybe a little, but only because that guy knows what he’s doing. But then again, the only times we’ve ever kissed was when we were both angry as hell and couldn’t do anything else but try to kiss each other into oblivion. We’re not using it in a romantic way at all. We’re actually doing it to channel our anger.

But we’ve only done it twice. God now it sounds like we’ve been screwing each other which isn’t true at all. Maybe we would have done it the first time, but Trace came in and interrupted us, and I was thankful for that. No sense in doing something I’ll really regret…

Having sex with Justin Timberlake would be a huge regret.

Kicking his ass wouldn’t be that bad.

“You aren’t supposed to be in here,” Justin snaps at me as I walk into his dressing room. He’s sitting on the couch with a bottle of beer safely encompassed by his hands and I give him a look of ‘try to stop me,’ before I walk in and head over to the small cooler set up by the vanity.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting rid of this alcohol,” I state simply as I start to pick up the heavy cooler. How much shit does he have in here? I know Boston has good beer, but damn.

“You can’t do that!”

“What do you think I’m doing right now?” I ask, “You don’t need to have this in your body before you go out on stage. I will not have you going out there drunk off your ass.”

“Who are you, my mother?”

“No.”

“Then don’t take my shit out of my dressing room!” Justin yells as he sets down his already opened bottle and heads over towards me. Lay one hand on me, Justin, and you’ll get a huge awakening. “I always have one or two beers before I go out on set, and besides, they all love it when I drink on stage!”

“Yeah but the fans won’t love it when you forget the words to your songs!” I counter and he grumbles in frustration.

“They don’t even know half of the songs because the album isn’t out yet,” Justin tries lamely and I laugh in his face.

“Please, you know your shit leaked like three days ago online and they probably all know the lyrics so you can just shut up and stop trying to give me lame ass excuses. I’m only looking out for your best interest and going out there buzzed or drunk isn’t going to make for a good show. Trust me on this.”

“Why should I trust you with anything?” Justin glowers and I roll my eyes as I set the cooler down and look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Justin, if I weren’t here to keep you from destroying yourself, you’d be, well, destroyed.” That was awkward.

“Thank you for those wonderful pearls of wisdom, Socrates, but if you’d excuse me, I have to get ready for my show.” And before I can stop him, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a zip-loc bag of something green and flora…

“Oh hell no, Justin. You are not smoking that before your show!” I squeal with displeasure as I make a wild grab for the weed I know Justin will light up before he goes out on stage. He tries to do it every single time but for the most part, I’ve been able to stop him.

“It relaxes me!”

“There are plenty of other things to relax you! Listen to some music, watch some TV, get a massage…”

“You want to give me one?” Justin asks wickedly, his eyes alight with mischief and that sexual energy that makes a million and one girls squeal with delight every time he sees them or looks into a camera.

“In your dreams. Give it to me Justin,” I demand while I hold my hand towards him and the bag.

“No!”

“Justin I swear if you don’t give it to me I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” Justin taunts and I roll my eyes at him and throw up my hands in defeat.

“Fine, ruin your fucking life. Fall back into being a pot head and see what that does to you! You’re going to get sick and run yourself into the ground and you’ve got a crap load of stuff to do in the future and you’re just going to ruin it all! See if I care, I only want my paycheck and my pat on the head at the end of all this, saying I did a good job before I can go on my merry way and never have to deal with your sorry ass again! See if I care when I see you five years down the line and you’ve thrown it all away because of your stupid addictions to the acts of the mentally retarded!” I’m ranting now but I don’t care. He’s about to reply when there’s a knock at the door and I turn around to see Marty, Justin’s choreographer standing in the threshold. I don’t know how long he’s been standing there and I don’t really care.

“You’re on in five, Justin,” Marty explains and Justin nods dutifully before he throws the bag on the coffee table and stalks towards the door. At that exact moment, a tall, blonde haired woman walks in and throws herself on Justin, kissing him soundly on the mouth.

Great, I didn’t realize Shannon would be back here tonight.

Justin’s new squeeze, Shannon Murphy, is someone I would like to give a thorough ass kicking to and I wouldn’t care if I got arrested for it. She is the bitch of all bitches and I would give a hell of a lot just to rip out her weave and make her beg for a hit of whatever it is she likes to snort.

She whispers something playful in his ear and he smiles before he walks back towards his gym bag and pulls out his money clip. He hands her a roll of bills and I nearly gag out of disgust when she squeals in delight and snatches the money out of his hand, kissing him harder than the first time.

Oh I hate her.

Shannon spots the weed on the table and she picks it up immediately before she heads over to the vanity to roll what is probably her thirtieth doobie of the night. The girl is a drug addict, there’s no way about that and I blame her for the reason why Justin has relapsed into his drug abusing ways.

He would do some shit when he was with Cameron, but that was nowhere near to the extent that he’s doing now. It scares the shit out of me sometimes, but I do my best to keep my mouth shut.

“Marty, can I talk to you?” I ask him as Justin stalks past and heads towards the stage. The dancer rolls his eyes and heads over towards me. I know that Marty and I aren’t the greatest of friends, he thinks I’m too overbearing and won’t let Justin do the things he wants to do, but when you think about it, I’m the one with the head straight on her shoulders. Everyone else around here acts like they should be in a circus.

“Sup?”

“Look, I’m getting worried about Justin,” I say in a low voice. I don’t want Shannon to overhear this because she’ll only stick her lame nose into my business and I don’t want to talk to Shannon any more than I have to.

“Why?”

“He’s so busy and just doing so much stuff that I think he’s going to run himself into the ground. I’m afraid he’s going to get sick or something. And the way he keeps using these drugs…”

“Look, Lauren. I don’t know why you’re so worried about him. He’s a grown man, he can make his own choices and the last time I checked you don’t really give a damn about his well being, so why should you start now?”

Note to self: Scratch Marty off my Christmas list.

I really do care about Justin’s well being, too much, I think. I make sure he gets sleep, I help him get to where he needs to be on time, I make sure he doesn’t destroy himself before he goes out on stage, I do all of that for him and more and apparently no one around here realizes that.

“I’ve gotta go get my seat for the show. Don’t worry about it,” he adds before he walks off towards the front of the house. What am I going to do? I’ll probably sit on the couch and listen to the show through the walls. I don’t go out to the front of the house anymore to watch his show.

I can’t because every time he sings some of his new songs, he always looks at me. And him making eye contact with someone on the upper levels of the venue is never a good thing. Everyone turns around to look at who he’s singing too and that always means I get death stares from women and gay men or questioning looks from reporters and gossip bloggers.

So I stopped going out there. And now I just sit on the couch in the green room and listen to the show through the walls. There’s hardly anyone back here because they all want to watch Justin and I enjoy the serenity of the backstage area during the show. After, I usually hang around and make sure no one talks to Justin that isn’t supposed to. Yes, I’m supposed to be a bitch to people who want to congratulate Justin and tell him that he’s their hero.

Don’t you love me for it?

“Justin needs you to do him a favor,” Shannon’s silky voice sounds over the thumping bass in the background. I guess the show has started.

“What else is new?” I question as I begin to shift through news reports and reviews of past shows.

“Well, he needs you to go now,” the leggy blonde glides over to me and hands me a slip of paper, “Go there and get two blocks and one kilo of their pure….”

“Wait, you’re sending me on a drug run?” I ask hastily and Shannon roles her eyes at me as if I’m wasting her time with stupid questions, “Sorry, Shannon, but this is where I draw the line.”

“I don’t think you understand. Either you go and get this stuff, or I’ll make sure you do time,” she threatens and I give her a very unladylike scoff before I turn away and face the reports. This is getting ridiculous. She is really overstepping her boundaries here.

Justin met her at some after party in Vegas and the weasel doesn’t have a life so when he invited her to come with him on tour, she accepted immediately. And she brought her coke whore-ish ways with her. Almost every time I see her, she’s either on something or getting off of something and that always makes for some verbal abuse on her part. Of course this happens whenever Justin isn’t around and it makes me think that Shannon is doing it because she knows she can’t get away with it when Justin is around me. Nevertheless, Justin adores her and likes that he keeps her young and sort of grounded in the world of twenty-somethings.

I think she’s destroying him.

“You don’t scare me, how are you going to make me do time?” Shannon is so full of hot air it’s laughable. If she wants a damn fix she can get it herself…

“I have my ways. All I have to do is drop some heavy stuff in your bag and it’ll all come crashing down. Justin adores me and I think he’ll have a harder time believing your story than mine. Besides, I thought you were his assistant? You’re supposed to do things like this for him.”

Well I guess I missed that memo. And I know Shannon isn’t fucking around with this whole drug business. She’ll really pin some kind of drug bust on me if she doesn’t get a snort in tonight. It used to be so easy to get drugs around here, mainly because Marty or Trace knew where to go, but seeing as Trace isn’t here, and I kind of told off Marty, I don’t think they’ll be too anxious to help me. And I’m getting sick and tired of trying to get Justin to stop using this shit. If he wants to destroy himself, then so be it.

“Fine,” I snap as I put aside my papers and snatch a fold of bills out of Shannon’s manicured clutch. She smiles brilliantly as I stalk out of the room, wondering how long it will take until Shannon or Justin over dose.

I can only hope it’s soon because I am getting sick and tired of their bullshit.

I pull the rental car in front of a horribly run down house with trash littering the front lawn. A siren wails in the distance and I can see a helicopter shining a spotlight on a row of derelict apartments a few blocks away.

Wow, great part of town.

Grabbing my purse, I get out of the car and walk up the front steps. There is no way in hell I’m leaving my purse in that car because the next thing you know, it’ll be broken into and some gang member will show up at my place of address on my license to kill me and steal all of my shit.

The paint on the house is peeling, bars are on the door and windows and there is definitely no welcome mat. But this is the place and I have to go in, why I don’t know. I don’t have a clue as to why I need to do this for Shannon or Justin’s approval. Maybe I’m doing it to show that I’m serious about my job, or I’m doing it so Justin can see that I’ll pretty much do anything and everything for him when it comes to his comfort.

Or maybe, I think to myself as I knock on the door, I’m just fucking insane.

I can hear movement inside the house and I shift nervously on my feet. Why did I not think to pick up some Mace or something like that before heading over here? I know I’m probably going to get gang banged or something like that but I can’t very well leave now. I already knocked and there’s the sound of someone coming towards the front door.

I can run now and not do this, or I can wait and see what happens.

Too late, the door is open and there’s a very dumpy looking woman standing in front of me, half of her body hidden by the flimsy wooden door. She looks tired and her hair is greasy and unkempt. And it definitely looks like she just took a hit of something big because her eyes are bloodshot and I think she’s going to pass out at any moment.

Wonderful.

“Um…hi,” I stutter but I quickly clear my throat and try to regain some kind of confidence. These types of people can smell fear a mile away, “I’m here to pick some shit up.”

“Right. John,” the woman says in a voice that can only be made from smoking for twenty years. She wheezes and coughs loudly before she lets me in the house and slams the door behind me.

I’m trapped. Okay, now is the time not to panic.

I follow the woman into the depths of the very tiny house and realize that none of the lights are on at all. The only main source of light is the television coming from the living room but we pass that quickly and walk further into the house.

A door on my left, a sign on it that says ‘KEEP OUT’ in huge letters. The woman opens the door and I blanch, expecting to see some dead person or walls and walls of cocaine and other kinds of drugs, but instead it’s a flight of stairs leading into the bowels of the home.

“John’s down there. I hope you have his money because he hates it when people show up for some stuff and don’t have any dough,” the woman explains seriously before she turns around and walks away.

Whoa, whoa, I have to go down there? I have to walk into the basement of this run down house and pick up a pack of drugs with the air of a seasoned Bloomingdale’s shopper? You have got to be kidding me!

“Who the fuck is up there? You better haul your mother fucking ass down here or I swear to Jesus I’m going to fuck you up!”

Oh God. Stepping forward, I begin to walk down the stairs, hoping to God that I don’t die or get raped or get in a drug bust because that would just be the cherry on top of this awfully fucked up night.

Deep breaths, Lauren, deep breaths. You’ll be okay.

“Hurry the fuck up! I don’t have all damn night!”

The door slams behind me and I can hear the sounds of a lock being thrown on the outside. The woman has apparently shut the door and locked me inside.

I’m trapped.

Shannon Murphy is a Sex Goddess.

No really, she is. The girl can do beautiful and dangerous things with her hands. And that tongue of hers…woo boy don’t even get me started.

The little time slot between the final song of the show and when I need to go talk to some of the industry big wigs or some kind of reporter is when Shannon comes and we get down to business. Some nights we make out, others we do a little quickie, and others we just snort as much shit as we can before it’s noticeable to the people on the other side of the dressing room walls.

I like Shannon, she’s a cool chick but I know it isn’t going to last. Truth be told, the only reason why she’s around is because she helps me get my mind off of Lauren and the fact that I can’t have her. I think she knows too because she doesn’t like Lauren at all and I know it’s not because she’s brunette.

But without Shannon I would probably do something very horrible and drastic that would include Lauren and I don’t want to ruin us. Because I know there’s an us. Deep down in my soul I know that there is an ‘us’ to Lauren and I and it’ll come out sooner or later. I can only hope it’s before Shannon ODs.

We decided not to take hits, we decided not to have sex at this moment, so Shannon and I settled on option number one: heavy make out session. And I love them. The only down side is that every time I kiss Shannon I find myself comparing her to the Lauren O’Meter 9000. Why the 9000? I don’t know. It sounds cool.

But anyway, I always compare her kisses to that one Lauren and I shared after the Anaheim show. Needless to say, it doesn’t compare, not by a long shot and I don’t know if or when I’ll ever get another chance to add another Lauren kiss to the Meter.

Why am I thinking about this? I’ve got a gorgeous woman on my lap; practically shoving her hands down my pants and I can only think about Lauren. Lauren, who hates my guts and almost punched me earlier tonight because I was going to smoke some pot. I love it how she always looks out for me, but it infuriates me that she can hold any sort of power over me.

I hate it, but I love it at the same time and that’s what makes this all so confusing.

Stop thinking about it; think about what’s in front of you, which would be Shannon.

Thank God for Shannon, she’s a Sex Goddess, you know.

But that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t stop thinking about Lauren. Where is she?

The funny thing about my time with Shannon is that it is always interrupted by Lauren. Always. Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes after the show is over, I hole myself up with Shannon and by twenty-five minutes, Lauren is pounding on the door, yelling at me to get out of the room or she’ll come in and drag my butt out.

It’s been thirty minutes and no Lauren, and it’s starting to freak me out a little bit. She takes her job very seriously and she isn’t here doing it. Where is she?

I break my lips away from Shannon’s and she sits back, pouting slightly.

“Where’s Lauren?” I ask her and I can see her eyes darken as she puts a strand of hair behind her ear. Did I mention that Shannon doesn’t really like Lauren?

“I don’t know,” she replies saucily before she tries to kiss me again.

“Seriously, she’s never late getting us out of here. Do you know where she is?”

“Justin, babe, think of this as a blessing. She’s always messing up our mood,” Shannon purrs as she puts her mouth on my neck. She sucks gently and for a second my mind is off of Lauren and I’m completely content in sitting here while Shannon the Sex Goddess does her thing.

“I should call her,” I say abruptly as I gently push Shannon off of me. I know she’s getting pissed but I really don’t care. It’s driving me crazy that I don’t know where Lauren is and I will be very upset with myself and Lauren, too, if she’s just running late or fell asleep somewhere. But still, I can’t get rid of the nagging feeling in my stomach that something is wrong.

I quickly call her phone and I start to pace around the dressing room hoping to God that she isn’t hurt, or worse, dead. But Lauren takes good care of her…

“Hello?” a voice picks up the other line but it isn’t Lauren’s. Well it could be Lauren if she got a sex change operation in the time I was gone and managed to become a two hundred pound black man. Because that’s what she sounds like.

“Lauren?”

“Do I fucking sound like a Lauren to you? Who the hell are you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I fire back, “Where’s Lauren?”

“She’s chillin’ right now. She’ll call you back,” the man says casually but I don’t believe him.

“Like hell she will, who are you?”

“Call me Jesus.”

There is no way in hell I am going to call this man Jesus. No way in…

“Do you want to know where she is?” the man asks and I let out a huge breath of air that I’ve been holding in.

“Yes…”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Jesus,” I say and the man, Jesus, chuckles sinisterly. It’s so creepy it’s making the little hairs on my head curl, and I don’t have a full head of hair. What has Lauren gotten herself into?

“She’s a little fucked up right now,” Jesus announces and I can feel my temper start to get the better of me, “I don’t know if you want to see her right now.”

“What do you mean she’s fucked up? What did you do to her?” I’m getting mad now, more because I’m sick with worry than anything. I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t know if this guy is teasing me or if Lauren is really in trouble. He has her cell phone so I think that something bad is going on.

“Nothing she can’t fix. Now if you’ll excuse me, Jesus has to perform a divine intervention…” and before I can ask him what he’s going to do, I can hear her voice in the distance.

“What are you doing? Put that thing down! I’m not going to do it so you better just put it away!” she sounds scared and unsure of what’s going on, which is making me really worry. “Hey! Hey, don’t touch that!” she yells, louder this time, “I swear to God…”

And before I can make of what’s going on, there’s the sound of a scuffle on the phone, people yelling, and finally a loud bang that nearly destroys my eardrum. Lauren screams and then the line is cut.

Wheeling around, I look at Shannon who is sitting on the couch looking meek and unsure of what’s going on. She totally doesn’t look like the woman I met a few weeks ago and I know for a fact that she knows exactly what’s going on.

Rushing towards her, I pick her up by her shoulders and force her to look at me. Panic is swirling around me and I can only think that I need to get to Lauren as soon as possible.

“Where is she?” I ask her frantically, “Where the hell is she, Shannon?”

Shannon doesn’t say anything; she just looks straight past me and towards the doorway. She isn’t paying attention and I don’t think she wants to listen to what I have to say but dammit I’ll make her listen if it’s the last thing I do.

“Where is she?”

“I can’t believe you fucking shot my phone!” I find myself screaming at John. He merely looks over at me before he doubles over with laughter and takes another hit from his bong. The rest of his friends start to chuckle and they all take another drag from whatever it is they’re smoking.

“Please, you can get another one. If the guy you’re working for can afford to buy shit from us, he can buy you a new phone,” John, or Jesus as he told Justin, says casually before he hands me the ruined remains of my phone.

“He’s probably pissing himself right now,” one of John’s friends, Frank, comments, “Not too many people can hear a gun shot and not piss their pants.”

“Did you see me flip out when he fired the gun?” I ask and Frank perks up as he looks at me.

“You screamed didn’t you?” I roll my eyes and I flop down on the disgustingly stained couch, in between two of John’s other friends and shake my head.

“No. I’m not that tough,” I mutter. It’s funny because I expected to be dead right now seeing as I’m still locked in this basement, but apparently this is what John does to everyone who buys shit from him.

Of course, I explained that I wasn’t using the stuff but he said it didn’t matter. He and his friends need to scope out who’s buying that way they can keep tabs on them so they don’t go to the cops. I thought the way they operated was completely different — people buy, they pay, and they either come back for more, or they don’t. But John’s different. He likes to form relationships with his buyers and he’s doing that right now with me.

I fucking love this guy.

He’s like a huge teddy bear even though when I first came down here and saw him take a needle to his arm, I almost passed out. I’ve been here for almost two hours and so far we’ve had a good time chatting and I have learned so much about drugs it isn’t even funny. Haven’t done any, but having John and his posse explain the different types of stuff and all that is definitely an eye opening experience.

Besides, I’m getting kind of loopy from all the smoke.

I told them when I went to my Drug Abusers Anonymous meeting I’d be able to hold seminars on proper usage of drugs. That got a big laugh, and that’s when Justin decided to call and John decided to have some fun.

It pissed me off because Justin is going to do one of two things. One, he’ll send someone out here to get me out of this. Or, two — he’ll call the cops. The second would be very, very bad seeing as I’ll more than likely get arrested and that wouldn’t be good at all. Nothing like getting a criminal record because Justin and his crack whore need a fix.

“C’mon Lauren, take a hit,” John ventures towards me and I shake my head before I look down to inspect my shot up cell phone. Oh poor cell phone, how I’ll miss you in the long run.

“Sorry, John. It’s where I draw the line…” I start to say but John slams a case on the coffee table and the sound makes me jump a mile in the air.

“Look,” his voice is rough now, the teddy bear is long gone and now there’s this irritable grizzly staring me in the face, “You’re going to take a hit or I’m going to shoot something else of yours and it won’t be inanimate.”

What the fuck happened? Oh wait, he had cocaine didn’t he? I remember the memorable night when Justin was so high on cocaine I felt like John Travolta from Pulp Fiction when he was Uma Thurman. You know, when he had to shove the needle in her chest to keep her from over dosing? Well it wasn’t that bad, and I think Uma did some heroin but still, it was scary, and he was really irritable and short tempered.

Great, I’m in the lair of Cantankerous Crackheads and there’s no chance of escape. Especially since the basement door is locked, there are at least four huge men hanging around and I’m sure they’re all armed.

I’m three ways fucked to Sunday.

She’s lying in the middle of the room, bleeding. I don’t know what to do because I’ve never been in a situation like this before. She’s unconscious and I don’t know if that’s because of the cut on her forehead or because she has traces of drugs on the corners of her mouth and her nose.

There’s a gunshot wound in her stomach and it won’t. stop. bleeding. Too much blood, there’s just way too much blood…

“Stop it,” I say to myself and I hit myself in the forehead with my free hand. The other is on the steering wheel and I’m racing through late night traffic, trying to get to the place where Shannon sent Lauren.

My mind is totally running away with me and so far I’ve imagined Lauren dead, close to dead, severely injured, and just fine. Guess which one happens infrequently?

Every time I call her phone all I get is her voicemail and I find myself getting even more upset about the fact that I don’t know where she is or if she’s okay. Not knowing is the thing that’s making me upset and I hope to God she’s okay.

How could Shannon be so callous as to send Lauren out into the middle of nowhere, in the middle of nowhere in the ghetto, and have her pick up some crazy crap that I would never use myself? Needless to say I kicked Shannon to the curb and told her to find her own damn way back to Vegas. I’m sorry but when you mess with Lauren, and put her in dangerous situations like that, you are just not on my nice list.

She cried, she apologized, she pleaded, but I was too emotionally involved with getting Lauren out of wherever she is safely to listen to her pretentious bullshit. I don’t know what I’m going to find when I get to this house but I only know that it’s going to be bad. Very bad.

People with guns mean business and they had one, and they used it. Maybe on Lauren, but I don’t know. I’m just so fucking scared.

I’m by myself too. I was so worried about finding her that I didn’t bother to tell security or anybody else. I just jumped into my rental car and took off. I’m still in my clothes from the show and I’m sweaty, but I don’t care. I don’t fucking care if paparazzi are following me right now, all I care about is getting to her and making sure she isn’t dead.

Finally, the house. It looks horrible. Worse than horrible. Lauren got out of her car and walked into this house? Are you kidding me? If someone had sent me out on this little errand I wouldn’t have touched this place with a ten foot pole. But when the person you pretty much love is somewhere in that house, you don’t care if there’s a fucking army in there.

I jump out of my car and run up the path to the front door. It’s wide open which isn’t helping the acute wave of anxiousness and nausea that’s rising in my stomach. Let’s not even discuss the fact that a gun shot just went off down the street followed by the incessant screaming of a woman.

My heart leaps into my throat, thinking that the person screaming could be Lauren. Would they have taken her out of the house? I have to check this place first before I go rushing about into situations that involve firearms and other dangerous substances.

I’m never doing drugs again.

I run into the house and look around. It’s empty and there isn’t a sound. What if she’s unconscious, what if she’s drowning in a pool of her own blood or something? What if something bad is going to happen to her? To me?

“Lauren!” I yell as I move from room to room. Tables and chairs are overturned and there’s a sign of a scuffle. No blood though, which is a good thing, but still — I’m scared shitless. I might have peed my pants a while back but I’m not too sure. “Lauren, can you hear me?”

Nothing.

Silence.

Shit.

I run through the house again, checking every single room. The place is totally empty. I’m about to give up my search and take to the street when I notice a door that’s slightly ajar and locked from the outside.

Rushing over, I quickly unbolt the door and find a flight of stairs leading downward into whatever is down there. A light that’s illuminating the stairwell is swinging ominously and casting a green light on the peeling walls. How quaint.

There’s probably someone down there with her right now, holding a gun to her head. Oh man I don’t know what to do around guns. I mean I like to think I kind of know what to do seeing as I did the movie with Morgan Freeman and LL, but seriously that was nothing. That was stunt doubles and choreographed fight sequences. This is real fucking life.

Some huge man is down there holding her hostage and as soon as he sees me, he’s going to shoot her in the head and blow her brains all over the place and I’m going to be standing there and…focus! Dammit I need to focus.

“Lauren?” I say hoarsely. God I don’t need this right now. I should have come with Mike or Marty or Eric or someone who would be able to keep their head in a situation like this. I should have called the cops. I should have done something rather than rush blindly into this. What if they know who I am and are using Lauren for bait?

Fuck, I didn’t think of that.

I start to walk down the stairs, holding out to the sticky walls to keep my balance. It feels like these stairs are going to fall apart at any moment and I find myself holding my breath as I descend.

There’s a kind of smoky haze down here, accented only by the horrible fluorescent lighting and the faint smell of narcotics. I feel like I’m in a fucking Miami Vice episode except I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m going on pure adrenaline right now.

“Lauren?” I call again and I’m met with the sound of a scraping chair.

The hell?

I stumble down the rest of the stairs and all but crash into the wall opposite the steps. Regaining my balance, I turn to look into the room to find a couch overturned, shards of glass littering the floor, and a few more swinging lamps.

In the middle of it all is Lauren, blindfolded, gagged, and tied up to what looks like a very uncomfortable chair. I have never been more relieved to see another human being, to see her, in my life. The huge breath I’ve been holding releases and I walk towards her, hoping to God some person doesn’t come running out from the shadows.

Walking cautiously towards her, I stop in front of the chair and kneel down so we’re eye level. I rest my hand on her knee and she tenses up immediately. She must be scared shitless, especially since she’s tied up and can’t say anything.

“Lauren, are you okay? Yes or no?”

My worst fears are confirmed when she shakes her head. Something’s wrong. Shit. I quickly get to work and untie her hands and feet from their bindings. Once her hands are free, she rips off the gag and the blindfold and looks up at me with frightened blue eyes.

“Are you alright?” I ask her again and she bites her lip and tears start to pool in her eyes. Before I can stop myself, and before I can think of the ‘No Physical Contact’ rules, we’re both sitting on the disgusting concrete floor, holding onto each other so tightly I feel like my eyes are going to bug out of my head.

She’s breathing hard and she’s holding onto me so firmly it’s almost as if she’s trying to crawl inside of me. It’s when she starts to shake uncontrollably that I start to rock her back and forth to try to get her to calm down. I smooth down her wild hair and do my best to not think of how close we are. Right now I want to make her feel safe.

After a few more minutes of silence, I pull away and look at her, “Are you okay? Did they hurt you? Did they touch you?”

She shakes her head, “They took everything.” Is all she says and I feel myself becoming more confused by the minute.

“What did they take?”

“My purse, your money, they have my ID, they have my home address, they have my credit cards, they have everything,” she manages to spit out before she dissolves into furious tears.

I try my best to soothe her but it isn’t working at all. So I just let her cry. She’s going to have to get it out of her system sooner or later and it’s better she does it now than back on tour.

She buries her face into my chest again and grips onto my arms so tightly I know I’m going to get fingernail marks on my skin. “I was so scared,” she whispers and I can feel my heart melt all the way down to my toes. Why does she have this power over me? Why?

“It’s okay, you’re safe now,” I mutter into her hair. She pulls back and looks up at me. This is the first time I notice the large scratch on the left side of her face. Reaching over, I touch it softly and she winces before bringing a hand up to her face. She catches my hand in hers and presses them against her face.

“I am so sorry,” I start to say and I find my voice is shaking, why is my voice shaking? “This is my fault, Lauren. I’m so glad you’re okay. Let’s get you back to civilization, okay?” I venture and she nods vigorously.

Getting to my feet, I hold onto Lauren’s hand and hoist her up. I don’t let go of her hand as I lead her up the steps and into the deserted house. I don’t know where the guys ran off to and I really don’t care. All I want to do is get back into the car and get to the hotel and make sure that Lauren’s okay.

We make it to the car safely, and soon we’re speeding away from the house. I am so glad we got out of there safely and I really don’t care about her money or the cards. That isn’t an issue. All we have to do is call the different companies and make sure that they cancel the cards and send her new ones. She’ll have to get a new license and stuff when she gets back to California and she might have to change her address, but it isn’t going to be that difficult.

Thirty minutes later and we’re back at the hotel. We go in the back way because I really don’t want to deal with the fans waiting outside the hotel and I definitely don’t want the paps getting a taste of this. That’s all I need right now, that’s all Lauren needs. A scandal on top of getting the crap scared out of her. Don’t think so.

Everything is moving in a blur but somehow I get her into her room and she manages to wordlessly get ready for bed. It isn’t until she’s safely tucked away in her bed that she finds her voice again.

“Thank you for coming to get me,” she says hoarsely and I sit on the side of her bed and tap her leg soothingly.

“And what, did you think I was going to leave you there with the crack whores and pimps?” I joke. Somehow during extremely tense situations I always manage to spit out a joke that really isn’t that great and I end up acting even dumber than before. “I promise we’re going to find the creeps who did this to you,” I vow and she shakes her head.

“You don’t have to do that. They’re long gone by now. Those fuckers,” she mutters under her breath and for a moment I feel like we’re back to the old times; none of this awkwardness between us, not the unspoken attraction that I know I feel but I don’t know if she does. I hate not knowing and if this were any girl other than Lauren I would have probably already asked her if she cared for me in the way I care for her. But she’s different and I’m not going to do it until the opportune moment. And right now is not a good time.

“I feel terrible,” I reveal and Lauren scoffs.

“You should. It was your money that sent me out there. It was Shannon who made me go…where is that little bitch? I’m going to tear that weave out of her head and make her eat it.”

“She’s gone by now. I had security take her back to the hotel to get her stuff and get out of here by the time I got back to the hotel. “But when we go back to Vegas you can call her up and kick her ass as long as you want.”

“Good,” Lauren says firmly and I chuckle under my breath.

“You need some sleep, you’ve been through a lot tonight,” I say and I start to get up but she reaches out and grabs my arm. I turn to look at her and her eyes are clouded over with fatigue and a trace of fear.

“Can you stay with me? I don’t want to be alone tonight.” I take in a sharp intake of breath. Does she know what she’s doing to me right now? Does she know that all I want to do is pick her up in my arms and tell her that I love her and would do anything for her? Does she know that I want nothing more than to be with her every single night? Does she know any of this?

Apparently not.

She scoots over to make room for me and I lay on top of the covers while she snuggles underneath them. Turning her back towards me, she lets out a held breath of pent up emotions and stress and I can feel the tension leave her body.

Trying to get comfortable, I settle in for a long night. Because I won’t be able to sleep at all with her right next to me. No freaking way.

Tomorrow is going to blow.

But right now I’m content with just sitting here and playing sentry. Just being with her and not being in screaming matches or hitting one another or just plain glaring at each other is so refreshing I really don’t want her to wake up. Well that’s kind of bad seeing as I like it when she’s awake, I kind of like it when she’s making me think of a quick comeback or when she’s paying attention to me and only me. And unlike the rest of the women in my life, she takes care of me. She sticks up for me and watches out for me and she’s like my mom only she’s younger and I can have feelings for her.

Wow Justin, you need to stop.

She sighs contentedly and turns over towards me. Her face is so peaceful and the scratch on her face is still visible but you can’t tell it was from being tied up in a crack house for an hour or so. I still can’t believe she went to a crack house. Even now it seems like we were there years ago.

Reaching out, I push a strand of hair out of her face and she smiles smugly before she snuggles closer to the covers. Why am I wishing I were the covers instead? I hate feeling this way. So I do the only thing I can do at a time like this, I talk.

“Lauren, you awake?” I ask softly. There’s no response so I’ll assume she’s sleeping. I sigh loudly and rub the back of my head before I rest it against the headboard. “I have to say you had me scared shitless tonight. When you didn’t come back to separate me and Shannon I got worried, and when I called your phone and that asshole answered, it scared me even more. I thought something terrible had happened to you and I don’t know what I would do if those premonitions proved true. I mean, Shannon wouldn’t be able to take care of me the way you do, she wouldn’t triple check my schedule and make sure I stayed away from all the things that could hurt me. You’ve been looking out for me since day one and like an idiot I took that all for granted…”

It’s so easy to talk to the person you need to tell all this stuff to when the said person is fast asleep and can’t hear a word you say.

“Truth is, I’d be beside myself if I ever lost you like that. If you ever, died or got seriously hurt. I don’t think I can forgive myself now for putting you into danger like that. I kept having flashes of what I would find at the house when I got there and they weren’t pretty and I was relieved when I saw that you were okay. I care about you, Lauren and I hope you can absorb that in your sleep and see that I really do think you’re an amazing person and that I think I love…”

My voice fades as she shifts her weight and yawns loudly. Oh God did she wake up? Did she hear anything that I was about to say? Fuck, fuck, fuck. She turns away from me and I let out another held breath. I was getting carried away, I have to stop this or else I’m going to say things I’ll really regret.

Trying my best to relax, I stare off into the darkness of the room and hum softly under my breath. Hopefully the melodies I make up will be enough to send me into sleep and into dreams where she can be mine and I don’t have to explain myself with awkward words. She’ll just understand it.

***

Deranged Delusions

19. Be a Man

Want to know why I love New York City within an inch of my life? There are two factors.

One, no more Shannon Murphy and…

Two, it ain’t Boston.

But it has its perfectly shitty qualities, too. Justin’s camp has been here for at least three days and we’re still trying to figure out how to get all of his media appearances, rehearsals, and interviews wrapped in a perfect package without over exerting Mr. Pop Star into illness. Which is why I’ve spent my time in New York practically locked up in the Roseland Ballroom trying to get everything squared away for tomorrow night.

Justin’s at some photo call right now, or some conference for the VMAs so I’m not too worried about him. I know his cousin Rachel flew out for the awards so she’s probably catering to all his needs at the moment so I don’t need to wonder every five seconds if he’s doing what he’s supposed to be doing. In times of stress, Justin goes into his working mode and doesn’t take care of himself at all. The last thing we need is for him to get sick when his album is set to drop in a little over two weeks.

That wouldn’t be good at all.

“I need you to confirm the A-list for tomorrow night, Danielle,” I instruct one of the girls who works at the venue. I remember her from the night before. She had been standing in the back of the rehearsal hall and was watching Justin do a few sound checks with the band. I had to tap her on the shoulder at least five times to get her attention seeing as she couldn’t keep her eyes off of my boss.

Really, there isn’t much to look at.

Danielle nods and turns around to rush off to whatever crack in the wall she came out of. I’m really not in the mood to handle any sort of miscalculation or problem today seeing as I’m at my wit’s end about making sure this week goes off without a hitch. I’m so into my damn preparations that I haven’t even had time for lunch and I am starving.

But I can’t take off right now. I need to make sure everything goes according to plan and if one little factor strays off, I’ll have to redo everything. And I don’t have time for that at all.

“When did all this shit become so difficult?” I mutter to myself as I rub my temples. I’m starting to feel light headed due to the lack of food in my system and my energy is waning. I know I won’t be able to handle rambunctious Justin once he gets back from all his interviews and he might even be in an extremely sour mood once he gets back and then I’ll have to deal with that.

It’s times like these where I really hate my job.

“Lauren, Marty needs to see you in the green room,” Rob, one of Justin’s backup singers says to me in passing. I’m sure he’s heading towards one of the extra rooms here in the Roseland to practice with the other singers.

I hate talking to Marty because he can’t stand me and I think he’s a pothead who manages to dance well. Hopefully we don’t butt heads this time, but there is rarely a time when we can talk to each other without having some sort of disagreement. I just wish Justin would tell him to lay off the grass because it really just isn’t good for anyone.

I pretty much almost got killed over it.

My head is buried in paperwork and I’m trying to figure out if I should sit Jessica Simpson next to her ex-husband just for my own sick entertainment for tomorrow night when I round the corner and run into something sickeningly solid.

I lose my balance and land flat on my ass, papers going everywhere. My breath is expunged from my body and I’m wondering if I’ve been knocked unconscious because the room is spinning until it becomes an insane blur. Great, this is going to set me back at least fifteen minutes.

I’m thinking I ran into a speaker or something else inanimate but my heart starts to fall when the thing I ran into starts to groan and then laughs. I smile sheepishly and tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear before I make sure the fall hasn’t paralyzed me or bruised my ass.

“Careful there, Dimples,” the voice says, and I can hear the smile in his voice without looking. I slowly hoist myself up to kneel around the papers strewn about the corridor and its then that I look up and notice that a rather strapping man is standing above me, his face shielded by the fluorescent lighting of the glamorous backstage hallway.

“Sorry about that, I’m running a little behind schedule,” I explain hoping that can justify me running into the man. He sounds vaguely familiar but I can’t really quite place who it is seeing as his face is still hidden in shadow.

“No sweat,” he explains before he bends down and picks up the piece of paper I had been looking at prior to our run in, “So I take it you’ll take sick pride in seating Jessica Simpson next to Nick Lachey, huh?”

“Well when you work for Justin you kind of pick up on enjoying sadistic entertainment,” I comment and the man chuckles heartily and for some strange reason unbeknownst to myself, my heart flutters.

I gather the rest of my papers quickly and practically jump up to my feet. I’m interested in seeing who this person is because his voice is so familiar and yet I just can’t place it. It isn’t until I’m standing up straight and looking at this man that I realize who it is.

“I don’t think we’ve been formerly introduced,” he says before he hands over the papers he’s just picked up. “JC Chasez.”

“Lauren, Lauren Walters,” I return and our hands graze fleetingly as he hands me the documents I managed to fumble all over the ground.

“I kinda like Dimples better,” JC adds with a quick wink. See, he knows how to be charming and not come off as a complete ass about it. Justin should be taking notes from his supposed best friend. “So what are you doing besides traveling on a one way ticket to an anxiety attack?”

“I have to make sure Marty isn’t completely suffocating the green room with pot smoke,” I quip and his entire face lights up as he laughs. He is too damn cute and really he has more moxy than Justin has, I mean he knows how to hold a conversation and not make it all about him. Granted I’ve only exchanged like, three sentences with JC, but still I can tell that he’s a good conversationalist.

“Well what are you doing after that?” he questions, “I mean, I’m sorry if this is forward, but you look pale and tired. Look like you could use some food,” he smiles sheepishly and I can’t help but smile in return.

“I’m really busy and I’m not that hungry,” I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth because my stomach starts to growl in such a deep and ravenous tone I half expect a lion to come crashing out my belly button. JC grins a knowing smile and for the first time in a long time, I can’t roll my eyes.

“Your stomach says otherwise,” JC remarks, “I was just heading out to grab a quick bite to eat seeing as I probably won’t have a chance to do that until later tonight. I could use the company. You up for it, Dimples?”

I’m apprehensive. I mean I have tons of shit to do here at the venue and I know for a fact that Justin will be coming back once the lunch rush is over and done with in the city. He’ll need me to go over the schedule for the rest of the day and certainly for tomorrow. I’m sure I’ll have to pick up his suit from the tailor’s and I know for a fact that he’ll change his mind about what shoes he’ll want to wear about twenty times and that means I’ll be running around the city for the better part of the evening.

But I am so hungry I could probably out eat a homeless person.

Screw it. My health is more important than Justin’s stupid shoes and celebrity seating arrangements.

“Sure.”

“Rachel, do you know what time I have to be there for the carpet tomorrow?” I ask my cousin lazily as I look outside at the rushing cars and people. This city is always in a hurry and I love that about this place but right now I want people to stop hurrying so I can get back to the venue and rehearse.

“No clue,” Rachel says simply, her face still glued to the window. This is only her like, third or fourth time into the City and she loves it here almost as much as I do. But I’m a little irked that I don’t know what time I have to be ready for the red carpet tomorrow. Lauren would know, but I can’t get through to her at the moment seeing as she isn’t picking up her phone.

And the girl knows that she needs to be available twenty-four-seven this week because of the magnitude of all these appearances. She knows how important they are to me and yet she won’t give me the common courtesy of picking up her phone to let me know what’s going on.

“Got it,” I say stupidly before I diddle around with my Sidekick. I’m at my wit’s end because I need to know my schedule and I’m still upset that Lauren isn’t available right now and…ugh!

Just because she had a near death experience a few days ago doesn’t mean she has to stop doing her job!

“Did you try calling Lauren?” Rachel offers and I shrug with indifference as the car pulls up to the back of the Roseland Ballroom.

“Only like, twenty times. She isn’t picking up her phone and I’m getting pissed,” I mutter to her as I exit the vehicle. We avoid the photographers and manage to get inside the venue without any sort of problems. I still have a major problem – my personal assistant has gone AWOL and it’s pissing the hell out of me!

“Try again,” Rachel says, “Or she might be inside.”

I nod with determination and I rush off down the various hallways, peeking my head in different doors to see if my missing PA can be sought out. I can’t find her anywhere and I’m starting to get even angrier. This isn’t like the last time when I couldn’t find her. Marty wouldn’t send her off to buy his stash of drugs and Shannon is long gone. And come to think of it, I can’t find JC either and he told me he was going to be in the Roseland all day going over his stuff with the band.

What the hell?

I pick up my Sidekick and call her number. I’m prepared to get voicemail again, but my heart picks up when someone picks up the phone. And that someone is laughing like someone just said the funniest fucking thing on the planet.

“Hello?” Lauren gasps into the phone and she snorts loudly through her laughter, which causes the person she’s with to laugh even louder and I don’t need to guess who she’s with anymore.

“Lo-ho, where the fuck are you?”

“Calm down Justin, I’m at lunch,” Lauren responds and I can sense I totally killed the mood of their lunch. Whatever, she needs to be here, doing what I’m paying her to do.

“I didn’t get you in trouble did I?” I can hear JC say in the background. I can almost imagine Lauren shaking her head ‘no’ before she tries to calm me down. Well I’m not going to calm down. I’m mad! Mad, dammit!

“Justin you do realize that I’m not a robot and I have to take time out of my day to make sure I don’t fall over from exhaustion, right?”

“Well you realize that answering my phone calls take like, three damn minutes out of your day, right?” I counter and she sighs with frustration into the phone.

“I’m sorry,” Lauren apologizes with sincerity, “Sorry I didn’t pick up your calls. I was busy.” That was so the wrong thing to say.

“Well un-busy yourself and get back to the venue! Bring JC with you because he needs to work with the band! Honestly!” I bite into the phone before I snap my phone close and stalk off towards the nearest piano. I need to jam out my emotions somewhere other than in my head.

After pounding on the piano for about fifteen minutes, I allow myself to get up and walk around the backstage corridors of the Roseland Ballroom. It’s really a nice space, and I like doing shows here. I don’t like waiting around, though, and I know my bad mood is worsening with each passing moment of waiting for Lauren and JC.

I walk into the green room and my heart flutters for a moment when I notice Lauren sitting on the couch opposite of JC. They’re in the middle of an in depth conversation and I almost hate to interrupt them but I can feel the little green monster rise up in my stomach and before I can question it, I’m clearing my throat loudly.

“Hey, man,” JC says with a huge smile on his face. He looks like a goofy little kid who’s realized Christmas has come early. Lauren has the same exact look on her face and I just want to say a few words to wipe the smiles off their faces.

Jealous much? Yeah, I think I am. Why I don’t know. I mean, it looks like JC and Lauren are hitting it off splendidly and they both deserve to be happy but dammit what about me? I saw Lauren first and now JC is going to move on in there and take her away from me when I’ve been trying so hard to make her see my true feelings?

Okay well maybe I haven’t been trying that hard, but still it’s hard to tell someone you’re pretty much in love with how you feel. Especially when you have an aching feeling that the person isn’t going to reciprocate those feelings.

Sometimes I hate loving her.

I walk further into the room and sit down on one of the easy chairs while Lauren sits up a bit straighter and goes into her professional mode. She’s spitting off figures and dates and times and going a mile a minute as she gets up and hands me different documents that she’s been pouring over for the past few days. I love her work ethic, but I don’t love the look JC is giving her.

And the monster hasn’t stopped growling this whole time.

“Lauren,” I say quickly as I get to my feet and set the papers on the coffee table. I don’t need her in this room right now when all I want to do is grab her and kiss her and tell her everything on my mind but I’m not going to do that in front of JC. Not when he’s looking at her with a strange look on his face and looking over at me with an even more peculiar gaze.

I hate it when I can’t read my friends.

“Yeah?”

“I need you to go find Johnny and talk to him about the Best Buy thing tomorrow, okay?” I instruct her as I start to walk around the room. I don’t notice the boom box sitting in the middle of the floor but I do acknowledge its presence as I stumble forward, arms flailing about as I try to catch my balance.

I reach out and grab the edge of the counter and steady myself. Of course that doesn’t stop me from hearing JC and Lauren erupt in peals of laughter. They sound like a group of fucking hyenas and I just want to hurl the boom box at their faces.

“Look, he’s blushing! I didn’t realize you were capable of that, Justin!” Lauren says between her snorting and laughing. I am going to kill Marty for leaving his shit out like this. I hate being embarrassed and now that my pride is completely bruised, I’m pretty much ready for blood.

“Lauren, just go do the things I’m telling you to do!” I snap and she rolls her eyes while she gathers her things.

“I’ll see you later Dimples,” JC says jovially and Lauren gives him a playful pat on the shoulder.

“But of course, Mr. Sexy.”

What the hell? Mr. Sexy?

“What’s with the nicknames?” I ask out loud before I realize that I’m actually vocalizing this question. “You hang out for an afternoon and you have pet names? Where’s mine?” I ask feeling somewhat hurt.

“But you do have a pet name,” Lauren says sweetly as she pulls out her phone, no doubt to try and track down Johnny, “You know how much I love to call you Timberfuck.”

JC erupts into peals of laughter once again and I can feel a hot blush rise up in my cheeks. Oh I am so not giving her a raise or anything like that. I’m not paying her for the week.

Lauren finally leaves the room and I take a seat in the chair I had been sitting in when she was going over my schedule. I don’t remember any of it now because I can’t help but wonder why the hell her nickname for JC is Mr. Sexy. What the hell were they doing during lunch?

God I don’t even want to think about it.

“She’s a really nice girl,” JC comments before he takes a sip of his water. I nod quietly to myself and continue my brooding before a wonderful and somewhat amazing idea blooms in my mind.

Justin Timberlake, you are a fucking genius.

“Mr. Sexy? Dimples?” I inquire, “What the hell is that? All sorts of retarded if you as me,” I begin casually before I pull the coffee table towards me and prop my feet up.

“And this is coming from the guys who coined the awe inspiring ‘Pinky’ and ‘Stinky’ names,” JC mutters with a hint of laughter in his voice. Oh God, does he have to remind me of that?

“Hey, I was, like, twenty when we came up with that. I’m not a thirty year old man,” I quip and JC slaps his leg out of good humor before he continues to chuckles more to himself than me.

“Look JC, what are your intentions with her?” I blurt out.

“What?”

“Your intentions, with Lauren, what are they?” I restate the question and JC gives me another weird look.

“You okay, man?”

“I’m fine, I just want to know what you’re thinking about doing to my assistant.”

“You have got to be kidding me?” JC says in disbelief as he runs his hands through his hair. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, I’m serious.”

“Why do you want to know? I mean, no offense J, but she’s an adult, she can decide who she wants to date…”

“So you’re thinking about dating her?” I ask jumping on his statement.

“Jesus J, what the hell is up with the third degree? Is there something you want to tell me or ask me, or something? I’m a little confused here,” JC says, his expression nothing short of bewilderment.

“No, not really. I mean you have to understand that she’s with me all the time so…”

“Are you insinuating that there’s something going on between the two of you?” JC questions and I smile wickedly at him and shrug my shoulders. “Well she didn’t mention that at lunch…”

“We don’t really talk about it to other people. We have a mutual understanding that we keep it under wraps,” I explain and JC shakes his head and looks down at the floor.

“So what are you two, exactly?” I hate doing this, but it’s the only way to keep JC away from Lauren. I refuse to hear them refer to each other as Dimples and Mr. Sexy. Next thing you know it’ll be Pookie and Snickerdoodle or something equally sickening like that.

“I told you, we keep it under wraps. We aren’t really seeing other people right now. It’s just us two…”

“Really?” JC questions, a furtive smile on his face, “Because it didn’t seem like you two were going out when I asked her out to dinner tonight.”

Shit.

“Um..well, er…” I start trying frantically to think about what I’m going to say. My mind is going on overkill at the moment and I have no idea what to mumble to JC about all of this because I’m too busy retracing my steps to try and give him a response that will possibly throw him off the trail of bullshit I was just feeding him. “You see…”

“You two aren’t seeing each other,” JC says steadily, “Why do you have to lie to me J?”

“Jace, it isn’t like that. I mean, I think it’s great that you’re finding women and stuff but it…it can’t be Lauren.”

“Why?”

“Because,” I start to say, “Because…” Oh God is he really going to make me say it? I don’t think I’ve ever said this out loud…not even to Trace. “I think I…”

“You have feelings for her?” JC asks and I breathe a small sigh of relief, thankful that JC isn’t going to make me say ‘I think I love her.’ I look down at the floor and nod my head. “What kind of feelings?”

“I…Jesus, I don’t know JC. I mean I don’t know what I’m going to do when this whole tour is over because she’s going to leave to work somewhere else and the four months when she was working for Clive was bad enough. But to know I’m probably going to lose her for good this time… I don’t want to lose her…”

“I’m going to be blunt Justin, because you’ve never had her in the first place. You had her under your employment but as for matters of the heart, I don’t think you’ve ever had her. At least, that’s not what I got when I had lunch with her today…”

I think I can feel my heart starting to break. Do I really want to hear this from him?

“You have to show her and tell her what you really feel. Because if you don’t you won’t have the chance to have her. And you won’t get the chance to lose her either.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” I ask him. I am feeling so helpless right now. I don’t know what to do and I feel like shit for lying to JC and I feel even worse because here he is helping me get the girl that I know he probably wants. I mean, I’ve never known JC to ask a girl out on a date upon first meeting. Of course it had to be Lauren. “If you didn’t notice, you’re supposed to be going out with her tonight.”

“Well we can change that,” JC explains with a mischievous smile. “You go in my place, but you have to promise Justin…”

“What?”

“You have to give me your word that you’re going to tell her what you feel tonight. You’re going to tell her everything because if you don’t you’ll probably ruin all your chances of being with her. Do you understand me?”

 I feel like he’s lecturing me right now. I feel like I’m being reprimanded and thrown into a corner, a cage, that I’m going to have to fight my way out of later. I don’t want to tell Lauren, it’s too soon. But then again I’ve been putting aside my feelings for months now and I knew it was going to have to come to a head sooner or later.

Great.

“Justin, do you understand me?”

“Yeah, yeah I do,” I mumble under my breath, “But how are you going to get her to go with me?”

“Justin, you forget that we toured with the master of sneaking out. All we have to do is call Chris and he’ll tell us everything and anything we need to know.”

I smile sheepishly and look up at JC with a look I know he sees as the gaze of utmost trust. “Sure thing, Mr. Sexy.”

“Shut up, Timberfuck.”

***

Deranged Delusions

20. Good Company

I can’t remember the last time I was so nervous for a date. Wait is it a date? Were those the words JC used when he asked me out to dinner tonight? Did I use those words? Dammit, why am I so anxious about this whole thing? Its just JC and I don’t have to be nervous with him.

So why do I have the feeling that a stampede of butterflies are going to come hurtling out of my stomach?

I think the last time I was this jumpy about dating someone was when Neal and I first started going out. Now he’s engaged, and I’m single with hopes of getting off the market by the end of the week or maybe even sooner.

Wow, Lauren, you sound so desperate.

Nevertheless, I smooth the creases in my jeans and make sure my hair hasn’t decided to frizz out due to the humidity of the chilly New York night. I was a complete idiot and forgot my jacket back at the hotel and so I’ll probably freeze my butt off in the restaurant and I won’t be able to do anything about it.

He said he’d meet me at the restaurant at seven o’clock but the time is slowly fading into seven thirty and I’m starting to feel the slight tugging of premonition in my stomach. Maybe he stood me up, maybe he got hurt or in an accident. He didn’t pick up his phone when he was fifteen minutes late and I know that he’ll call me if something is making him tardy.

Sitting back against the booth, I take a huge gulp of water and when I set it back down at the table there’s someone I didn’t quite expect to see, sitting across from me.

“What are you doing here?” I ask and I hope, no I pray that he can hear the resentment in my voice. I swear if Justin came out here to give me shit about going out with one of his friends I am going to give it to him right back and then some.

Justin smiles sheepishly and looks at me with big blue eyes that are just aching to turn on the Timberlake Charm. I will have nothing of that tonight because having those eyes watching me only reminds me that I can’t escape him, even when I go out of my way to avoid them.

“Really, Justin, what are you doing here? Last time I checked a date was for two people and not three.”

“It is for two people…” Justin says quietly and I look up to see that he isn’t even looking at me. He’s more interested in the napkin that’s sitting on the table in front of him.

“Then where’s JC?”

“I meant us,” he says quickly and before I can control myself my jaw drops open. What the hell is he going at? “I-I mean,” he starts quickly, “I meant that…what I’m trying to say is…”

Why the hell is he getting all flustered right now? Honestly, he is such an idiot.

“Take a breath and start again,” I say smoothly as I take another sip of my water. As long as I’m occupying myself with something other than this conversation and Justin, I can get through what is going to turn out to be a short night.

“What I’m getting at is, JC can’t make it tonight.”

“Why?” I question giving Justin an accusatory glare. For all I know, he’s told JC that he needs to practice his song more and the poor man is holed up at the Roseland rehearsing.

“He really wanted to be here tonight, Lauren. But whatever you guys ate at lunch really sent him over the edge…”

“What do you mean?” I ask and I find myself becoming more upset with each passing minute.

“You know…” Justin’s voice fades away as he makes a gesture with his hand to mimic something exploding. The sounds that accompany it though, sound like something straight from a toilet and I can feel my appetite waning.

“Okay, I get the point. He’s got indigestion. You don’t have to freaking sit there and act it out for me, Justin,” I snap before I start to get my things ready. I’m going back to the hotel, ordering room service and maybe salvaging any sort of thought that I could start dating again from the deep end of my mind.

“Where are you going?” Justin asks me and I look at him as if he’s going insane.

“Back to the hotel. If you didn’t notice, my date isn’t here…”

“Well JC didn’t want you to leave,” Justin rambles and I look down at him seeing as he’s still sitting down in the booth, “He told me to go in his place and to make sure you had a good time tonight.”

“Justin…” my voice fades away when I see his face. It’s the Pout and there are very, very few people who can say, ‘no,’ to the Pout. I’m one of them but tonight he is extra Pouty and I really don’t want to sit here and fight with him on this. After all, I am pretty hungry and I know it’s going to take at least an hour and a half for room service to actually get to my room.

Besides, the Justin from Worden could be hiding somewhere in that stressed out, bitchy performer and it would sure be nice to see him again. “Alright, fine,” I say with a sigh, finally relenting. He smiles brightly and before I have a chance to sit back down, Justin’s on his feet and grabbing onto my lower arm.

“What are you doing?” I ask him as he starts to pull me towards the exit. “Justin!”

He doesn’t say anything as we rush out into the cool night air and continue down the street. He’s walking where anyone can see him and here I am going along for the ride. Does he have any idea that photographers could jump out at nowhere and take as many damn pictures as they want? And then it’ll be all over the Internet and I’ll have a new, trashy name among fans and tabloid magazines everywhere!

We walk further down the sidewalk, ignoring any blatant cries that come our way. He isn’t wearing a hat and I’m hoping no one makes a huge scene. I try to question Justin’s antics again but he pulls me down a side street to a waiting car. The back door is already open and a man is standing at the side, waiting for us to approach him.

Justin smiles warmly and allows me to get in first which is weird since he’s usually always the one ducking into vehicles to avoid getting attacked by fans or photographers. I watch silently as he gets in and soon we’re speeding off through traffic, in complete silence.

I have no idea what to say. I already know what he’s doing tomorrow so I can’t really ask him about his schedule. He’ll probably think I’m belittling and quizzing him on everything for tomorrow and I don’t want to piss him off. That’s the last thing I need to be doing right now because I don’t know where we’re going and I don’t want to be stuck in the middle of the City should Justin get pissed enough to kick me out of the car.

  “Are you nervous for tomorrow night?” I ask him carefully as I turn to look towards him. I find that he’s already been looking over in my direction so I don’t have to wait for the awkward moment where my voice catches his attention and makes him realize that I’m speaking to him. But it makes me wonder why he’s looking at me in the first place.

“Kind of…” his response is different from what I expected. Usually he probably would have thrown off anxiousness like it was nothing and then tell me that he’s ‘Justin Timberlake and Justin Timberlake doesn’t get nervous.’

He always switches to referring to himself in the third person when he gets upset about performances.

“I’m more nervous for JC than anything. I mean he’s going to be fine, but it’s the first time he’s performing new material and I want him to do well…I want him to get better too,” he adds and I nod whole heartedly. The last thing JC needs is to run offstage tomorrow night because he’s having a bowel movement.

And, God help me, it’s kind of endearing listening to Justin talk about JC like he’s a proud brother. I know they’re close and all, but I was never really introduced to him when Justin was working with him on the new album and what not. I just hope the poor guy doesn’t explode on stage or completely botch it up.

“So where are we going?” I question and Justin responds with the goofiest smile he can muster before he points to something outside.

“Did you see that guy out there? He was in his underwear…” he remarks as he tries to change the subject.

“Justin, don’t be cute…”

“What, I’m always cute,” he laughs and I find that I’m laughing too. What the hell, is there a full moon out or something because I never found it funny when he was being a smart ass before?

“Where are we…”

“Ah, I can’t tell you,” he says his grin, if possible, getting bigger with every single word he says. I watch with interest as he pulls something out of his jacket pocket and places it on his lap. I can’t quite make out what it is because of the shadows bustling in an out of the car but once we get into the center of Times Square, it becomes quite apparent what it is, “You have to put this on though.”

“There is no way on God’s green earth that I’ll wear that,” I say pointing to the blindfold that he’s now holding up towards me, “No way, Justin.”

“Come on, Lauren! You’ll ruin the surprise and that wouldn’t be fair to me or JC would it?”

“That’s not fair!” I exclaim as Justin continues to show me his best pout face, “You’re using JC’s illness to impair my judgments!”

“Well all’s fair in Love and Taking Other People’s Dates Out on the Town.”

“Ha, ha Justin, very funny,” I grumble at him and he gives me another winning grin and soon I’m thrown into darkness. Wonderful, I’m in a random car with my boss; we’re going who knows where, and I cant’ see a damned thing. Just great. This is what happens to people who are about to go get whacked or something. That’s it, he’s going to whack me and get a new assistant.

“Just trust me,” Justin whispers before the car goes eerily silent.

I think we’re in the car for about fifteen more minutes before the vehicle finally rolls to a stop and the engine turns off. I’m getting more nervous than I was before because now I’ll be required to walk with this stupid thing around my eyes and I have no idea how Justin is going to be able to get me out of the car and to wherever we need to go without someone seeing him.

He shouldn’t have done this. I could have been getting my room service by now.

“Come on,” he says and his hand wraps around mine as we scoot out of the car and stand up outside. The ground is firm underneath me and there isn’t a distinct change of temperature but gone are the smells of trash on the street and the smell of cars isn’t as strong here. I can see the faint trace of light through the folds of the fabric around my face and my only guess is that we’re heading in that direction.

“Are we in Central Park?” I venture but Justin doesn’t respond at all. All he does is hold onto my hand tighter and heads off at a brisk walk. I think he fails to realize that I’m wearing heels and, oh yeah, I can’t fucking see.

We’re walking closer to the lights, which confirms my first guess. We’re going someplace well lit.

Brilliant deduction, Lauren.

“Almost there,” Justin says and I can hear the joy seeping through his voice. He is absolutely giddy about whatever it is he has to show me that requires this much secrecy and I have to admit his excitement is kind of rubbing off on me. I mean, I’m antsy to see what it is. He laughs again and I try my best not to laugh with him.

“Are we there yet?” I ask after a few more minutes of listening to him giggle like a little school girl. He stops abruptly and I nearly crash into him due to his lack of warning.

“Okay, we’re here!” Justin says triumphantly and I roll my eyes behind the blindfold. As if I couldn’t tell by the way he stopped and squealed like a little pig. Sometimes he is just so…well he isn’t the brightest crayon in the box. He’s kind of like a puce color…

And I am now comparing Justin to colors of crayons. What the hell has gotten into me?

“Can you take this thing off me now?” I ask and I can hear Justin move around behind me so he can unwrap the blindfold without being in the way of whatever it is I’m looking at.

“Ready?” Justin asks slowly, teasingly. Really he isn’t making me more excited, he’s kind of pissing me off a bit more now because I really want this thing off of my face.

“Yes, I’m ready,” I say trying to squeeze the anticipation out of my voice. He doesn’t need to know that I’m dying to see what he has in store for me and I don’t want him to realize that I’m really enjoying myself so far.

“Okay!” and he pulls the blindfold from my face and my vision is cleared.

At first the only thing I can see is a blur of light seeing as my eyes are so used to the dark. Then the image starts to clear and shapes take their form. The scene before me is just so…magnificent that I can’t help but gasp at the whole grandeur of it all.

We are in Central Park, Tavern on the Green to be more exact. I’ve only walked by in passing during my past trips to the City and I was always in love with the courtyards that surround the greenhouse inspired interior. The trees all reach up and form a canopy that shelters whatever is underneath it and the cobblestone floor is straight out of old London.

But tonight it’s different because every single inch of the trees are lit up like a Christmas tree. It’s a fairytale wonderland and, as my eyes look past the trees, I notice that the greenhouse restaurant is outlined in the same white lights that grace the greenery. But the thing that has me all in a tizzy is the fact that in the middle of it all, there’s a table set for two.

“Wow,” I breathe and I turn to face Justin who is adamantly studying the back of my head as if he’ll be able to read my reaction by staring at my hair, “This is amazing!”

“You like it?” Justin asks me and I nod vigorously as he starts to walk towards the table. The lights surround us and I almost feel like twirling around in the middle of the courtyard just to see what it would look like.

“Of course I do, I mean it’s beautiful. And JC had this all planned from the beginning?”

Justin pulls out my chair to help me sit down and he grunts as he does so, a little too much in my opinion seeing as the chair is made out of hollow steel, but I think nothing of it. He walks around to the other side of the table and seats himself, looking up at me once he’s settled.

“No, actually,” Justin says a bit of restraint in his voice. I have no idea why he’s suddenly gotten so tense but I try not to think about it, “I did this.”

He did this? For me? Or was this planned for tomorrow night or for the girl he was scheduled to wine and dine before JC got sick?

“Why?”

“Because…” his voice fades away and he looks down at his lap, messing around with the napkin he’s already placed there. He’s very jumpy about what he wants to say, and I can tell that he’s choosing his words carefully seeing as normally he’d just blurt out and say whatever’s on his mind.

“Because…?” I add on hoping he’ll get the hint that I’m waiting for a response.

“Because I figured you needed a little treat. I mean you’ve been working hard and you need to get a taste of the finer things in life, especially since I almost got you killed a few days ago.”

“I thought we already established that that wasn’t your fault,” I say as I lean forward and look at him. He looks very uneasy about something and I’m going to blame it on him thinking about what the bill is going to look like for this whole thing. “It was Shannon’s fault.”

“Yeah, I know…look can we just not talk about that right now? Let’s order our food, talk about things that don’t involve near death experiences, and enjoy the evening,” he manages to spit out quickly. I shrug with indifference and pick up my menu, knowing full well that there’s going to be some pretty kick ass stuff for me to choose from.

We order our food and soon we’ve immersed ourselves in conversation dealing with our individual home life and he even delves into old stories from his boy band days, a place he never, ever talks about with me.

And as we go deeper into our discussion, I find myself in the presence of the man I got to know in Worden. The one who was willing to go out into the middle of a field with me and knock livestock over. The man who actually dressed up in a dopey cowboy get up when all he had to do was wear his stupid designer jeans and a button down shirt. The guy who made me feel like a million bucks when I felt like nothing. He’s alive and well tonight in the middle of a week of stressful press junkets and overdrive promotion, which are his only reasons for breathing.

For some odd, peculiar reason, it seems like I’m welcoming back an old friend. It’s almost as if this whole thing, the dinner, the setting, was just a set up to usher this new person into the world, my world and I’m loving every single minute of it…

“Lauren?” Justin interjects my thoughts and I’m thankful for it. I was starting to travel down a path that I have never considered before and I don’t even want to think what would happen if I hadn’t chosen at that exact moment to listen to Justin.

“Hmm?” I take a sip of my champagne and pray to God he doesn’t ask me what’s on my mind at this very moment. Truth be told, I don’t even know what I’m thinking about right now. I’ve never given myself a chance to think about him and me like that and I don’t know if I ever want to.

“I was just saying that you look really nice tonight,” he states and I can feel the heat rising in my face. I quickly look down in my lap but it’s too late. The combination of Justin staring at me and the way the lights illuminate the courtyard like its daylight aren’t helping my situation. “Are you blushing?”

“No,” I mutter behind my curtain of hanging hair. I hear Justin chuckle to himself and I look up to see his eyes shining with an emotion I’ve only seen once before.

Right before I went to sleep the night that I was held against my will in the crack house, he had this look on his face. It was as if he had the sudden thought that I was this fragile, delicate thing that could break easily if handled wrong. But the strangest thing was, the look he had made me feel like he wouldn’t allow me to break or even so much as crack ever again. It was such an intense expression I had to look away. I had to physically turn around to avoid looking at him because I didn’t want to deal with the huge swelling in my heart, much like what I’m feeling now.

What the heck is going on with me?

“I think you are blushing,” he chides and I look at him and smile before I jam some food in my mouth so I don’t have to give him a straight answer. I just shrug and look at him quickly before I look around at the scenery.

I swallow my food and look back at him, “Well, if it means anything to you, you don’t look so bad yourself. You clean up well.”

“That’s good to know,” he states and he sips his drink before standing up and putting his napkin on his empty seat. “You ready?”

“Um, yeah,” I mumble stupidly and I sit back in my seat for a quick second. He’s already on his way over to my side of the table and he helps me up from his seat. I never knew he could be such a gentleman. I think it’s mostly because half the time I’m with him, I see what he acts like around the male species and he reserves this type of behavior around women he finds dateable…

Not that I’m dateable in his eyes, he’s just doing JC a favor. He’s showing me a good time on JC’s behalf since the poor guy is probably locked away in his hotel room.

Justin offers me his hand and I take it without question and we begin to walk through the illuminated garden, I’m absolutely falling in love with this place more and more and I honestly can’t believe that he would do this all by himself. I never thought I’d see the day when Justin wasn’t barking orders at me and treating me halfway with respect. Aside oifrom his little hissy fits this morning and afternoon, he hasn’t mentioned anything about work and for that I’m grateful. Who knows what he’ll turn into once this whole evening is over?

“Do you want to take a walk?” he asks and I shrug with indifference before an idea pops into my mind.

“Sure, but on one condition.”

“I’m not streaking, Lauren…” he jokes and I laugh loudly before I side check him with my shoulder.

“Shut up, you butt. We’re not going to do that until we get up to Time’s Square.”

“What a perfect way to end the evening, spending the night in an NYPD prescient for indecent exposure. My mother would have a stroke,” Justin comments as we start to leave the courtyard.

“No, but you have to let me show you something…”

“So I guess that means you’re leading this little expedition into the park?”

“Yes, but I’m going to be nice and not blindfold you,” I state before I stick out my tongue. He responds by ruffling my hair and I roll my eyes and pull him in the direction of where I want to go.

It’s strange to think that I’m actually having fun tonight, which is weird because I hardly ever associate Justin and ‘fun’ in the same sentence. Unless he’s acting like a complete ass and then I consider making fun of him, ‘fun.’ But right now, I’m having a good time being in his company, which hasn’t happened since I went home.

I have now entered the Twilight Zone. Cue creepy music, now.

“I’ve never really been in this park before,” Justin states as we walk down one of the many lit paths.

“Really?”

“Well, yeah, I mean every time I’ve been in here it’s either for a television show or something pertaining to my job. I just can’t get up and walk around New York City for the hell of it. At least not like this. I’m surprised we aren’t being followed or anything,” he adds and I nod my head in agreement. I’ve been kind of surprised that he hasn’t been approached so far on our walk and I’m even more shocked that the different photographers haven’t kept tabs on him. I half expect them to come swooping out of the trees like a bunch of monkeys to take our picture and splash them all over one of New York’s finest tabloid papers tomorrow morning.

He did a hell of a job dodging them tonight. Kudos to him.

“Well tonight you’ll get a tiny tour of sorts. It’s dark so we really aren’t doing the place justice. But it has its pros and cons during the day too.” He mutters an affirmative grunt and I give an involuntary shudder due to a slight gust of wind that spiraled it’s way through the park.

“You cold?” Justin questions and I can see his face is laced with concern even in the darkness. Before I can tell him that I’m fine, he’s already shrugged his jacket off his shoulders and now he’s draping it carefully over mine.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

We walk in silence a bit more and finally we reach where I want to go. We’re standing at the edge of the huge lawn that’s the usual hang out of the majority of New Yorkers and the standard tourists. It’s pretty dark now, and there are a few people milling about but it isn’t as crazy as it would be during the day.

“Come on,” I say and I lead him down the sloping hill and towards the center of the lawn.

“Are there cows out here, too?” Justin jokes and I throw him a scathing look. He’s being such a little dweeb tonight and it is a bit endearing but I try not to let that get to my head.

“No,” I say shortly. I stumble forward seeing as my heels are sinking into the ground. Way to go, Lauren. Good shoes to wear for something like this. But, I think to myself as I try my best to balance, I had no idea that I was going to be going to Central Park with Justin. So it isn’t my fault.

“You okay?” Justin questions and he holds out a hand so I can steady myself. I nod and quickly take off my shoes before sticking them in my purse. Hopefully I won’t step in anything that’s going to make me lose my very expensive dinner and totally gross Justin out. That would be the perfect end to what is turning out to be a surprisingly wonderful evening.

“Just be glad you don’t ever have to wear heels,” I mutter before we continue to walk to the center of the lawn. I come to a halt and Justin stands next to me, looking around at the scene in front of him. You can see the majority of the buildings sticking up and in the distance there’s the blaring of horns and the sounds of people yelling.

“Here we are!”

“You brought me all the way out here to look at grass?” Justin questions skeptically before he let’s loose one of his dorky ass laughs. I give him a playful smack on the shoulder before I sit down on the ground and bring my knees up to my chest. “Why are you sitting down?”

“Because I can,” I retort and he shakes his head because he doesn’t understand me, before he sits down next to me.

“So?”

“Well look around. You notice how we’re in the middle of this huge city and it’s like this little patch of nature smack dab in the center. You can’t escape the noises, you can’t really get the lights out of your head because there’s just way too much. But,” I begin as I start to lower my back down onto the grass, “if you do this, it’s like all of that disappears.”

I’m completely lying down on my back, my face staring up into the vast space of blackness that’s above us. A few seconds later and Justin is lying right beside me, staring up at the same infinite darkness that my eyes are trained on.

“Wow,” I can hear him breathe next to me and I smile knowing that I can show him something in his world that isn’t manufactured or completely manicured into perfection. This is already perfect to begin with and it’s just so natural and real. “I don’t ever think I could be able to find this kind of peace here in the city. I’m always being rushed around here, you know?”

“Of course I know, I’m only with you every step of the way when it comes to your every day schedule,” I explain with a small shrug. I can almost feel him smiling next to me even though I’m still looking at the dark. A single star is shining off in the distance, but after a few minutes of staring at it, I realize it’s just a plane moving slowly above the metropolis. The only sign of the material world.

“I would have never thought to do this,” Justin explains softly, “Like, I would have never thought that something like this was here. Something so simple and shit…” yes, he is oh so philosophical, ladies and gentlemen. ‘Simple and shit.’ A regular Socrates. 

“Well you never take the time to stop and appreciate the simple things in life. Run, run, run is all you ever do. You don’t do simple and I’m sure you’ll never be able to.”

“What do you mean by that?” he questions and the reverie we’ve created is destroyed as he sits up and looks down at me. He’s totally messing up my Zen moment here and I’m not appreciating it.

“I mean,” I groan as I struggle to sit up next to him, “I mean you’ve never been simple, ever. As soon as you finished touring all those years ago and you were going to ‘take a break’ you didn’t even do that. You did your vacations but you never were able to sit still. You did the films, you recorded with some other people, you never really sat down for a good damn minute just to relax and not think about your career. That’s what I mean when I say that you don’t do simple,” I explain as I look over at him.

“Oh,” he mutters and our eyes meet for a split second in the darkness. I can’t make out the expression on his face but he surprises me as he reaches out and tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

And I do the most lady like thing ever imaginable…

I yawn.

If that doesn’t make me seem like a complete jerk and being bored at this whole thing, I don’t know what would. Did his shoulders just sag? Is he disappointed? What the hell?

Blah, Lauren you are such a fool.

“You tired?” he asks me and I nod my head. There’s no sense in lying seeing as I am getting kind of tired and I know tomorrow is going to be absolutely insane. “I didn’t want to say anything because you were enjoying your One-With-Nature thing, but yeah, I’m ready to crash.”

And then we laugh. I’m going to blame it on fatigue because we laugh for a good five minutes without stopping. Of course I add onto the unladylike behavior when I snort rather loudly and that causes Justin to laugh even harder.

I’m so glad my snorting can give him such uninhibited joy.

We’re finally able to let the laughter subside and Justin scrambles to his feet and offers me his hand. He may be an ass sometimes but he knows how to be a gentleman. You know, when he isn’t making fun of me or ordering me around. Which is all the time.

“How are we getting back? We kind of lost the car,” I point out and he grabs onto my hand and starts to pull me in the opposite direction of Tavern on the Green. For the second time this evening, I have no control over where we’re going and I’m kind of afraid seeing as I’m sure Justin is the only one of the two of us who could get us killed in any kind of situation.

“I figured we’d just walk back to the hotel. You know, get some exercise or something.” I shrug with indifference, hoping to God that no one recognizes him during our trek back to the hotel. I don’t even want to fight with him on this because it seems like the guy is dead set on walking, judging by the way his grip has tightened considerably on my hand.

Trying to think nothing of it, I watch as Justin throws up the hood on the back of his jacket and we step out of the park and onto the busy streets surrounding the area. I hope he knows where he’s going because it would really suck to get lost with a celebrity during one of the busiest weeks of the year.

“Um, aren’t you afraid of the photographers finding us?” I ask him as we stop at a traffic light. He shrugs and turns towards me, his blue eyes hooded due to the shadows.

“Not really. I had Ken feed them a bullshit line that I was going to be at one of the pre award parties tonight so they’re waiting for me there. No one is going to miss a shot of me acting drunk for the world,” he explains with a good natured laugh as we continue our stroll.

Nodding in agreement, we surge on.

I am so fucking nervous.

I feel like I’m going to throw up at any moment and that won’t be very romantic or help me tell Lauren how I really feel. We’re nearing the end of our night and I have yet to tell her what I promised JC I would say.

Sorry if I can’t grow some more balls and tell Lauren that I have feelings for her. It just won’t work because now I know that she’ll never give me what I want from her. And I don’t think I can deal with that rejection. I’m good with the whole career rejection from critics and the R&B charts but when it comes to personal rejection…

Britney and Cameron and Melissa and…well they all come to mind.

And now the night is coming to a close and we’re about a block away from the hotel and I don’t know what to do. Part of me wants to swallow my pride and just tell her that I love her and nothing she says or does will change that, and the other part, a bigger part, is telling me that I shouldn’t do it because it’s pretty much suicide.

I mean I would rather go to the VMAs tomorrow acting like a cocky bastard instead of a broken hearted fool. Because if I tell Lauren she’ll more than likely turn me into the later, and I really don’t want that.

But I don’t even want to know what JC will do when he realizes that I didn’t tell her. He’ll probably threaten not to perform tomorrow night and I’m sure he’ll go through with that warning too. And the last thing I need right now is having to tell MTV and the fans why JC opted out of a performance. And Lauren would pose some questions too.

Why are things like this so freaking hard?

And it really isn’t helping that, for some strange reason, she still has a hold on my hand. It comforts me to know she isn’t walking twenty feet in front of me or behind me and it is definitely pumping me up for when I’m going to actually tell her that I love her.

You know if I ever get the gall to tell her.

Before I know it, we’re right across the street from the hotel and in just a few minutes we’ll say our goodbyes and goodnights and my opportunity will be lost. Probably forever. We stop for a moment and watch a few photographers waiting by the front entrance put out their cigarette stubs. I’ve still got my hood up over my head and from the looks of their relaxed appearance they haven’t seen me yet. I guess now is a good as time as ever to do this…

Shit, I want to throw up.

“So did you have a good time?” I venture and she nods briskly before she grins with a huge smile on her face. She is too darn cute for her own good. Okay, get a grip, Timberlake.

“Yeah it was fun, thanks for all this. Definitely took my mind off of the whirlwind we’ll be going through tomorrow,” she states before she pulls my jacket around her tightly. I wish I had the guts to hug her to keep her warm but I think that’d be just a little too forward.

“Well anything I can do to help. Sometimes you work too hard.”

“Funny, I can say the same thing about you,” she suggests and I look away for a quick second to keep her from seeing the blush that’s crawling up my neck and into my face. She doesn’t need to know I blush all the time now because that would just lose some major Man Points in her eyes. I just know it.

“Well, um…” and now I’m stuttering because I can’t form the right words in my mind. Part of me just wants to blurt it out, but Lauren isn’t the type of person who does well with surprises and doing something that spontaneous would probably freak her out. But easing her into it probably wouldn’t work either. Why do things have to be so complicated?

“Well, um, what?” she laughs softly and I turn away again and the end of my night comes walking from across the street like a kick in the nuts. And judging by the way Lauren has just tensed up; she’s seen him too.

Damn JC and his late night obsession with Thai food! The bastard was supposed to fake having indigestion and walking into the hotel with a huge bag of it really doesn’t help my situation with Lauren. He was supposed to stay in his room tonight and order room service, watch some TV…going out and getting caught by Lauren wasn’t something we planned on. And now he’s ruined the whole thing.

Fuck.

“Indigestion, huh?” I can hear the anger and sadness rise in Lauren’s voice and the disappointment as well. Guess I’m not the only one who can’t really deal with personal rejection. And for the first time in a long time, I don’t really know what to say.

“Lauren,” I try weakly but she looks over at me, her eyes glazed over with frustrated and disheartened tears.

“Did you know about this? Did you know that he wasn’t really sick?”

Now’s my chance. All I have to do is tell her the truth and she can either take me as I am and accept what I have to say or she can let it upset her even more and leave me out here feeling extremely inadequate and dejected. It’s so easy…

“Justin, did you know about this?”

“No,” I blurt out, “I didn’t. JC…uh, JC called me from his room and told me he couldn’t make it…” Jesus Christ, Justin. You are so pathetic. You can’t even swallow your pride and ego to tell her how you really feel. What the hell is wrong with you? Perfect Opportunity – Missed.

“You didn’t know he was faking?” Lauren questions and she’s studying my face, hard. I feel like I’m in an interrogation room with one of those hot lamps burning down on my face and I have to keep telling myself that I can’t crack because I’ll be in even more trouble if I tell her the truth now.

“No, I didn’t,” I say softly and I can hear her sniffling under her breath. I can tell she needs to be comforted right now but I don’t even have the nerve to put an arm around her because I feel so shitty. Like worse than shitty. I feel like scum of the earth. “Lauren…” I reach out and put a hand on her shoulder. She responds by leaning into me and soon I find myself hugging her tightly on the side of the street.

I feel absolutely terrible right now but having her in my arms isn’t the worst way to end an evening like this. Aside from JC blowing his cover, the night went extremely well even if I didn’t tell Lauren what I truly feel. Things just complicated themselves a hundred times over and I’m entirely to blame for it.

“You going to be okay?” I ask into her hair and she nods against me. Can we just stay like this forever? My mind flashes to one of those little montages they do in films where the seasons change and yet there’s just one stationary thing that never changes. I can see Lauren and I standing here through fall, winter, spring, and summer and I am totally okay with that. I don’t have to move for a very long time.

Because as soon as we disengage we’ll be so far apart. And I just said ‘disengage’ I feel like Spock.

Of course the embrace has to end and I turn away so Lauren can dry her tears. I know how I hate it when people can see me vulnerable (it doesn’t happen very often) and I think giving Lauren the same courtesy would be beneficial to my cause. Whatever cause this is now, I can’t even tell her that I have feelings for her when the opportunity comes and smacks me right on the face. I don’t think I’ll be able to do that tomorrow or the next day or the day after that. Like I said, the opportunity is gone.

“I’m ready for bed. We have a busy day tomorrow, you especially,” Lauren says to me and she quickly shrugs my jacket off of her shoulders and hands it back to me. Just like that the veil that covered us on our ‘date’ is gone and we’re back to the boss/employee relationship. The relationship I hate the most.

We start to walk back to the hotel and I’m ready to hit the hay. The combination of running around New York today for work, preparing this date for Lauren, actually executing that date, and then worrying about what to say only to have it perfectly ruined by JC has taken it’s toll on me. I don’t know how I’m going to get through tomorrow.

I’m on autopilot as Lauren and I brush past the paparazzi and into the hotel. I think they’re as tired as I am because they lazily snap one or two pictures of me and completely miss the fact that I was out with Lauren. Thank God. I don’t think Ken needs to rebuke dating rumors on top of all the other ones about the Super Bowl Fiasco That Will Never Die, and whether or not one of my songs is about Britney. I’m having an out of body experience by the time we get to the elevator because I am just that tired.

Lauren is deathly silent and I can tell she’s thinking about being ‘rejected’ by JC when someone who wants her more than anything in the world is standing about four feet away from her. And I think she’s formulating exactly what she’s going to yell at him tomorrow when she sees him at the Roseland. I have to say that a part of me can’t wait to watch that because it’ll make me happy to see her screech at someone else other than me. But I’m sure the tables will turn when JC realizes I didn’t tell her.

I can subconsciously see and hear the elevator doors opening, letting us out on our floor. The place is completely deserted and I know everyone is holed up in their rooms. My mind instantly floats to JC, sitting in his room and gorging himself on that damn Thai food. I hope he really gets indigestion now.

“Was it something I did?” Lauren finally speaks as we walk down the hallway. She sounds so dejected, like her world has come crashing down around her and it’s just then I realize how upsetting this is to her. I mean, just a few weeks ago she found out the man she gave three years of her life to was getting married and then she had to follow my sorry ass around the country and almost get herself killed by a bunch of crack dealers and my psycho Flavor of the Tour.

“No, I don’t think so…”

“Was it something I said? I mean what’s wrong with me?” she falters.

“No, of course not. Nothing is wrong with you, you’re perfect,” I mutter and suddenly I’m completely thrown out of autopilot when she leans forward and, standing on tiptoe, kisses me on the cheek.

“Thanks Justin, that means a lot,” she whispers and my heart pretty much explodes in my chest.

And just like that the roaring sound is back in my ears and before I can stop myself, I’ve gathered her up in my arms and I’m kissing her like there’s no tomorrow. Not only did I surprise myself, but I surprised her too because all she can do is stand there and let me kiss her to within an inch of her life. And before I know what’s happening, her arms are around my neck and she’s being pressed up against the wall and….

There is a fucking God. Hallelujah, Shalom, and all that shit.

I can already tell you which way this is going and I so totally like the outcome of the situation. She’s fumbling for her room key and I’m having a really hard time trying to keep my hands off of her. I think she’d have success in finding her key if she wasn’t permanently attached to my lips, but hey, I’m not complaining.

After much groaning, swearing, and, gloriously, more kissing, she finally finds her key and I’m backing her into the room, trying my best to keep my composure even though I’m ready to burst seven ways to Sunday.

Her shoes are already off, she’s fervently working the buttons on my shirt open and all I can do is stand there and think of how fucking lucky I am. I have a feeling that this wouldn’t have happened if Lauren hadn’t seen JC and I guess I’m going to have to thank the man tomorrow. Hell, he can take over the show for all I care. I’ll pimp his new CD to the fullest extent of the law and all that shit because this would so not be happening right now.

And there’s the bed. Oh it is a beautiful thing. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see a bed in my life. Although I’m sure if we couldn’t get the room key back out in the hallway it wouldn’t have made much difference. I’d go do this out in the street if it meant it would be with Lauren. But then again that wouldn’t be very sanitary and it would be all sorts of illegal.

“Justin,” she moans under her breath and the shivers going up and down my spine are the best ones I’ve ever had. I manage to shed my shirt and I press her down on the bed, her form molding into the mattress. Her hands are all over my torso and I’m reminded of the time she ripped my shirt open back in California. I grin against her lips at the thought and she smiles right back.

I’m pretty much goo now. She can do whatever she wants to me as long as we don’t stop. Because if we stop I’ll pretty much lose it completely. To go this far and then have it taken away at the last second would put a damper on everything and…man just thinking about this stopping is making me want to make it last even longer.

But she isn’t going to wait forever.

It sounds all sorts of cheesy, but we manage to get the rest of our clothes off in a New York minute and the feeling of being on Cloud Nine is just washing over me and soaking me to the point of losing complete control. If this is the epitome of happiness, then I love every single second of it.

She kisses me harder as I position myself over her and I grin against her lips as we meld into one entity. I tangle my hands into her hair and she claws at my back as our cries all but harmonize in time to the rhythm of our bodies.

This is so different from the other times we’ve been together in situations like this. Not sex or anything, but, well I guess you could call it foreplay. Every single time was done out of frustration and spite. The stress got to be too much and the release was right there in front of us, in each other. This is different though. The rushing in my ears is still there, but my eyes aren’t glazed over with this mist that I usually get whenever I get exceptionally pissed at someone. I wasn’t pissed at Lauren going into tonight and she wasn’t pissed with me. Tonight is spontaneous, surprising, but it is in no way angry or rough like it was before. This is tender, passionate, and it feels right.

She shudders underneath me and I know she’s close to the edge. Embarrassing to admit, I was there two minutes ago, but I tried my best to hold off until the perfect moment. Her hands reach up and grip my back and my forehead rests against hers as we take the leap together.

And just like that, it’s over. A cry, the roaring in my ears and throat coming to a screeching halt and a huge wave of relief soothes itself over my trembling, sweat drenched body. We manage to untangle our mess of limbs that somehow got jumbled together in the melee of ripping off clothes and good old fashioned sexing. I roll over to the side of her and I close my eyes, my breathing still labored.

I turn my head to look at her to see her reaction to what just happened, but she’s silent and trying to get her breathing under control. It’s funny, but I feel this insane feeling of liberation wash over me. I feel like I can go out and conquer the entire world right now and it isn’t because I’m feeling fucking fantastic from the sex.

“I feel so much better,” Lauren whispers under her breath, her gaze focused on the ceiling. I lean over and kiss her shoulder causing her to turn over to look at me. Our eyes meet and I can see the same thing I’m sensing in her azure stare.

This was just another form of release for us. From the making out, to the holding onto each other after the Boston disaster, finally to the sex…we both feel better because we’ve managed to release our stress and troubles within each other. Nothing romantic, she’ll probably still go out and kick JC’s ass for ‘standing her up’ as she seems to think has happened.

I could tell her now. I could say that this was so much more than an outlet to get rid of all the anxiousness and stress that I’ll be facing in a few hours with all the press and media floating about. I could tell her that I love her, but I know for a fact that with those simple words the nervous tension will come flying back into both of us and there won’t be another way for us to get rid of it because how can we go further than sex to unleash our inner fears and demons?

Well this just ruined everything. Just like that my high from loving Lauren is completely faded away. Christ, tomorrow is going to be so weird, especially when I have to report back to JC and tell him what happened.

I didn’t exactly tell her that I love her, but I mean we had sex…

Yeah, that will go over great.

I sigh and turn away from her, my eyes now looking up at the ceiling of her room. I don’t know what to do or say and I definitely don’t want to go to sleep because that just seems rude. And cuddling is out of the question. Lauren doesn’t strike me as a cuddly type of person, especially after just sleeping with her boss who is a freaking mess and can’t even control his racing mind when he’s seconds away from blurting out what’s really on his mind.

Her eyes are staring at the back of my head and I know she’s waiting for the fight that almost always follows one of our little sexual digressions. I always comment on something she did wrong or I blame something on her or we switch the table and she starts the fight. I half expect her to start right now, tell me that this can’t be shared with anyone else. But she stays silent, she keeps staring at me and I can’t take it anymore.

I sit up, rub my face, and look down at her. She’s watching me intently, her face relaxed and I know that nothing can really upset her right now. This was the ultimate stress reliever and the only thing that could possibly get her out of her state of irreverence would be if I told her.

But I won’t.

“I should go back to my room,” I say quietly before I pull myself out of her bed and start to gather my clothes. This is so embarrassing. I’m not the one who usually grabs clothes and runs after something like this. I’m always the one who’s lying in bed, watching my partner gather her things and offer a hasty kiss before she leaves my room. Sometimes for good, sometimes only for a few days. But I’ve never done this.

She watches my every move as I slip on my disheveled clothes and run a hand over my buzzed hair. I turn to look at her and I want nothing more than to crawl back onto that bed and kiss her again, to show her that this isn’t just a release for me. I want to tell her that I want to do this again and again with her and not just because I think she’s a good fuck or because she’s just there so I better do it while I still can. I want to do this again and again because I love her and I don’t ever want to stop.

Again, why is this so fucking hard?

Ready to go, I walk over to the side of her bed and sit down on the side of her bed. Lauren looks over at me and puts her hand on top of mine. She smiles sweetly and my heart swells at the sight of her there, protected by the covers. I lean over and kiss her on the forehead, letting my free hand rest on the top of her head. Lauren sighs and I close my eyes, and find myself wishing that I could just tell her. Not that simple, you try doing it.

I start to pull away, but she uses her other hand to cup the side of my face to keep me from leaving. I don’t know what to do so I stay perfectly still as she guides me back towards her, our lips meeting once more. I’m too shocked to do anything right now seeing as I wasn’t expecting this at all. A quick goodbye, a rushed scramble to the door, me sitting in my room wondering what the hell I’m going to do. But I never expected to be sitting here on her bed, kissing her, while she’s freaking naked…what did I do to deserve this?

This is fucking amazing.

She breaks the kiss and just like that the connection is broken. She looks up at me quickly before she coyly looks away and gives me a slight pat on my hand that she’s still holding onto before she lets go.

“Good night, we’ll talk tomorrow,” Lauren says softly and I take that as my cue to go. But she wants to talk…what the hell does that mean? I’m guessing ‘talk’ means about ‘us.’ Are we finally an us?

Judging by the way my mind is racing, I don’t think I’m going to get much sleep tonight.

***

Deranged Delusions

21. All Falls Down

Call me crazy, call me a fool, but I think I’m falling for him.

And the funny thing is I’m not falling for him because he planned a pretty amazing night or because the sex was good (ok, fantastic). No, my feelings for Justin are evolving simply because the man got out of my bed, picked up his clothes, and went back to his own room. I know I should have been all about the cuddling or the post chat that was in the back of our minds, but the whole cuddle thing really isn’t my scene. I didn’t get weak in the knees when he kissed me on the shoulder, I didn’t sigh happily when he kissed me on the forehead, and I certainly didn’t think about pulling him back into bed with me when I kissed him. No, the thing that got me going completely gaga was when he grabbed his clothes and left my damn room!

Because he never does anything like that. Ever.

I’ve only ever really known Justin to look after himself and his immediate family. He gets into trouble, his family is there to bail him out, slap him lightly on the wrist, and he goes on his merry way and more than likely does the same thing again that got him into trouble in the first place. Of course last night proved to me that he has a generous bone somewhere in his body towards his employees, but I’m more susceptible to the moody Justin who always bites my head off at me and makes me do impossible tasks that I have to pull out of my ass at the last minute.

But marching around my room and performing what he concludes as the ‘Collection of Shame’ to Trace after his various one night stands, made me realize that maybe he’s finally changed. The old Justin would have given me his room key and made me march around my own room and gather up my things so I could tramp down the hallway and try to avoid any sort of questioning glance from late night passerby. The tables have turned, however, and it was Justin doing the ‘Collection of Shame’ last night and it really got me thinking.

Maybe he really cares about me. Not in the sense of a romantic relationship, but as a person. Jesus, that sounds so fucked up. Yes, Lauren, Justin cares for you as a person so he’s going to screw you to seal that relationship!

Which makes me think that this whole thing was just a pity fuck. I hate rejection like no other person, probably worse than Justin, and to know that JC dodged our date last night nearly sent me over the edge. If Justin hadn’t done what he did, I probably would have stayed up all night, drinking and wondering what the hell was wrong with me. But Justin doesn’t like to dole out pity votes and I don’t think a pity fuck would be among his repertoire of comforting a person.

Can you see why I’m confused?

I don’t know why I kissed him at the end of our night. Maybe I was just looking for something to fall asleep on. I don’t know. We kind of just jumped into the whole having sex thing. There really wasn’t any foreplay and…wow I can’t believe I’m analyzing my night with one Justin Timberlake while I’m trying to show his mother to her seat in the Roseland.

“Thank you, Lauren,” Lynn states as she takes her seat on the second landing of the venue. I haven’t had a chance to talk to Justin yet seeing as in the morning he was doing a crap load of press releases for the new album and then he had the whole Video Music Award thing to take care of. I probably won’t be able to talk to him once he gets done with his concert and by then he’ll probably be absolutely exhausted.

“Think nothing of it, Mrs. Harless,” I state, “Do you need me to get you something to drink?”

“No, not at all. You just go get some rest. You’ve been running around this place all day. Go grab yourself a drink and sit down somewhere. And call me Lynn,” she states with a placid smile before she turns towards a family friend and continues a conversation they had been sharing earlier.

Yeah I haven’t had time to talk to Justin at all. And the funny thing is, I have no clue what we would talk about. I mean what is there to talk about? I suppose I could tell him that our little one night thing shouldn’t be repeated to anyone and that it won’t lead anywhere seeing as by the end of this week his tour is over and I’ll go back to Clive. I just know that sleeping with him has made me cross the line to ‘It will never, ever happen,’ to , ‘there’s a fighting chance something could go on between us.’

Oh God, we’re an ‘us’ now.

Heaven help me.

Speaking of heaven helping people…JC. That boy is going to need a chorus of angels and archangels to help him out of the mess he’s gotten himself into. I still haven’t had a chance to speak with him about what he did to me last night but I hope he feels like shit.

He’s been running around the Ballroom all day today, going over things with the band and trying to figure out his staging to the one song he’ll be singing on stage tonight. And every single fucking time he looks over at me, he tries to start a conversation as if everything is normal and that he didn’t stand me up last night.

Seriously, does he take me for a complete idiot?

I start to head towards the box office. Justin should be heading back from dinner with Trace any second now and they’re going to be opening the house doors soon. I have to make sure that the girl who I put in charge of making sure the celebrity guests find their seats hasn’t gone insane from all the pressure. Really the girl is such a nervous mess I’m surprised she hasn’t screwed up.

“Um…Miss Walters,” speak of the devil.

I turn around and see the fumbling young woman standing in front of me with a piece of paper in her hand. She looks like someone in her immediate family was just killed in front of her. She’s pale, shaking, and the way her eyes are avoiding mine, I know something must be up.

“What is it, Danielle?” I question and the girl gulps.

“Um…I sat Jessica Simpson next to her husband…”

Oh shit.

“You mean ex-husband, Danielle!” I groan loudly. Oh shit this is not good at all. The last thing I need is for Super Stupid Simpson to sit next to Woe is Me Lachey. The critics are going to be all over this and they won’t pay attention to the show at all.

Danielle starts to sniffle and I know she’s about to burst into tears. I don’t need this right now. My stress levels are so high right now and I’m ready to burst into tears myself. Taking a deep breath, I pull the two-way radio from my hip pocket and bring it to my lips.

“Walters to Davis. Walters to Davis…”

“Lo-ho! What’s up?” Great. Trace has commandeered Davis’ two-way and it is going to be a bitch trying to get that thing out of his grip.

“Trace, go give the two-way to Davis like a good little troll and I won’t go back there and kick your ass.”

“Well you’re all the way up front and I’m all the way back here. What’s the problem? I’m a Personal Assistant, I can fix things too!”

“Jesus, Trace, is the only reason why you’re on this earth is to make my life a living hell?” I question as I rub my temple with my free hand. What I wouldn’t do for a drink or a nice long nap right now.

“If you play your cards right I can make it heaven,” Trace whispers saucily into the radio and I roll my eyes. Danielle stifles a giggle and I throw her a scathing look.

“Trace, seriously, just give the radio to Davis. I don’t need this right now…” I’m about to rip his head off for being a short little bastard but there’s a slight scuffle over on his end of the radio and, after much swearing, a new voice is presenting itself over the two-way.

“How you holding up out there, Lo?” And just like that, hearing his voice makes everything better. Before it just made me want to vomit. What the hell happened?

“Well if your bumbling best friend didn’t hear me, I’m looking for Davis. He has to make sure the First World War of Awkwardness doesn’t break out in the VIP section tonight,” and I quickly relay the situation to Justin. He doesn’t need to hear this right now. Not after he’s gone through a crazy ass day and has to go on stage in front of hundreds of people.

“I’ll get you Davis if you promise that you’ll sit down for at least ten minutes. You’ve been running around all day,” Justin says calmly and I take a deep breath and let it out quickly.

“Fine,” I promise and suddenly I’m on the radio with Davis and barking orders about how he’ll have to intercept Simpson as soon as she arrives seeing as her husband will be on time and the woman will more than likely be crazy late. 

Returning the radio to my belt loop I turn to look at Danielle before I grab the paper from her shaking hands and look over it.

“Um…Lauren,” she starts, “I don’t want to be a nuisance…”

“Too late, Danielle,” I mutter under my breath as I make various notes about what Justin needs backstage in the green room. Not only do I have to worry about his butt but I have to make sure Three 6 Mafia have what they need and Will.I.Am and T.I. and this is just going to be way too much. If I wasn’t in such an emotional turmoil I’m sure this would be a cakewalk to me, but I can’t stop thinking about last night and about the conversation I know we’ll be having later tonight, or early tomorrow morning.

“Well, I mean, Mr. Timberlake said that you need to sit down for a little bit. Aren’t you going to listen to him?”

“Danielle,” I say with a heavy sigh as I pull the radio off of my belt, “If I listened to everything Justin had to say I think I’d be a lot more haggard and definitely more stupid than I look, alright?” And then I’m back on the two-way, barking orders at one of the poor interns backstage who are waiting for the gallons of alcohol to arrive at the loading doors.

“Lauren!” and there’s his voice again, sounding highly affronted that I’ve disobeyed his orders.

“What is it Justin?” I ask exasperated.

“Would you sit down for at least five minutes? I’m afraid you’re going to have a heart attack or something!”

“Justin, if I don’t get this done now it isn’t going to be completed and I’m going to be the one that you’re going to blame!”

“I wouldn’t blame you, Lauren,” now he sounds offended. Whatever, he’s a hypocrite and if one of his friends isn’t happy backstage then there’ll be hell to pay.

“Please, Justin. Those are some famous last words. I’m pretty sure you’ll be eating them later tonight when you’re yelling at me for something going wrong.”

“Why are you being so cynical? Seriously, Lauren, what is the matter with you?” I take a deep breath and lean against the wall, holding the radio next to my ear and I know Justin is waiting for a response. I don’t know why I’m acting like this. Maybe I’m just stressed out for tonight. No…I’m stressed about after tonight. I’m freaking out about this conversation I know Justin and I are going to have and I don’t want it to come. I don’t want to know what’s going to happen between us. I just…

I’m scared.

“Sorry,” I breathe, “I just…it’s nothing. I’m just stressed.”

“Okay, well go sit down, okay? Don’t make me worry on top of everything else I have going on tonight.”

If there’s one thing he can never stop doing, it’s being an ass. God love him for it.

“I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back later,” I say to Danielle as I hand her the radio and start towards the exit of the Ballroom. I just need a quick walk around the block to keep my mind off all this crap that’s going through my head.

I took a quick fifteen minute walk around the block before I came back to the Roseland. And once I returned, it was a quickly blur of getting people where they needed to go, making sure all of Justin’s special guests were well situated, and dealing with the stupid Lachey/Simpson fiasco.

Now Justin’s concert is about halfway over and JC has about twenty more minutes before he goes onstage and I’m the unlucky bitch who has to go back to the green room to alert him that he’ll be on stage in just a few minutes. I’m not looking forward to seeing him because I know he’s going to want to ‘talk,’ when, really, there isn’t anything left to say. He stood me up, made me feel like shit, and I’ve moved on.

Of course that won’t mean that I won’t give him a piece of my mind if he decides to corner me and ask me stupid questions that he already knows the answers to.

Pulling my hat low over my face, I shove my way through the throngs of people that are lining the halls of the backstage area. They’re all straining to hear through the thumping bass of the drums, all of them trying to catch a bit of Justin’s new material. I could probably do the whole show with him seeing as I’ve had to sit backstage at every single show and listen to the songs over and over again.

I approach the green room and I can feel the bile rise in my stomach. I’m going to try my best to avoid the man at all costs because I’m sure he doesn’t want to go out on stage with a busted lip. I walk in and see him sitting on the couch, fiddling around with a random piece of string and he looks up and smiles at me.

“Hey, Lauren,” he grins and I throw him a scathing look before I walk over to the small buffet and grab a glass of wine. I’ve been looking everywhere for a glass of something, anything that can take this edge off, and I take a big swig of it before I turn around to face him.

“You’ve got about fifteen minutes, JC and then it’s time for you to make your way to the stage,” I explain and then I turn back and shove some celery in my mouth. I hate celery but that was the first thing I managed to grab. If my mouth is full, I don’t have to talk to him.

“Are you okay? You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

Shit, I swallowed the celery. Now I have to talk.

“I’m fine, JC,” I say simply before I lean against the buffet table and cross my arms. I can hardly see him due to the brim of my hat obstructing my view and I really don’t care. Anything to not look at him.

“Do you want to talk about it? You know I’m here if you want to talk…”

“Oh so now you want to talk?” I ask him, I really don’t feel like picking fights tonight but I can’t help myself. The stress is just making me all the more irritable, “You didn’t feel like talking last night when you stood me up.”

“I thought Justin explained it to you,” JC said as he got up out of his seat. He’s wearing exceptionally tight pants and some crazy belt that I’m sure will be his latest clothing obsession. What is with those tight pants, they look good on him…

Sometimes I wish my mind would just shut down.

“He didn’t have to explain anything to me. It was clear as day that you didn’t want to go out on our date when we saw you gallivant back into the hotel with fucking Thai food when you had indigestion,” I growl and JC takes a step back, clearly affronted by what I’ve said.

“Dimples, didn’t he tell you?”

“I don’t see why you couldn’t just tell me that you didn’t want to go out with me. I don’t know why you had to send Justin out to do your dirty work. I was under the impression that you weren’t a coward and that you actually cared –”

But I stop my small rant when I hear JC’s frustrated sigh. He turns away from me and runs his hands through his hair. I can tell there’s something that’s upsetting him and I’m guessing it’s because I caught him in his little game and now he has to explain it.

“I’m going to kill him,” he mumbles under his breath and he turns around to face me. “Lauren…”

“JC…” I counter and I wait for his explanation. Hopefully he doesn’t give me a lame ass excuse like Justin always does. I’m not in the mood for shitty responses right now.

“I don’t know how to explain this because I’m not supposed to tell you this because he was supposed to tell you last night…”

“Okay can we stop being cryptic? This isn’t the fucking DaVinci Code,” I snap and he shakes his head sadly and lifts his head to look at me.

“Dimples, he was supposed to tell you I had indigestion at the start of the date but by the end of it, he was supposed to say something else…”

“What was he supposed to tell me, JC?” Does he think he’s going to leave me hanging like that? I’m going to get an answer out of him if it’s the last thing I do.

“I can’t tell you, Lauren. That’s Justin’s business to tell you and he’s a complete asshole for not doing what he promised me he would. I never had indigestion to begin with. That was just a ploy to get Justin to go instead of me.”

“What?” I ask, my stomach filling up with complete dread. What is he going on about?

“I’m saying Justin had to go out with you for a reason and…” but suddenly the truth is so very clear to me.

The romancing, acting like the fake son of a bitch he was back in Worden, making sure I saw JC when he knew I would be upset about him ‘standing me up,’ this was all a trick to get me to sleep with him.

“Yeah it’s so perfectly clear to me right now,” I stumble over my words and I try my best not to start crying right there in the middle of the green room. That’s why he was so quick to get out of my room last night, he didn’t want to deal with the aftermath and…

I feel sick to my stomach right now.

“Lauren…”

“No, stop. You have to go get ready for your performance. Have fun and all that shit. You don’t want to be late.” And before he can say anything else I’m physically pushing him towards the door and, once I’m sure he’s out of the room and won’t be coming back, I slam the door and stumble over to the couch, sitting down on it as I try to hold back my tears.

That stupid, no good, horny bastard. He is so dead.

“Thank you New York!” I’m met with a thousand cheers as I take my final bow and march off the stage with Tim and JC, the fans still screeching loudly and begging me to come back on stage.

Sorry, I’m done for the night. I’ve got to go talk to my girl.

Hah, my girl, I like the sound of that. Hopefully once we have our ‘talk,’ she’ll be my girl for a very long time. I’m practically giddy at the thought.

One of the interns hands me a towel and I wipe the sweat from my brow and I walk over to JC and give him a huge pat on the shoulder. He moves away and gives me a scathing look before he adjusts the vest he’s wearing.

“Yo, Jace, what’s up man?”

“You tell me what’s up,” he says shortly and I know something’s wrong.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how you didn’t keep your promise. You told me you were going to tell her and you didn’t!” Shit, how did he find out about that? “I thought you told me that you had feelings for her? Did you have to play her like that?”

“What the fuck, JC? I’m going to tell her tonight,” I explain, “We’re going to talk tonight.”

“Oh, ho, you bet you’re going to have a talk tonight,” JC says with a small, manic laugh. I don’t like the tone of his voice and I’m suddenly kind of freaked out about what’s going on. I don’t like it when things that I don’t know about are going on behind my back.

“Well, do you know where she is?” I ask, deciding to not pay attention to JC’s weird attitude.

“Last time I saw her, she was in the green room, but she might have gone back to the hotel,” he explains and I give him a thankful gaze before I take off towards the green room.

I already know most of the guest performers have already hightailed it to one of the many after parties and I’m hoping that I can join them later on in the evening and I can introduce them all to Lauren as my sweetie. I can’t wait. Hopefully she’ll be all alone in the green room so we can chat, and maybe do some other things.

See what happens when I sing ‘Sexy Back?’ It makes me horny. Got to love it.

Finally, the blessed green room door. It’s closed and I can only hope Lauren is the only one in there right now. It would suck having to kick some people out but I’ll do it if it gives me the chance to be alone with her for just a couple minutes.

I knock on the door and, when I don’t hear an answer, I open the door and step in.

That’s when an empty bottle of wine goes sailing towards my head and crashes into the wall behind me. I duck down almost instantly and cover up my head to avoid any sort of damage. Looking around, I try to find the psychopath that is demolishing the green room, but the only person in the room is Lauren.

But she does look like a crazy person. I can hear her ragged breaths coming from the other side of the room and her hat is cocked haphazardly to one side. Her eyes are bloodshot from crying and it seems like she’s in a type of rage I’ve never seen before.

“Lauren…”

“You stupid asshole! You fuck!” she screams at me and I slam the door behind me and lean against the wood for support. She’s on the rampage and I don’t think I can get a word in edge wise while she’s flipping out like this.

“What’s the matter?” I ask her and she dramatically rolls her eyes and stops to look at me, her chest heaving up and down like she just ran a decathlon.

“You know what’s the matter! You’re a pathological liar, a fraud, and I can’t believe you could do something like this. I always knew you were an asshole but I never would have thought you would stoop this low,” she snarls and I have now reached a whole new level of confused.

“I don’t understand…” I start to say quietly but she cuts me off with a flick of her hand.

“I don’t understand either, Justin. I don’t understand how you can stand there and think that everything is okay in your world when you can’t stop lying to yourself and me. I don’t understand how last night meant nothing to you!”

“What are you talking about? How can you say last night meant nothing? It meant <i>everything</i> to me!” I say shrilly. Is this the kind of talk she wanted to have? If I knew she was going to go completely insane I never would have come back here. Is this what happens every time she wants to talk? Did Neal have to go through this bull shit?

“Oh so I guess ‘everything’ means screwing the one thing you could never have and having your friend cover for your sorry ass?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t give me that act! You told JC to give up his date with me so you could have a good chance to fuck with me! Not only did you do it physically, you did it emotionally too!” she practically screams at me. The tension is reaching all new levels and I can tell she’s about to throw something. Sure enough she grabs a glass of some unknown liquid and throws it in my direction. It sails past me and crashes into the door, the shards of glass raining down on me.

The girl is insane.

“Lauren…”

“And the fact that you had the audacity to act like you really care today when I was busting my ass for you all day! You really are something else, Justin.”

Okay, I’ll admit it, I fucked this up. Big time. I should have told her last night, or at least before the whole hubbub of today, but I didn’t. Because I didn’t have the balls to do it. And now this whole thing is falling down in flames and I was the one who caused it.

“But I do care, Lauren. I care about you, I care about us…”

“There isn’t an ‘us,’ Justin.”

“But there was last night. Lauren, believe me when I say that my intentions weren’t to take advantage of you in the least. I care about you a lot,” I begin and I know it’s now or never, but like always, Lauren always has something to add.

“You have a real fucked up way of showing it, Justin,” she mutters to herself and I can see that she’s grappling with the tears swimming in her eyes.

“Look, Lauren,” I begin to say and I take a few steps towards her. She walks away from me and I know that she doesn’t want to be near me right now and I can understand that. I didn’t exactly tell the truth but she has to know that I would never, ever use her for sex. I’ve stooped low in my life, but I would never go that low, “the reason why I took JC’s place was because I had to get you alone so I could tell you something important, but I was too much of a coward to do it last night and I was going to do it tonight, but…well you got your information mixed up. Probably because JC didn’t want to tell you what I promised him I would say to you last night…”

“Yeah okay, whatever,” Lauren dismisses and I can feel my reserve starting to break. She’s going to make me clam up and then I’ll never get it off my chest and that would be a very bad thing. I don’t want to destroy whatever it is we could have before we even start.

“Dammit Lauren, you’re making this harder than it needs to be! Please just shut up and listen before I lose my nerve again…”

“What are you going to charm me with your winning ways and get me to sleep with you again?”

“The only reason why I went as far as I did last night is because I really care for you…” well that came out wrong. ‘I care for you,’ what kind of fucked up thing is that to say? Way to be articulate during one of the most important moments of your life, Justin.

“Again, you have a real fucked up way…”

“No, I-I love you. I don’t know when it happened, I don’t know how it happened, but I love you and I know that that’s all that matters to me. And I know that you love me too.” That last statement was a little bit cocky, but I know she does. She has to, I mean, she wouldn’t be acting like this if she didn’t have some feelings towards me. And aside from the lying here and there, what’s not to love about me?

And now it feels like my heart is about to be ripped out of my chest. It’s on standby as I wait on bated breath for Lauren’s response. I have no idea what she’s going to say, I don’t know what’s going through her head right now. But it looks like she’s trying to compute what I’ve just said through her brain. I’m on pins and needles. Oh God…

She’s laughing. Hysterically. To the point where she’s almost rolling around on the floor. Tears are flowing freely from her eyes and she pulls her hat back to reveal a jovial face that makes my heart soar.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” And just like that my heart has just been shot down and it’s about to be mounted on the fucking wall. “You love me? That has got to be the best thing I have ever heard. Like…wow. Justin I knew you liked to lie, you liked to cover up your shit, but saying something like that? A new low. Bravo for you,” she manages to get out through her laughter.

“Wait, you think I’m joking?” I ask her and now it’s my turn for my blood to boil.

“You can’t be serious with this!” she exclaims and I nod my head solemnly to show that I am, in fact, not kidding around. I don’t throw the ‘L’ word around lightly and she knows this. “I mean, really. You…love me? Ha!”

“Fuck, Lauren,” I mutter under my breath. I thought this was going to be so easy. Tell her how I feel, she’ll fall into my arms and we’d live happily ever after. I never thought in a million years that she would assume I was joking about this.

“Yeah, that’s right. ‘Fuck Lauren.’ You do that well don’t you?” she growls and I can feel something inside of me snap.

I’ve been rejected, I’ve been shot down, and I’ve had my heart broken, but never like this. Britney went behind my back, Cameron was jealous and stopped caring, Melissa was jealous and became too clingy, but none of them have ever done something like this to my face. In fact, I prefer the whole behind the back thing because then they don’t have to see my reaction. They don’t have to see the tears well up in my eyes, they don’t have to see that I’m vulnerable. Lauren is seeing all these things and she doesn’t care. She just doesn’t give a flying fuck. And I think that’s what just sent me over the edge.

Before I can gather what I’m doing, I’m crossing the room in three quick strides and I have Lauren pinned up against the wall by her shoulders. She’s squirming, she’s yelling for all she’s worth, but I don’t care. I want her to get a real close look of what it feels like to have someone’s heart break in front of them and know that they’re the cause of it.

“What are you doing? Let me go!” she squeals but I ignore her blatant cries of indignation. “I swear to God if you don’t let me go I’ll cry rape!”

“You can be a huge bitch sometimes, but I love you just the same,” I say steadily and she stops yelling long enough to hear what I’ve had to say. I try to blink away the tears that are threatening to fall but one manages to escape. Great, way to look like a pussy when you’re trying to scare some sense into her. Good job, Justin.

“You don’t love me,” Lauren whispers back and we’re staring at each other eye to eye, “You don’t love me. You used me and how long would it be before you left me high and dry? How long would it take for you to find the next leggy model and leave me in the mud? When would you wake up and see that I’m not the one that you want? Let me go. I’m done as of tonight.”

“You aren’t done with me,” I say firmly, “You’ve got two more days left.”

“Fuck that. I’m through.”

“Lauren…”

“No. I’m done. Let me go I don’t want to be around you anymore. I can’t stand you right now. You may be able to take advantage of my time, but you’ll never have the chance to take advantage of me again. Period.”

“Don’t –”

“Yeah, I am. Let me go now. I’m out of here.” And I have no choice but to loosen my grip on her shoulders. She slams her hat down harder on her head and grabs her tan purse before she stalks towards the door. Her heels crunch into the glass that she threw at my head and I don’t know what to do. For the first time in a long time, I have no idea what I’m going to do.

Not two seconds pass and JC’s by my side, asking me what happened. I sit down on the couch and rest my head in my hands as I try my best to relay to JC what happened. “She wouldn’t listen,” I say softly and JC pats me on the back to offer some sort of solace.

“Why aren’t you going after her?” he questions me and I look up at him trying my best to hide the fact that I’m pretty much three seconds away from sobbing.

“Because she’s done,” I squeak and JC shakes his head.

“If you let her go now, you’ll lose her forever. Do you realize that? Don’t you dare let her get away this time,” he says firmly and for some odd reason, his words ring true. Since when do I really listen to what Lauren has to say? She tells me not to do something and I do it anyway. She says one thing and I do another. Since when is professing my love for her and getting shot down and letting her leave any different?

Leaping to my feet, I rush out of the green room and book it towards the exit. I know she’s heading back to the hotel and I have to stop her before she gets onto the subway or in a taxi. I’m not going to let her go. I can’t give up this easily.

I’m running down the street just outside the Roseland at quarter to four in the morning and I don’t see hide nor hair of Lauren anywhere. I keep looking however, and my heart leaps when I see her standing in the gutter, trying to hail a cab.

“Lauren!” I call and I see her visibly tense up in the lamplight before she frantically tries to hail another cab. “Stop!” I call again and I take off after her just as a cab pulls out of the early, early morning traffic and heads over towards her.

“Wait!” I’m at least four strides away from her and she’s won’t stop moving! Would she just fucking stop so I can grab onto her and knock some sense into her? “You aren’t getting into that cab!”

“Try to stop me!” she hollers back, her voice strained. Is she crying? She’s crying! That’s a good sign, it has to be! If this weren’t affecting her, she wouldn’t give a fuck and she’d be totally fine with leaving. But crying is a good sign! Oh thank Jesus!

“Lauren, we need to talk!”

She’s stepping off the curb, her fingers are curling around the door handle and suddenly she’s opened the door and shouting out the name of the hotel to the driver. I surge ahead and grab onto the car door before she has a chance to close it.

Lauren looks up at me and glares through her tears and I quickly lean forward and grab onto her arm, preventing her from getting into the cab all the way. She shoots me a threatening glare and I have a feeling that she’s going to kick my ass, but I don’t care.

“Stop this right now!” she cries but I shake my head.

“I’m not going to let you go. We aren’t going to end it like this,” I say frantically and she tries her best to yank herself free from my grasp but I hold strong.

“We never had anything to end in the first place! You do realize that we’d never be able to have anything because we’d be in a tailspin before we even got started…”

“But it did start!”

“And look what happened? Look what’s going on right now! We can’t do this, Justin… I can’t do this. I just can’t. Now please, let me go,” her voice has reached a new level of begging and my head is telling me to let go but I can’t. I won’t.

“I’m not going to give up this easily. I can’t, please Lauren. Please, we can talk this out…”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers and before I can get a better hold on her arm, she’s yanked it out of my grip. In a flash, the car door closes, locks, and the cab pulls out into the night leaving me standing on the curb. I let her go.

I lost her.

***

Deranged Delusions

22. You'll Be In My Heart

 And I royally fucked up.

Like, worse than royally. I can’t even begin to comprehend how much I’ve screwed this whole thing up. And I have no idea how I’m going to fix this. I can’t bring her flowers, cant buy her jewelry, fuck I can’t even freaking talk to her, so how the hell am I going to make this better?

I manage to make my way back to the venue and I’m not in the mood to deal with the various people milling about backstage, ready to talk to me. I really just want to go back to the hotel and sit outside of Lauren’s door and wait until she comes back out so I can get a word in; so I can explain myself. But I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

The first person I see as I stalk back into the green room is JC. I don’t want to look at him and judging by his disgruntled sigh, I can tell he knows that I wasn’t successful in bringing Lauren back with me. Sitting down on the couch, I put my head in my hands and try my best to keep everything together. Not that I want to get anything together. I’d much rather be a mess right now than try to work things out because I’ve just suffered the ultimate rejection.

And for some strange reason I want to talk to her again and face even more refusal if that’ll mean I get to be near her again.

“You’re going to get through this, man,” JC says quietly, “Just give her some space and talk to her in the morning.”

I wish I could wait that long. I have to speak with her, now.

Getting to my feet, I bypass JC and walk towards the exit, garnering many confused looks from the various people milling about backstage waiting to talk with me or someone affiliated with me. I really don’t have the time, energy, or patience to deal with these people so I ignore them. Color me a bastard, but I don’t care.

Out the back door of the venue to my waiting car. I think the driver is surprised because he isn’t expecting me for at least another hour. He’s leaning against the side of the car, looking at a newspaper in the dim alley light but he jumps to attention when he realizes that I’m outside. I wordlessly get inside the car and without asking the guy knows exactly where to take me.

I only pay the big bucks when it comes to people driving me around.

The traffic is terrible considering there are people leaving the show, and then there’s the traffic from the VMAs, so I don’t get back to the hotel for another forty-five minutes. It’s late, I’m highly irritated, and I’m sure that my heart is still trying to save some face seeing as it was trampled on less than an hour ago. I don’t think I’ll be able to deal with anybody’s shit tonight or I’ll explode. Simple as that.

Without speaking to anybody, I get out of the car and head into the hotel via the back entrance. There’s no way in hell I can deal with photographers, fans, and other random people with their fake smiles and them always wanting something from me. Why should I give them what they want when the only thing I need is upstairs in her hotel room, probably pissed at the world.

Yeah, it’s selfish, but I don’t give a flying fuck right now.

On the elevator, ascending towards the hell I know is waiting for me. I know I’ll be asking for it, knocking on her door, but I have to talk to her. I can’t go to bed knowing that there’s this enormous rift between us. I mean, sure, if this were a year or so ago, I’d probably tell her she was being a catty bitch and she needs to get over herself and then go to bed, because back then I just didn’t really care about her that much. But things can change, and I’m happy that it did. I’m a better person because of it.

My feet automatically carry me to her room and I’m pounding on her door. It isn’t a polite little knock; it is full on banging and slamming. If she were sleeping, which I know she isn’t, it’d be impossible for her not to hear me. A deaf person could hear me.

“Lauren, open the door!” I holler but there isn’t a response. I bang harder. She is not going to get away with acting like a little child because I won’t let her. I’ll pound on the door all night if I have to. I’m not leaving until I see her.

“Lauren this is stupid, open the fucking door and stop acting like an eight year old!”

No reply. I’m getting pissed.

Pound. Slam. Slam. Yell. Repeat.

“Christ,” I mutter as I let my forehead rest against the door. My hands are throbbing from the force of hitting them against her door, and my eyes are tired. I just put on two shows for millions of people and I’m exhausted because of one fucking person. “Come on Lauren,” I murmur before I close my eyes and find myself wishing with all my might that she’d open the door.

I don’t know what she wants me to do.

Turning around, I let my back relax against the door and I slowly slide down until my butt hits the floor. I let the back of my head lean again the door and I let out a big, pent up breath.

“I don’t know what to do with you. Honestly, I have no idea how to go about this,” I say quietly. She probably can’t hear me, but I’ll feel better saying this aloud, knowing that she’s on the other side of the door, either sleeping or doing something to ignore me. “I don’t know what you heard tonight, but I never wanted to intentionally hurt you. I just want to love you…” I pause and think about what I just said before I start to laugh, “And I hope you know I just quoted one of my own songs.” Good God I feel like a complete and total tool.

“I hope you can forgive me, because I really am sorry and maybe, hopefully, we can get past this. We’ve been able to get through everything else, maybe we can carry each other’s hearts through this mess without completely mutilating them. I know I’ll take care of yours as best I can. Fuck, I don’t even know if I have yours, but you have mine. You’ll have mine for a very long time.”

I feel like such a sap but I don’t care. I laugh softly to help me deal with the silence as I get to my feet. Letting a hand rest on the door, I pat it softly, “Night, Lauren. I’ll be by in the morning.” I can’t stand here and wait for her. She’s a stubborn kid and I’m not going to press her into opening the door because she won’t be ready and I don’t think I’ll be ready either.

I just won’t sleep at all tonight.

New day. New possibilities. New image of me waiting outside of Lauren’s door.

I managed to get some sleep the night before but I was up at eleven o’ clock and outside of Lauren’s room, knocking on the door and hoping that she’s up and ready to talk. I’ve been standing here for the past two hours and so far, there hasn’t been a single sign of her.

A part of me is thinking that she upped and left early in the morning and I had no chance to explain myself further and she won’t ever come back. But something is telling me that she’s still here, just not in the hotel. She’s still in the City and she’ll be coming back sometime today. I just have to wait.

“Dude, what are you doing out here?” I look up and see Marty standing over me, giving me a look that is screaming ‘pathetic loser.’

“Waiting for Lauren,” I explain and he rolls his eyes before he leans against the opposite wall.

“She ain’t here, man,” he says casually before he lights up a cigarette. It’s a nonsmoking hall but I don’t say anything. I just want to know where the fuck she went.

“And where is she?”

“I don’t know. She left the hotel at like, ten. Looked like hell, but definitely seemed like she had somewhere to go. She had that whole ‘business’ thing that she gets whenever she’s doing something important. Know what I’m talking about?” he asks and I nod. She was like that when she first started working for me. Expensive business suits, impeccable manners and dress. Never was one to say something out of place and she carried everything on her shoulders. This is so confusing.

“What do I do?”

“Well are you going to wait for her outside her damn door all day? That reads kinda desperate, not to mention stalker. Just go wait for her in the lobby. Get some coffee, read a newspaper, there’s no way you can miss her there.”

Well there’s no way I can miss her if I’m waiting outside her damn door. But then again I’m sick of waiting in the same monotonous hallway. I need a change of pace. Getting to my feet, I walk past Marty and head towards the elevators.

So it was a pretty big mistake waiting for Lauren to return to the hotel in the lobby. I’m getting all sorts of crazy looks from the various girls staying in the hotel, or loitering around, waiting for me to notice them. I haven’t really noticed any of them, really, because I’m intensely watching the revolving doors that Lauren will walk through, hopefully soon because I’m about to just give up and go back to my room and forget about this whole thing.

But I’ll wait five more minutes.

And those five minutes pass by with a vehement slowness. I want to pluck my own eyes out or stop myself from breathing because if there’s one thing I don’t do well, it’s being patient. And it’s waiting that’s killing me and setting me on edge. It might also be the extra large latte that’s sitting on my knee, and it might also be the fact that this is my third one.

I better head back to my room because if I don’t kill myself out of sheer boredom and anxiety, then I will definitely piss my pants and that won’t look good on the cover of US Weekly.

I’m about to finish off the rest of my drink and set it down on the coffee table so the fans, who have been circling my position like a pack of ravenous boars, can fight over the empty cups when I look up and see a figure push her way through the revolving door.

She’s got huge sunglasses on, as if to ward away any unwanted sunlight, and her hair is down and shadowing her face. But I know that walk anywhere. It’s Lauren and she’s back.

Finally. I was going to report a Missing Person’s Report on her ass.

Getting up, I rush after her, hoping to catch her on the elevator, but she’s moving way too fast for me to catch up. She’s gabbing on her phone to someone and I can’t make out what she’s saying thanks to the din of weary tourists and traveling businessmen. She gets on one of the elevators and, before I can muscle my way past idle people, the doors have closed and she’s on her way up to our floor.

Dammit.

I try to wait as patiently as I can for the next elevator and finally the doors open with a faint ‘ding,’ and I rush inside. Thankfully there aren’t a lot of people sharing the ride and before I know it, I’m on the floor that I’ve been calling home for the past few days. I don’t head towards my room, but I stop in front of Lauren’s and rest my hand against the door. Really, was it only two nights ago that we were standing out here practically ripping each other’s clothes off? I’d do anything to go back to that.

The hallway is so quiet that I can hear Lauren still talking away on her phone through the heavy door. It’s muffled but I can still make it out…

“Just box everything up for me. I’ll pick them up when I get to LA and have them sent out,” her voice says calmly. I hear a thud and she swears loudly which causes me to smile. Why do I love it when she swears? I usually hate it when women swear around me, but Lauren does it so…well.

It’s now or never. I knock on the door loudly and wait.

“Nothing Charlene, it’s just the bellhop. Look, I’ll call you later. Thanks again, bye.” And on that last word she opens up the door quickly and her face falls when she realizes that it isn’t the bellhop, but her dear old boss.

“Where did you go?” I ask as I shove my way past her and walk into her room. The entire place is in disarray. Clothes are strewn everywhere and her two suitcases are sitting on her bed, clothes peeking out of them.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” she says curtly as she lets the door slam behind her. She walks into my line of site and continues to throw her clothes in her luggage, throwing her cleanliness to the wind. I’ve never seen her like this, in such a disorder.

“Of course it’s my business,” I counter, “You work for me.”

“Like hell I do.”

“Why are you doing this?” I question loudly before I sit in between her suitcase and start to play around with the zipper of her luggage. I’m nervous but I don’t want her to see it, I don’t want her to see that this distance between us is upsetting me, because then she’d never let me hear the end of it. “Why can’t we just talk?”

“I don’t want to talk right now,” she whispers quietly and she disappears into the bathroom. I’m silent for a moment, listening as she gathers what I’m assuming to be a dozen toiletries.

“Then when can we talk?” I ask and she reappears, arms full with shampoo bottles, makeup, soap, and not to mention the lotions and gels that the hotel sets up for their guests. And I thought I was the only one who took those at the end of a stay. She bites her lip and throws her items in one of the suitcases.

“Hmm…how about, never?”

“Lauren, please just hear me out!” she walks towards the closet at the front of the room and disappears inside it, no doubt getting things out of the in room safe or something like that. The beeping and opening of a mechanical door solidify my thoughts and I sit on the bed, still playing with the zipper. I spot a bit of the bra she was wearing two nights ago and I have the slight urge to reach in and touch it.

Not the time or the place, buddy.

“Lauren?” I call out after a few drawn out seconds of silence. 

“What?” her voice is hollow, desolate, and I know that my presence is bugging the hell out of her but I’m not going to leave until she tells me where she went, and where she’s going. I’m stubborn like that.

“Would you just talk to me, please?” I’m pleading now and I don’t care. I don’t want to not talk to her about this and I want to talk her out of going wherever it is she’s going, “I just want to talk.”

“About what? I don’t see what we need to talk about,” she says in a no nonsense voice as she reappears from the closet, holding a few jackets and a bag of what I’m assuming, is jewelry. I should have bought her jewelry, she would have liked that. Peace offering gift, God Justin you are stupid!

“You know what we need to talk about, and you need to just sit down, stop packing…where the heck are you going anyway?” I ask her. She rolls her eyes oh so eloquently and picks up her laptop, throwing it in her oversized purse.

“I’m going home.”

“What, Worden?” I ask her. Do flights from New York City even land in Montana?

“No dumbass, LA,” she snaps and I automatically recoil at her tone. I hate it when she gets super bitchy at me, which is what she’s been doing a lot these past couple of days, but hey, I deserve it. But I don’t need it right now, not when I’m giving her a peace offering.

“You can’t go back to LA. You still work for me, remember?”

“As of one thirty this afternoon I don’t have anything to do with you anymore,” she reveals before she closes the suitcase on my left and zips it shut. She turns away to keep packing and I indignantly zip her suitcase open again and start to pull out her clothes. Like hell she’s going anywhere.

“What are you doing?” she yells and rushes forward, grabbing the clothes from my hands, “Put those back! Justin, I’m serious, just leave me alone.”

“I’m not leaving you alone until we can sit down and talk and you can tell me what the fuck you mean about you not working for me anymore. Last time I checked Clive had you with me until the end of my tour, and if my memory serves me right, there’s still another show left!”

“Well look at you, big boy and all, remembering your schedule,” she jeers, “Looks like you don’t need me anymore.”

“But I do need you, dammit! I need you a hell of a lot more than you realize,” her eyes widen and she snatches more clothes from my hand before shoving them in her suitcase. I refuse to be beaten down this time and I finally go the extra mile and overturn her suitcases onto the floor, clothes and all spilling all over the place.

“Do you realize I have a cab waiting for me downstairs and I have to be on a plane in under two hours?”

“Sorry, you aren’t going to be on that plane, not if I have a say about it.”

“Well you don’t have a say because, one: you aren’t my boss anymore and two: I don’t have to listen to a damned thing that comes out of your mouth and I’m doing that right now,” she scowls before she overturns her suitcases and starts to pack again.

God damn this girl just won’t quit.

“Lauren you have to listen to me please, I’m begging you.”

“Begging would have worked a long time ago, it isn’t going to work now. Now get out of the way or I’m calling security,” she grumbles while she throws more clothes into her suitcases.

“Okay, really now Lauren, this is fucking ridiculous. You’re acting like a child and the last thing I need to do is babysit you until the bellhop gets here.”

“Last time I checked no one was asking you to stay. In fact, I prefer that you leave.”

“You know I’m not going to leave until we talk,” I point out and she rolls her eyes yet again as she runs her hand through her hair. I can see her reserve failing and finally her shoulders sag and she turns to look at me.

“Fine. What do you want to talk about?”

“Where did you go today?” I blurt out before I can really get a grip on what it is that I really want to talk about. I just want to know where the hell she went.

“I went to the Jive offices today,” she starts and already I know this whole thing is going downhill really fast.

“Why?”

“I asked to be moved,” she says quietly while she kneels over the overturned suitcase and I don’t know whether to be angry or upset.

“What do you mean?” I ask, hopefully she’ll be able to elaborate. And it won’t be what I’m thinking. Maybe she’ll be moved to working for JC and I’ll be able to see her a lot more, or maybe she’s being moved to work somewhere else under my account, but it can’t mean…

“They’re transferring me to the European branch in London,” she says surely, her words sounding as foreign as the place. And she’s left me more dumbfounded than before.

“But you aren’t going, are you?”

“Oh? I’m sorry, did you not see me packing?” Lauren questions sarcastically as she holds up a piece of clothing, “Did you not see my luggage?”

“Now is not the time to get smart with me, Lauren. Please,” I say. I don’t think she knows that she’s treading on extremely fragile ground. Hearing her saying that she wants to get away from me…it hurts.

“So when is the right time to get smart? When is the right time to be <i>anything</i> around you? One minute I think I can be your friend; you turn into my worst enemy! I think I can be a good employee, you make me feel like I can’t do anything right! You make me start to think that I could love…” her voice fades away and she brings a hand up to her mouth to stifle what I’m thinking is tears, “It doesn’t matter now. Because I’m leaving.”

“But you can start to think those things because they’re true, Lauren. They’re all true. You’re one of the closest friends I’ve ever had. My life would be a mess if you weren’t there helping me through every single step of the way. And you can love me, it’s okay because I love you,”

“No, no, no, no, no!” Lauren chants loudly and she slams her suitcase shut before she picks it up and pulls her other suitcase away from me and heads for the door. I get up off the bed and follow her, hoping to God I can talk some sense into her before she leaves.

“Lauren you’re being an idiot! Please, let’s talk about this okay?”

“I told you I don’t want to talk about this! I’m going back to LA, getting my shit together, and leaving,” she snarls as she opens the door and starts to yank her suitcases down the hall. I guess the bellhop be damned.

“Lauren,” I say quietly…well, as quietly as I can in a hallway while Lauren is swearing under her breath and trying her best to roll two enormous suitcases on her own, “You don’t have to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” she says with indifference as she waits for the elevator, trying her best to keep her eyes off of me.

“Nah, you are, and that’s okay. We can get through this together, if you just let me in.”

I look up at the top of the elevator doors and see that there’s one that’s six floors away. I have at least thirty seconds to convince her to stay and yet I have no idea what I’m going to do. I’m about to say something again when I hear a door open down the hallway and suddenly someone is calling my name.

“Justin!” Lauren and I both turn to look at who it is and I find myself rolling my eyes as Trace leans farther out of his room and motions for me to come towards him. I shake my head and turn back towards Lauren, our eyes meeting for a split second before she turns away.

I could still see the tears in her eyes.

“Laur…”

“Justin you ass, come here!” Trace yells louder and I wonder why I don’t keep a muzzle on the fool whenever I don’t want to hear from him.

“What, Trace? I’m kind of busy right now.”

“Did you forget that you have a Z100 interview in like…a minute? Come on man! What could you be doing that is so important?”

Um does he not see Lauren with her suitcases and the fact that she’s about to get out of my life forever? Does he not understand the urgency of this situation? Jesus, I guess Trace is fucking stupid.

The bell on the elevator sounds and the doors slide open and my heart starts to completely deflate. She takes a step forward and enters the elevator, finally turning around to face me.

“Justin, would you hurry up?”

“I guess duty calls, huh?” Lauren says hoarsely as she looks at me, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Lauren…I’m sorry.”

“It’s a little too late for that,” she says quietly and the doors slowly slide shut, leaving me staring at the brass doors, Trace still yelling in my ear.

***

Deranged Delusions

23. I Might Say I'm In Love

It took me maybe three weeks to realize that I made a huge mistake.

The day I left New York, I flew back to Los Angeles, spent a week packing and sending things over the Atlantic Ocean to this random flat that the Zomba Entertainment Group found for me.

The start of the second week found me flying over to the good old United Kingdom and getting settled in my new apartment that’s right down the street from where I work. And it was the start of the third week, when I sat down on my new couch and looked at my blank television monitor that I started to wonder what he was doing at that exact moment.

It’s what I’m doing right now and I want to fucking kick myself for being this stupid. I was so busy those first few weeks with getting my life in order and changing places of residence, getting a visa and all that shit that I didn’t realize how boring my life was without someone to take care of – especially Justin.

I’ve seen the various magazine articles that he’s been in since the release of his second album and he seems to be doing okay for himself. Okay, he’s doing fucking wonderful and he’s doing it without me. How, I haven’t the faintest idea because about a year ago he could hardly function without me telling him what to do.

Maybe he’s moved on. Maybe I’ve moved on, and maybe it’s for the best.

Then why the hell am I still wondering what he’s doing almost three months since I’ve left his services? Really this is starting to piss me off and I don’t know how to make it stop. Maybe it isn’t for the best and I made a mistake.

And that’s why I’m sitting on my couch on a Saturday night, not going out to the pub with my new fellow employees, and watching a blank television screen. I admit that I’m mostly the one to blame in this whole thing because I was the one who severed contact; I was the one who said enough and had the balls to move away from the situation.

I think I’m starting to see that I was a coward and ran away from confrontation. He was more than ready to stare it straight in the face but I swallowed the bullet and choked on it.  That’s my own fault, and my own undoing. But I’m not going to sit on my ass and wonder what he’s doing at this exact moment. He’s probably forgotten all about me and is screwing around with some new model he’s been tied with.

Why should I sit around and mope? We weren’t even together in the first place. I never allowed for an ‘us’ to happen and I’m damn proud of that. Seriously.

I pick up my cell phone to call my co-worker and closest adversary, Rhonda, but I see that I’ve already got a voicemail. Thinking it’s my pudgy English friend, I quickly call the inbox and find that it isn’t Rhonda at all.

It’s work.

Joy.

“Lauren, hello, this is Corey Hutton and I was just calling to confirm that you’re going to be attending the Zomba Entertainment Group Gala on the third of November. Rhonda Lewis explained that you’d be going with her but I was just calling you to make sure that I had the right story. Please call me back as soon as possible and remember, the dress is black tie. Thank you and have a pleasant evening.”

The Gala, how could I forget? It was only going to be the biggest party the office had seen aside from the Christmas party back in 2003 that I so obviously missed. I think Rhonda would decapitate me if I refused to go and so I had reluctantly hinted that I would be going to the Gala. I had a dress and all the fixings hanging in my closet but I was still debating on whether or not I was going to attend.

At least this wouldn’t be a party I had to plan. And in a way that made things pretty boring around here. There weren’t any phone calls in the middle of the night asking for errands to be run, no one screaming at me that something wasn’t right. In all actuality I should see it as a blessing, but I miss the random demands that were thrown my way when I was still working for Justin. Hell, I even miss Clive and he’s as bland as some of the food you find around here.

I can’t sit around this apartment and let my mind wander. There’s no way I’ll be able to get through the night and I can’t have another night of no sleeping. That would just totally and completely kill me for work on Monday. I make a quick call to one Corey Hutton before I pull on my coat and wrap a scarf around my neck, heading for the door.

A walk in the brisk, end of October chill will almost surely get my mind off of this whole supposedly missing Justin business. The cold wasn’t that bad, I’m kind of used to it seeing as I grew up in Montana where it pretty much turns into the frozen tundra when the snow first falls.

I love how everyone here is so reserved and they keep everything private. You don’t have someone shoving their face in your business and you almost certainly don’t see people getting into other’s personal spaces. I respect that about Londoners because they respect me and keep out of my way for the most part.

Justin didn’t know when to stay out of my business. He didn’t know when it was a smart move to approach me about certain things. He just barreled in and didn’t care what I was thinking. It was all about clearing his name and making sure I wasn’t pissed at him for any longer than I needed to be. It got annoying as hell, but it was endearing just the same. That drive got him to where he is today and while I’m proud of him for his current successes, I want to kick that ambition for making me push myself away. He’s too persistent, and that’s something I have a hard time dealing with.

I round a corner, sidestepping a few late night walkers and suddenly a huge pair of cobalt eyes are glaring at me. I sigh heavily and ruffle my hair before I turn away and take a deep breath. Why do I always forget about the huge poster promoting the European Music Awards on this street? Why do I always forget to remember that this particular poster happens to sport an enormous image of Justin kneeling by a sign proclaiming that the said awards are taking place in Denmark just next week? And why the hell do I have to sit down on a bench across the street from this poster and just stare at it?

I am a sad excuse for a human being.

I sit on the bench for a long time. I don’t even check my watch, I just let the cold hit me over and over again, but of course I can’t get him out of my head. Not when he’s staring at me from across the road. A huge bus travels in front of the sign, blocking my view and I sigh loudly before I lean my head back, closing my eyes so I can get the image out of my mind.

Once I sit up, my pocket starts to buzz and I realize I have a phone call. Great. Who the hell is ruining my evening? I look at the caller ID and realize that it’s an unidentifiable number. Wonderful. Hopefully it isn’t some random person from Soho asking me to attend some shoddy art festival or something next weekend. Really don’t want to have to hang up quickly.

“Hello?” I bark into the phone.

“Lo-ho, Fo’ Sho’!” a voice hollers into my ear and I have to hold it an arm’s length away to keep from going deaf. Jesus, is it who I think it is?

“Trace?”

“Sup bitch?” and for the first time in three months I’ve received a drunk dial. Oh how I have not missed these little pearls of beauty in my life.

“How much have you had to drink tonight?” I ask and the man giggles incessantly before I hear something crack in the background.

“We’re gonna party!” he squeals in the phone and I roll my eyes before I get up off the bench and continue to walk. Sitting down is going to make me extremely agitated and while I really want to bite his head off, I restrain myself.

“How did you get this number?”

“I’m an agent. A secret agent!” he reveals and I feel like I’ve been thrown back into the second grade. “I can get anything I want!”

“Then why are you calling me?”

“Because I want you…” his voice fades away before another sound is heard in the background. Someone else’s voice.

“Hello?”

I hang up before my mouth says anything without first consulting my brain. The smart thing would have been to say hello back, but that would have been a huge mistake on my part. I’m not ready to talk to him yet; I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to talk to him, at least not now.

The wind starts to pick up and I think I’m done walking around London at night. I have work to do over the weekend and next week is going to be filled with answering Rhonda’s questions about the impending Gala and which one of us will be the one getting trashed for the evening.

I hope to God it’s me.

“You look gorge, Lauren. Really. That dress is perfect, really. Such a buy, I can’t believe you managed to find it on sale,” Rhonda explains as she takes a long drag from her cigarette before she extinguishes the stub in the ashtray located on my small balcony. She’s dressed in the chic black dress she has reserved for all these parties and she’s watching me stand in front of my full length mirror while I model off the dress I’m wearing for this evening.

The Gala has already started, but Rhonda and I are going to be making a late entrance. Fashionable, yes, but late nonetheless. I’m sure our boss won’t be too happy but he’s going to have to suck it up and deal with it. The way I’m performing at my new job, I shouldn’t have a problem getting a promotion by Christmas.

“You don’t look bad either. Granted you wore that dress when we went to see Les Mis two weeks ago, but you look good nonetheless,” I joke and she swaps me on the shoulder before she walks over towards my bed and picks up my wrap from the comforter. She throws it to me and I quickly pull it around my shoulders. Her phone starts to ring in the living room and she quickly runs out of my room to answer it.

Apparently it’s Corey on the other line because I can hear Rhonda using her ‘professional voice’ as she paces through my apartment. I use this time to continue getting ready and praying to God I don’t run into William from Advertising tonight. The man has been trying to get me to go out with him from the moment I stepped foot into the International offices and while I do enjoy his accent, his breath is something else.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be. The thought of being cordial and sociable with a bunch of people who I hardly know hardly sounds appealing,” I respond as we exit my flat and head towards the ground floor.

“Hmm, well you’ll get over it,” Rhonda says with a laugh.

“God, I hope so.”

This party is absolutely insane and I am so glad that I had absolutely nothing to do with it.

For the first time in a long time, I can sit back and watch other people run around like chickens with their heads cut off. I don’t have to make sure the caterer is getting the food ready and I don’t have to have the taxi company on speed dial so we can take the drunk people out in moderation. It’s so relaxing and I’m really enjoying leaning back against a giant column while sipping on some champagne.

I don’t even know why we’re having this party, but I’m not complaining. Free food, a chance for me to look really cute, and I don’t have to worry about getting up in the morning to work. What more could I want?

“More champagne?” a caterer asks me. Well I do want that.

I take a full glass and place my empty one on his tray before he disappears into the sea of people. Rhonda is off somewhere flirting shamelessly with some random guy in the A&R department and I’m fine just sitting back and watching the people and the scenery.

They really went all out in planning this party. It’s in one of the gigantic ballrooms at the Four Seasons located in central London and it’s gorgeous. For some odd reason they’ve decided on a theme of Winter Wonderland even though it’s autumn and not even Thanksgiving yet. But the decorations are exquisite.

The whole place is decorated in white and soft, yellow light. It must have cost a fortune to decorate it like a forest in the wintertime and it’s more extravagant than anything I’ve ever planned before. It almost reminds me of the dinner I had with Justin at Tavern on the Green and…

Yeah, we aren’t going to think about that, Lauren.

“Are you having a good time, Lauren?” Rhonda asks as she slides up along side me. She’s lightly toasted and she’s leaning haphazardly against the white Grecian column I’ve partnered up with for the evening. “I’m having a great time! Did you know the Beckhams are here? I don’t know why, Toria doesn’t even have a recording contract anymore! She looks like a twig, although I do fancy her husband!”

“Rho, stop it. You’re going to make a scene,” I say under my breath as I pull the glass of alcohol from her clutches.

“Nah. You’ll probably flip your lid when you find out who just walked in,” Rhonda says casually before she erupts into giggles.

“Who, William?” I ask with a pained voice. The last thing I need to do is have William follow me around the ballroom trying to get me a drink or have me dance with him. He’s a sweet guy, really, but I just don’t want to deal with him on a night where I’m supposed to act like I’m having fun. And being in the company of William isn’t anyone’s idea of fun.

“Nope,” she giggles secretively and I have to admit it’s pissing me off. I hate it when people get drunk because they either tell you things straight up or they decide that it’s better for you to guess. And Rhonda is the latter. “You’ll know it when you see him!”

But I don’t need Rhonda to elaborate on anything because I just caught sight of a rather short young man pushing his way through the crowd of Zomba employees, a taller figure following closely on his heels.

“Oh fuck me,” I whisper under my breath before I turn around to face the blanch column. Rhonda laughs loudly and claps her hands as I bring a hand up to my face to shield myself from the two figures walking in our direction. I pray to God they haven’t seen me because I know that the standard round of awkward questions will follow.

“Your face is bloody priceless,” Rhonda crows and I want to throw champagne in her face and tell her to grow up. I have to make a clean exit from this ballroom before I run into one of them. I feel bad for making Rhonda leave early, but there is no way I’m going to let her stay…

Where did she go?

“There’s someone I think you’ll want to meet,” I hear Rhonda’s voice over the string quartet that’s just started playing. Oh God, if she’s doing what I think she’s doing I will never speak to her again. Ever.

“Look, I don’t even know you,” his voice protests and I pray to the little Baby Jesus that he’ll get fed up and walk away. But knowing Rhonda, she won’t let him.

“Nonsense. We’re practically family when you think about it,” she exalts and I quickly move to the other side of the column just as Rhonda pushes Justin to the place where I was just standing. “Where the blazes did she run off to?”

Now’s my chance. Just run for the exit and screw Rhonda. She can fend for herself tonight. I can’t even imagine looking him in the face let alone actually talking to him. I start to book it for the exit but I run right into a smaller figure and I swear under my breath when I notice the ridiculous tattoo on his forearm.

Leave it to Trace to make black tie casual.

“Well imagine finding you here!” he crows with triumph, “You’re looking good Lauren. Where are you going?”

“Away from you, Ayala,” I sneer before I try to walk around him. But he’s a quick little bugger because his hand is now latched firmly on my arm and he isn’t letting me go. He’s strong too.

“Would you just talk to him?” he asks me sincerely and I shake my head. “Stop being so damn stubborn and just give him the time of day. I’m not asking you to sleep with him or give him your first-born child. Just have the decency to ask him how he is.”

Apparently Trace learned how to speak coherently since I last saw him because his words are striking a chord in my head even though I don’t want to listen to it. He grins when he sees my shoulders droop and he quickly guides me back to the column where I was previously standing. I’ll just say hello, good job on the European Music Awards, and a hasty goodbye and then I don’t have to see him ever again.

Good plan. Brilliant, even. 

He’s standing with his back towards us, apparently having a pained conversation with Rhonda who is now completely trashed. I would love to walk away and stand from a distance while I take in his discomfort but seeing as Trace has a cast iron grip on my hand, I know I’m not going anywhere. Great.

“Hey, Justin!” Trace calls out and he slowly turns around to face us and… sweet suffering Christ on the Cross, he looks absolutely gorgeous. Like, breath stealing gorgeous. Why have I never seen him in a tuxedo before and why didn’t he wear one before? Good God Almighty.

The look on his face changes from aggrieved to practically euphoric and I nervously tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I don’t need to be feeling like this and I don’t want to feel like this when he’s looking at me. These feelings should not be resurfacing and I shouldn’t even be having them in the first place!

“Um, hey Trace,” he says quietly and I can hear the anxiousness in his voice. Good to know that he’s feeling just as awkward as me.

“Look who I found!” he says cheerily and I want to sock Trace in the face. The little bastard is going to get it, I swear.

“Hi, Lauren,” Justin whispers before he looks me in the eye. I think my knees just buckled because he’s looking at me with those stupid blue eyes that just draw you in. I don’t want to be drawn in, I want to be cast away and I almost certainly don’t want to be speaking to him again. Oy vey.

“Hey,” I say softly and Trace lets go of my arm before he rushes over to Rhonda and pushes her towards some tables and chairs on the opposite side of the room. Great, alone with Justin. Just what I’ve always wanted.

“How are you?” we both ask at the exact same time and we both break into nervous laughter in unison. Shit, I need a drink.

“You go first,” he ventures.

“I’m doing well. You?”

“As well as can be expected.” This is just a big, steaming pile of awkward shit.

“That’s good, I guess,” I try and I know we’re going nowhere fast. Which is a good thing right now, but I don’t want to excuse myself because then I’ll be a rude bitch and that’s not something I want him to think that I am anymore.

Wait, why the fuck do I care what he thinks? I’m done with him! Why should I care?

And no, I refuse to believe its love, because it isn’t.

“Well I’m better now,” he adds before he flashes a sheepish grin that I know is supposed to make a million girls weak in the knees but I try my best not to let it affect me. I’ve lived with that smile for about four years, give or take, and I’m not about to let it get to me.

And his blatant attempts at shy flirting are going to get him nowhere.

“That’s good.”

“Yes, it’s very good,” he responds and I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the column. Maybe if I show him I’m bored as hell, he’ll get the message and leave me alone. But instead we’ve fallen into a silent battle of the wills. He doesn’t budge from his position in front of me and I am not leaving my little station for anything. The building could fall around me and I wouldn’t move. And I know that he isn’t going to be moving either. Splendid.

The quartet stars up a new number, a waltz by the sound of it, and I let my head lean against the pillar. I close my eyes for a moment and when I open them, his hand is in my line of vision, outstretched.

“Would you dance with me?” he questions, almost pleads. I look up into his eyes and I can see a mixture of beseeching and want. Eh, what hurt could it do? Besides, once we’re done, I’ll get the hell out of here and forget this ever happened.

I put my hand in his and blatantly ignore the fluttering in my stomach. It has to be the champagne that’s the only explanation for it. We make it to the middle of the dance floor and I can feel the tension that’s between us and I really don’t want to play with that. Fucking around with this type of fire is bound to get one of us thrown into the hospital with third degree burns over the majority of our bodies.

And I refuse to be the victim.

He places his hand on my lower back and I unceremoniously drape an arm over his shoulder before he takes my right hand in his and we’re off at a nice, leisurely waltz around the floor.

I notice Trace and Rhonda standing by the food. Rhonda is practically on the ground passed out, but Trace is munching on some little crab cakes and watching Justin and I with rapt attention, a huge smile on his face. If the little troll thinks something is going to happen, he’s dead wrong.

“Did you watch the EMAs?” Justin questions as we continue our dance around the floor. I don’t want to partake in conversation right now, all I want to do is dance and then get the hell out of there.

“Yeah. It was a good show.” It really was. He did a good job with the hosting and I was pretty proud that he won a couple awards. Watching him make that album and then seeing him cash in on that success is something I secretly enjoy. Not that I’d ever tell him that.

“Thanks. It was such a crazy week.”

“Glad it’s over?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh hell yes,” he says quickly and I find myself laughing at his relief. The ice is cracking…

“Its good to see you again, Lauren. I miss you…”

“Justin,” I say swiftly, cutting off his words. I don’t want this to turn into New York again. I don’t want to fight. “Please don’t.” My resolve is crumbling and I want to kick myself for agreeing to dance with him. He’s got me out here and now I can’t turn away because that would just look extremely awkward and I know Trace will probably run up to me and push me back to Justin.

“Lauren,” he starts as he spins me around quickly before his hand is back on my waist and the song changes to an even slower paced song. Is the quartet playing Coldplay? I’m too busy trying to place what the song is but Justin’s voice brings me back to the conversation he wants to have.

“I need you to listen to me and don’t say anything until I’m finished.” I don’t think that’s going to happen. I have a feeling I’m going to be interjecting with comments here and there. He’s never been able to keep me quiet for long and I don’t think this case is going to be any different.

“I’m sorry for what happened. I’m sorry for not being honest and for stringing you along. I never meant to hurt you and my intentions weren’t out of spite or revenge. I know I’m a huge dick, and it took me hurting you to finally see that. I’ve been kicking myself every day since you left because I let something so good and wonderful walk out of my life. I honestly and without a doubt love you…ah! Don’t say anything!” he says quickly as I open my mouth to say something. What, I don’t know, but I want him to stop talking. I don’t think I’m ready to hear this…

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me and I know that I’ll never take you for granted again. You’ve been there through absolutely everything and you did it your way and stood up for yourself and showed me that you can be who you are and not be sorry for it. I’ve changed for the better because of you. And I don’t think that I can ever stop what I feel for you.

“And I know you feel something too because what else would explain the tears in your eyes?” My hand leaves its position on his shoulder and I press a palm to my face, trying to erase the tears that have, unbeknownst to me, fallen down my face.

“Anyway…I guess I’m giving you an ultimatum. I’m going back to the States tomorrow and there’s a seat on my plane with your name on it. It leaves at eleven o’clock with or without you…” his voice fades away as he reaches into his coat and pulls out an envelope. He hands it to me and I notice that it has my name scrawled on it in his almost illegible handwriting. Other couples are dancing around us and all I can stare at is that damn packet resting in my hands. “If you’re there, we can figure <i>this</i> out. And if you aren’t, then I’ll stop. I’ll try my best to find a way to move on and maybe we’ll be better people because of it. But I know I won’t be able to be who I am if you aren’t there with me and…” his voice falls and he looks down at the ground before he claps a hand to his forehead. “Jesus Christ.”

“What?”

“Who the fuck am I kidding? I’m a complete mess without you. I haven’t been able to sleep knowing that you aren’t just a phone call away. I don’t know what to do when things go wrong because I don’t know who to turn to. I tried to be with other women but dammit I can’t! Do you realize I haven’t had sex in almost three months? It’s driving me crazy knowing that you’re the only person who has ever made me feel this way! You’re worse than the crack I used to shove up my nose and I fucking love it. I adore being addicted to you, to know that you’re the only person who really gets me even though you won’t show it… I need to stop. You have your ticket, you have your choice, you have my heart. Just know that I love you and I think I’ll love you no matter what decision you make. Enjoy your evening, Lauren. Hopefully I’ll see you later.”

And before I have a chance to speak he’s pushed his way through the horde of dancers and has disappeared into the crowd, leaving me stranded in the middle of the floor with my future resting in my hands.

Dammit.

***

Deranged Delusions

24. Goodbye May Seem Forever

I woke up today with that terrible feeling in my stomach. The feeling that no matter how good you think the day will turn out, you know something is going to go horribly wrong. I know she isn’t going to come. I know she probably threw out that envelope as soon as she got back to her house and she’s probably sleeping in, wrapped up in her comforter and not caring that I’m sitting in a golf cart, zooming for the private jet that’s supposed to whisk me away to the States.

“You okay, man? You’re white as a sheet,” Trace points out in the seat next to me as the cart takes me closer and closer to the jet that’s going to put an ocean and an entire country between Lauren and me. “She’s going to be here.”

Somehow Trace’s last minute optimism isn’t helping.

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I know you, and I know Lauren. She’ll be here. We’ve got half an hour until the plane takes off and I know that she’s going to get on that plane and the two of you can go back to your house and have your fucking happily ever after. Trust me.”

For the first time in my life, I don’t trust Trace.

Lauren looked stunning last night. She looked really good and she didn’t look a mess. A part of me thought she’d be a mess proving once and for all that she can’t live without me. But she was so put together when Trace brought her over and I had half the mind to turn around and run away because she just looked so…damn intimidating. But I knew I was there for a reason and I wasn’t going to back down until I said what I needed to be said and to give her the plane ticket.

A plane ticket that, I’m sure, is sitting at the bottom of her trashcan.

But there was that one moment where she started to cry during my crazy long speech that I had rehearsed time and time again on the car ride over to the party. Granted everything I had wanted to say flew out the window the moment I saw her and all that came out was a jumbled attempt at an apology and me telling her how I really feel.

I hope she got the message.

My grip tightens on the bouquet of roses on my lap and I look over at Trace with a pained expression. I don’t think I’ve ever been more nervous in my life and I have Lauren to thank.

“What happens if she isn’t on the plane?” I ask Trace for about the hundredth time and he sighs heavily and rolls his eyes, something that reminds me of Lauren. God, I have got to get my mind off of this whole thing!

“Justin we’ve been over and over this. She’ll come running up the stairs to the plane right when they’re about to close the door. You’re going to pull her in, give her the flowers, she’ll confess her undying love for you, and then you’ll proceed to make out the entire flight home. Believe me, she’s going to make you wait and suffer and as soon as you see her, you aren’t going to care anymore. Its pretty much foolproof,” Trace explains with a causal air as the cart finally pulls up in front of the plane.

I give him a look of doubt before I pick up the flowers and jump off the back of the cart. Trace makes his way over to a group of people who are no doubt in charge of flying the plane and taking care of it. I don’t know what they’re talking about, probably discussing how long it’s going to take to get from Heathrow to Los Angeles.

Quite frankly, if Lauren isn’t on this plane they might as well crash it in the Atlantic. It sounds bad and terrible, but if I can’t be with her then I would rather go down in a fiery inferno.

“It’s going to take us a couple hours longer to get to LA so one of the co-pilots is going to stock up a few more DVDs for us to watch,” Trace explains as he walks over to me. He hoists his carry on over his shoulder and gives me a worried glance. Leave it to Trace to know when something is exceedingly wrong.

“Do you remember how I told you in the car that if Lauren didn’t come I’d be okay with it?” I asked Trace as we made our way for the airplane.

“Yeah?”

“I was totally bullshitting you. I want you to throw me off the plane once it takes off,” I add. My mouth is totally dry and I feel like I’m going to be sick to my stomach. I almost want to duck my head into the flowers and throw up all over them, but I don’t think Lauren would want that. That is if she’s coming.

“Come on, man,” Trace encourages as he drapes an arm over my shoulders, “Everything is going to turn out for the best. Just watch.”

I don’t want to watch. I just want to fast forward to when we’re forty thousand miles in the air and I’m either the happiest man in the world or…completely heartbroken.

“You’re just being all negative because you don’t want to get your hopes up. You can get your hopes up because she is going to be here!” Trace enthuses and I give him a skeptical look before I start up the steps that will take me into the cabin of the aircraft.

It’s a pretty sweet jet. I mean it’s private and all; but is by no means mine. It’s one of those Rent-A-Planes and it saves me a shit load of money, which I’m happy about. And then there’s no one trying to get into first class to gawk at me or something equally as awkward. It’s the only way to fly in my opinion although I don’t think I’ll be doing much of anything should Lauren not be here.

I need to stop thinking about this. I need to watch a movie, I need to play a game, I need something to fucking do! I sit down in the first comfortable leather chair I can plant my butt in and my face immediately goes to the window so I can watch everything that’s happening on the tarmac. I refuse to miss her joyous arrival and I want to be the first person to spots her.

Trace is still outside talking to the pilots and stuff and another person comes running up with a bag full of what I assume are DVDs and other things that can offer us entertainment while we wait for take off. Apparently they’re still fuelling the plane and I’m ready to rush off to the bathroom to get rid of breakfast.

“Calm down, dude,” Marty says behind me. He along with Trace, Rachel, Ken, and my style team are all on the plane ready to take it back to the States. There’s about eight in all on a plane that seats ten. I’m kinda happy that I’m not on a full flight because I don’t think I’ll be able to deal with a lot of people shooting me pity looks the whole way home.

“I can’t calm down. I need a drink,” I mutter and Marty is quick to respond. He returns a few minutes later with a mixed drink and I down it in one gulp. I’m not going to get drunk, but it sure as hell feels good to know that I can turn to one thing for comfort and it won’t give some kind of pity party.

“It’s all good, J,” Marty explains, “You know she’ll be here.” This is weird coming from Marty because he and Lauren haven’t exactly been on the best of terms while she was working with me. I’m kind of surprised that he’s all for her coming back, but then again I am his boss and when I’m not happy, he gets stiffed out of a good paycheck.

“I hope so.”

Trace bounds up the steps and rushes inside the plane with the bag that was handed to him. I glance down nervously at my watch and see that we’ve got about fifteen minutes until eleven o’clock and our scheduled take off. I’m beginning to suspect that Trace’s scenario is going to play out. Lauren is always punctual but I’m sure she’ll be late just this once to make me squirm.

“So I’ve got a couple of good movies here. What do you want?” Trace questions and I shrug with indifference before I look at my best friend and sigh heavily. I pass Marty my empty glass and he takes it as an indication to fill up my glass again.

“I want one where shit blows up. Lots and lots of shit…”

“Dude, that isn’t sanitary at all,” Trace jokes as he makes a face of disgust. I give him a scathing look and roll my eyes. I turn around to see Marty standing by the small bar by another pair of seats, mixing my drink. Thank God for him. My hands are shaking so bad I don’t think I could button up a shirt let alone pour a drink for myself.

“Shut the fuck up Trace. You know what I mean. I want a movie where buildings blow up, people blow up, just lots of stuff blowing up!” I’m getting antsy and frustrated and Trace pissing around isn’t helping my shot nerves at all.

“Okay, well how about whole cities? I’ve got Independence Day…”

“Yeah that works,” I snap before I snatch the drink out of Marty’s hand. I am so not in the mood to be dealing with any of this. I want to call her, but I don’t have her number and I don’t want to seem like a nuisance. I don’t want to have her pick up right when she’s deciding on whether or not she should go and have my voice make her realize that being with me is stupid and…

Jesus, please kill me now.

Trace puts the movie in and I try my best to get involved with the film, but I’m still checking my watch every other minute and soon we’ve got five minutes until they finish fuelling up the plane and the door closes. My heart is pounding right out of my chest and I think this is what it feels like to have a heart attack. Will Smith’s face fills up the television screen in front of me and I try my best to make smart ass comments at the screen, but my thoughts wander off to Lauren and how wonderful she looked last night and how she probably doesn’t need me anymore.

The pilots are boarding the plane.

Oh God I am so nervous.

They smile at the group of us in the cabin and enter the cockpit, closing the door behind them. Everyone is watching me with bated breath because I think they know that at any second I am going to snap. And I think I am. I really do think this will be the first and only time that I completely lose control and go bat shit crazy.

If she’s not here…I don’t know what I’ll do.

“Trace, please shoot me now,” I request and Trace just rolls his eyes and turns off the movie. Jeff Goldblum and an arguing president disappear and we’re left with silence, the only sound is the whirring of the jet engines as they come to life.

“Don’t sweat, Justin, she’ll be here,” but I can hear the worry edging in his voice and I can appreciate him trying to be brave for me, but he doesn’t need to do it anymore. I know she isn’t coming.

“I’m not so sure…”

“Don’t doubt it, J. She’s coming, I can feel it. Have I ever been wrong on a feeling before?”

I don’t even want to think about all the times that Trace has been right about things because my forehead is too busy being glued to the window, watching for the running figure at the far end of the tarmac. I know there’s going to be a figure, running to catch up with the plane, and it’s going to be Lauren. I just know it. It’s going to happen!

“Seatbelts everyone!” Ken quips from the back and I find myself doing the exact opposite. My belt is off, the flowers are thrown on my seat and I’m knocking on the cockpit door.

“Can you open up please?” I ask frantically and after waiting for two antagonizing seconds, the door is opened and a very nervous looking co-pilot is staring up at me. I think he might be smaller than Trace, but I can’t think about that right now.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“Yeah, um…I know this is a big request, but can you please keep the door open for at least five more minutes? I’m expecting someone and she’s running a few minutes late. Can you please keep it open for five more minutes?” I all but beg. I’m crossing all my fingers and toes and praying, praying, praying that this guy says yes. If he doesn’t I just might have to sock him.

“Certainly sir. We can wait for five more minutes but after that I’m afraid we’re going to have to proceed with our take off procedures.”

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” I turn around and grab the flowers and walk towards the door. The stairs are still there and I sit down on the top rung, holding onto the flowers and watching the bustling Heathrow airport. The clouds are hanging low and there’s definitely a threat of rain in the air. How fitting.

Planes are taking off and landing and my eyes are still trained on the place where our golf cart came from. I’m staring so hard I’m squinting and everything becomes a blur. I won’t be surprised if I pop a vessel in my brain with the way I’m focusing…

A hand lands on my shoulders and I turn around and see the co-pilot standing above me. It can’t already be five minutes, can it?

“Sir, we must take off now.”

“No! Please, give me another five minutes! I promise she’ll be here in five minutes!”

“I’ll put in a word with the tower. Maybe you should call your friend?” he offers and I want to tell him that I can’t call her because that wouldn’t be good at all and now my frustration is growing.

How can she be so heartless to string me along like this? How can she keep me waiting? Unless something bad happened and she got into a car accident on the way over here. Or something as equally appalling happened. Oh Jesus, what if she's hurt? What if she's lying somewhere bleeding in a ditch? What then? I could never forgive myself if I left and she was coming here because she loves me and she ended up getting seriously injured in a car accident or something.

Before I know it a hand lands on my shoulder again and I look up to see Trace standing there. I know what this means. They have to leave now and so they sent Trace out here because I won’t beat him up like I would the co-pilot.

“Justin, the pilot is getting upset. We have to leave now.”

“Can we just wait five more minutes?” I plead. I have never felt so pitiful in my life. “Please?”

“J they’re on a schedule. They can’t stay any longer. Come on, let’s go back inside and maybe we can try calling Lauren when we land in LA.”

But I don’t want to call her when we get back to California. I want her to be with me now. In my arms, now. Telling me that she loves me now. Calling her from California and having her tell me that she doesn’t love me and that was the reason why she wasn’t there is just adding more nails into my already closed coffin. I can’t do that to myself. And I can’t do that to her.

Trace manages to get me back into the plane and I watch with a heavy heart as an airport employee drives the stairs away from the plane and one of our attendants closes the door, sealing it tight.

That’s it – she’s not here. She made her choice and I have never felt more lost in my life.

“Don’t give up hope yet, Justin. She could still pull a ‘Run-After-The-Plane’ thing…” Trace says with optimism in his voice that I wish I could have right now. But then again, he is right.

I shouldn’t give up hope until we’re at cruising altitude. Then I can have Trace throw me out of the plane and maybe, by some Grace of God, I’ll fall down on Lauren walking somewhere in London and kill her too. Take that, bitch.

The co-pilot goes over the flight procedures and I’m not even listening. My face is still glued to the window in hopes that Lauren will make a gallant effort to run after the plane, but she isn’t coming.

And the plane starts its final charge down the runway, and my heart has stopped beating.

We pull into the sky and I’m thrown back against my seat, the roses still sitting in my lap. I want to smack someone across the face with them. Trace is the closest and I do believe he is going to be bitch slapped by a heartbroken guy a couple thousand miles up in the air. How many people can say they had that happen to them?

Then again, how many people can say they’ve been stood up on an airplane after they’ve given their entire heart and soul to one person?

Yeah, not a lot.

“This is your co-pilot speaking and we have now reached our cruising altitude of thirty-eight thousand feet. So sit back, relax, and enjoy your flight.”

Yeah I’ll enjoy my mother fucking flight all right.

“Justin,” Trace begins, his voice so quiet you can hardly hear it above the purring of the engines. He knows he’s walking on glass and he’s right to assume that. I think everyone in the plane knows that they’re in an enclosed space with a starved animal that will attack at any small movement.

“What?” my voice is hollow and desolate and I have never felt so…let down in my life. “What do you want?”

“I-I’m sorry, man. I was wrong.”

“You bet your ass you were wrong. Jesus Christ,” I mutter under my breath and I punch the side of the plane. Hard. I swear loudly and lean over onto Trace, trying my best to keep the tears from falling. I’m not doing a very good job because all I can see is her face swimming in front of me like I’ve just gotten hit in the head by a mallet. You know, like in those stupid cartoons that I can’t stand? Yeah, the last thing I need are little Laruens  swimming around my line of vision.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well sorry doesn’t bring her here now does it?”

“No. And I’m sorry. I really thought she was going to be here.”

“Would you stop fucking apologizing, Trace? Just leave me the fuck alone!” I snap. He looks hurt, but he can’t be feeling as bad as I do right now. Nodding slowly, he gets up out of his seat and walks to the back of the plane, no doubt to converse quietly with the rest of the group about how fucked up Lauren is for standing me up like this.

Five minutes later, I’m still staring straight in front of me and wondering how she could be so heartless. Trace enters my line of sight and walks into the bathroom at the front of the plane. Sighing loudly, I lean forward and rest my head in my lap, letting the flowers fall unceremoniously to the floor. I don’t need them anymore and I can’t even stand to look at them.

I was so stupid to think that she actually cared for me the way I do for her. I was insane to believe that she would look past the person I was when we first met and see someone who would love her and cherish her for all the things she did and didn’t do. It was delusional…<i>I</i> was delusional and I still am. But that’s slowly starting to fade into obscurity and hopefully that means I’ll be able to move on.

Who am I kidding? I’m even more of a mess.

“God,” I mutter to myself as I stare at the ground. I’m furiously blinking back tears and…why is this so hard?

The rustling of the plastic wrapping around the flowers moves and I don’t even have the heart to look up to watch Trace pick them up. A tear falls down onto the ground and melts into the carpet and I know that there’s plenty more where that came from. The plastic rustles again, this time more insistently and I’m going to kill Trace.

“Trace would you stop it? I don’t want those damn flowers.”

“I don’t know they look kinda pretty to me.”

My head shoots up, my eyes bug out of my head, and Lauren is standing in front of me, holding onto her bouquet of roses a smile plastered on her face.

I rocket to my feet and stare at her and I know the color has completely drained from my face. I can’t even breathe right and I think my heart has picked up an irregular way of beating because it is thumping however the fuck it pleases in my chest.

“Lauren?” I manage to gasp out even though my head is telling me not to speak. This is just too…weird. “What the fuck are you doing here? You didn’t get on the plane.”

“I called Marty, he made sure I got on the plane before you guys got here.”

“Fucker!” Trace yelps from behind me and I turn around to see Marty smiling triumphantly at me, still holding my glass of alcohol in his hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you would have opened up your mouth, which is surprisingly big for such a small body,” Lauren quips and I find myself laughing at Trace’s look of indignation on his face. All thoughts of this being a dream fade away because in my dreams, Lauren doesn’t say much and she definitely doesn’t open her mouth to make smart ass comments at my friends.

But that’s one of the reasons why I love her so much.

“I honestly thought you weren’t going to show up. Like, when the plane took off…I think everyone on the ground could hear my heart breaking,” I murmur and she reaches out to close the distance between us and takes hold of my hand.

“I almost didn’t. That’s why I decided to show up early to see if you were serious about this. If you weren’t, you would have gotten over it by the time you got to LA and I would wait until you got off the plane and then I’d catch a flight back to London and go on with my life. I was going to wait until we were halfway there, but you looked so damn miserable…”

“It was a pretty shitty thing to do,” I shoot back and I want to just stop the words coming out of my mouth because the last thing I need is another fight while everything is falling so neatly into place.

“But I had to be sure. I wasn’t about to walk into this blindly and hope that you were going to change and not be a complete jack ass…”

“Well I thought my showing up at that party and pouring my heart out was enough to show you that I did change.”

“Oh Jesus, here we go again,” Trace mutters and I throw him a scathing look before I turn back towards Lauren who is still holding onto my hand although her grip has tightened considerably.

“You’re always barging into my life with oh so elegant words, and yeah I fell for them for the past few years, but I learned better and I wanted to make sure you were serious about this before I changed my life again according to what you want.”

“But is this what you want, Lauren? Do you want to be with me?”

“I wouldn’t be standing here in front of you if I didn’t.”

I pull on her arm hard and she stumbles forward but I’m there to catch her. Lauren effortlessly fits into my arms and she lets out a curse as the flowers escape her grasp and fall to the floor.

“I dropped your flowers,” she says with a small, nervous laugh.

“Does it look like I give a fuck about the flowers right now?” I whisper hoarsely. She shakes her head and just like that the roaring sound is back and I can’t stop kissing her. And this time there isn’t anything. It’s just us, and I couldn’t ask for anything better.

“And the eight hour make out session begins,” Trace sighs dramatically but I really don’t care what the fuck he thinks right now. He can go watch movies with everyone else, I’m perfectly content to stand here with Lauren, kissing her, and knowing that she’s finally mine. Nope, I will stand right here…at least until the captain turns on the ‘Fasten Seatbelt’ Sign.

“Lauren,” I mutter against her lips after a few more minutes of glorious lip on lip action.

“Mmm?” she hums before she starts to kiss my neck, her tongue tracing small circles along the edge of my collared shirt. If she keeps this up, I might have to go pay a visit to the Mile High Club.

“Can you go to the galley and make me a sandwich?” The words have a huge effect on her because she stops kissing me immediately and pulls away, looking at me incredulously.

“Excuse me? Look you delusional son of a bitch if you think I’m crazy enough to make you a sand…”

“Lauren…” I interrupt and she gives me another scathing look.

“What?”

“I was just kidding,” I quip before she rolls her eyes and I capture her lips with mine once more. She breaks away almost immediately and I can feel my heart come to a screeching halt. Oh God, hopefully I didn’t piss her off too much. The last thing I need is to share a plane with a pissed off Lauren. Everyone would be dead.

“Kidding or not, my coming back does not mean I’m working for you.”

“I know that, Lo-ho,” I’m not that stupid. I wouldn’t dare jeopardize what I have with her, especially when it’s this fragile.

“And that has to stop, too. No more Lo-ho.”

“As long as you quit with the Timberfuck,” I retort and she throws her head back and laughs loudly.

“But it suits you so well. Like how Troll fits with Trace.”

“I heard that!” he shoots from the back of the plane. Of course he’d be listening in on the conversation, it is Trace after all.

“Maybe you’ll find out how well it suits me when we land,” I whisper seductively in her ear and I grin against it when I feel her shiver in my arms. Yeah, I still got it.

“Hmm, that a promise?” she whispers in an exceedingly husky voice and I want to throw her down on the floor right now. I <i>would</i> if it were my plane.

“You know it,” I murmur back before I kiss her again.

And just like that, we soar into paradise.

The End.

***