Justin’s guest house, 3:58 pm

It’s such a damn repetitive thing, and so annoying because I can’t just write the exact same words.  I have to manipulate the words so that they fit the need.  I told myself I could just take the money I had and take some time off—take a vacation, clear my head and then work on this.

It’s only been five days and I already have 15 applications in front of me and spent hours the past two days perfecting my resume.  I’m so ridiculous.  Vacation my ass.  It’s wishful thinking that I could just let something like joblessness not matter to me. 

I won’t give in though, and I won’t take a hand out.

It would be a hell of a lot easier.  I sigh.  I can’t give in.

Trace says I should try for entertainment companies, but I’m looking towards law firms.  I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I think it’s true what Meredith said to me:  I need to be in an office.  I thought being with her on tour would give me time to travel and be on the go.  But I can be on the go in an office, running here and there and being on top of everything that’s going on.  I think I could be a great assistant to people whose lives are much more structured than that of a pop star.

And I can travel on vacation.  I don’t need a tour to do that, because that’s not vacation, that’s not enjoying the places I’ve been.  I went to several states and places I had never been before this summer.  And I can’t tell you a damn thing about them.

Maybe Trace and I should go on vacation.  Nice Courtney, find a job first, then think about going and sipping mojitos on a beach with him.  Of course, once I get a job there’s no way I’ll be able to take off right at the start. 

Maybe just for a weekend.  Hell, what am I thinking?  He’s got to concentrate on the clothing line.  And…well, hell…would we go on a vacation?  All romantic and stuff?  Having sex every night, every morning, going out, being away from the world?  Doing nothing but relaxing in each other?

Would we do that?  We’re not even together.  I mean we are, but…

I let out a frustrated sigh because on top of all this job bull shit, I don’t even know what we are!  I have no clue if we’re just hanging out or if we’re actually dating. I mean, it’s obvious we’re dating, but we never talk about it.

“What’s up?” I feel a hand skim across my shoulders and I relax just for a moment, before dropping my pen and running my hands through my hair.

 “I hate this.”

“What?” He looks at me, and then sets an opened cardboard box on his counter, the box covered with the words “Captain Morgan.”  God, I do need a vacation.

I sigh again as he opens a cabinet and starts pulling out some of his pint glasses. I know I sound ridiculous sighing every half minute, but it’s a stress reliever and it feels good.

“So they have on these application two boxes: one that says ‘description of previous position’ and another one that says ‘skill set description.’ It’s like the same fucking thing, and I just put all this shit in my resume! It seems to me they just want to see how well I know how to bull shit the same answers five times.

He shakes his head, and I know what he’s going to say before he even opens his mouth, “If you just let me help you, you wouldn’t have to do all that.”

“Just shut up and pack your glasses.”  I wave my hand at him and pick my pen back up.   The worst part is, I’ll have to go back through later tonight ad type it all.  I’m weird; with stuff like this I have to hand write it first, scribble it out, edit it with a different colored ink, then type it to perfection.

Maybe I should just go work at Burger King or something.  Their applications are probably not nearly this ridiculous.

“I need to throw out some of this shit,” he says a few minutes later, looking at a glass with a dish-washed, faded picture of a girl in a bikini on it.

“You should.”  I roll my eyes and laugh.  “There’s a Salvation Army near my apartment.”

“Hey!” he says and turns to me with a sarcastic little smile on his face.  “Maybe you could get a job there.”

“Har Har,” I deadpan before looking back down to my papers. 

A moment later he’s sitting in the chair beside me, covering my hand with one of his and leaning his head down to catch my gaze.  “I just don’t see why you won’t let me or Meredith help you.  Hell, Meredith almost convinced Johnny to give you a job at the LA office, but then when you were so adamant on just doing it yourself she didn’t want to push it.  Do you know what working for WEG is like?  It’s like putting a gold seal of approval on your resume.  It’s like, fuck you Whitham.”

“Yeah, but I want to say ‘fuck you Whitham’ on my own.”

He leans back, that same little fucker smile on his face.  “Ya know, I kind of have this fantasy of going to a party for the industry and him being there.  And you’re like on my arm all hot in a slinky black dress, and we can just make out right in front of him.  And it’s like, yeah punk, I get this hot shit now.”

I just stare at him for a moment before saying quickly, “You’re such a fucking weirdo.” He ignores my sarcastic comment and leans over and kisses my temple.  “What was that for?” I try not to let it, but it makes me smile at him.

“Can I at least suggest some names of places to try?”  He’s close, sitting on the edge of his seat and his hand is now lightly brushing against my face.

“No, and why are you changing the subject.”  I nod to his hand against my face.

“Cause I want to.” He’s staring at me so intently and his eyes are so big and brown that they draw me in.  I can’t help it.  He does this to me.  He draws me in, no matter how much of a jackass he is, or how much I want to be this strong, independent woman, he fucking draws me in.  Before I know it I’m kissing him, sighing still, leaning up against him, touching his neck.  He’s warm and his lips feel so damn good against mine.  And he tastes just like he always tastes, warm and comforting.

He pulls back with a laugh when I start to deepen the kiss.  “What’s this for?”

“Because I want to, too.”  I smile.

He bites his lip and leans in to whisper, “You want to make out?”

“Oh my god.”  I push at him and roll my eyes as his eyebrows rise. I laugh at him and I can feel him staring at me as I look back down at my applications.

“Are we dating, Courtney?” he asks out of the blue.  I’m a little shocked by it.  I mean, for a second I almost rolled my eyes and said “stop being ridiculous.”  But he asked it so seriously and well, it’s…it’s a serious question, one I want to know the answer to myself.

“I don’t know,” I say just staring at him.

He shrugs and the look on his face makes me want to dive into him, again.  Yeah, I feel needy and I want him, and I feel pathetic and girly. And I love it.  Because I really do want him as mine and only mine, even though I know he hasn’t gone around and been with other girls, even when we were not speaking.  I know that his mind and heart has been with me ever since this summer.  It’s just this weird thing.  It’s just a word, just a statement… “Dating.”  It really means nothing.

But it means everything.  ‘Cause it means we’re over it.  It means we really have started over.  It means that this summer wasn’t a lost cause and wasn’t a waste of time.

It means I can dive into him, no questions asked. 

“You’re helping me move, I’m helping you with your applications.  I mean, it’s kind of a couple-ish thing.”

“You’re tired of it being kind of weird with us, huh?”  It hasn’t really been weird.  But there’s been times when we’ve been close, about to kiss, or…or when we’ve been in bed together and I’ll want to tell him that…that I love him, and I can see that there are times when he just looks at me, and that he wants to say the same thing.  But there’s this barrier there.

Because of a damn word.  Because we haven’t talked about what we are or what we are doing.  So we can’t say it, even though we know it.

“You are, too.  I just don’t know.  It’s been more than a month and I’m happy, ya know? I don’t want to fuck up how we are now, but damn girl…”  He smirks and his eye lids lower.  “I miss you, ya know, in that way.”

“Are you just horny, Trace?”  I narrow my eyes at him but I’m smiling at him, flirting with him.

“Yes…” He laughs and then stops.  “And no.  I’m fucking horny as hell, but I blame that on you and your V-neck shirt today.”  I glare and pull up on my shirt.  “But it’s not about just that Courtney.  You know me better than that. Plus, I’m already getting laid by you.”  He laughs a little and I swat at him. His laughter stops and his smile fades, and the look he gives me is so serious and so deep that I just stare back at him, waiting for whatever he’s going to say to me.   “You know what I mean.  You know what it is I want.”

I don’t know what it is, but something about him right now looks so good.  I’m no longer worried about whether I have a job or not because I’m in love with him and he loves me. And it’s perfect. 

I stand up from my chair and smile down at him. “Scoot back.”

He does so, remaining seated and he looks at me with wide, expecting eyes.  I straddle his lap and sit down.

“Shit girl,” he says, automatically putting his hands on my hips and passing me a lazy smile.

“Don’t get too excited,” I scold.  “I just want to kiss you.” I lean into him.

I press my lips against his and pull back smiling before he can deepen the kiss. “On my lap?”  He smirks, his hands moving to grab at my ass.

“Shut up,” I say, and he kisses me hard. I run my hands over his head.  He shaved it again.  They both did.  The fuckers.  Yesterday I came over and Trace wasn’t here so I went over to Justin’s. He answered with a towel around his shoulders and said, “Sorry, We’re playing beauty parlor.”  I was actually surprised with how cordial Justin’s been to me.

I guess he feels like he owes it to me.  That first week his kindness to me was still a little forced, but now—I mean, we’re not buddies or anything like that, but he will joke with me a least, and he doesn’t care that I know the security code at his gate.  I bet Trace and him had some long chat about it.  Even some of Justin’s friends don’t know the code.  I hate to say it, but it does make me feel a little, teenie bit special.

Justin rolled his eyes when I commented on his hair cut, now back shaved with a little longer on top.  Meredith will squeal when she sees it. He just said, “Oh, this is nothing compared to Trace’s…”

He was in the bathroom with another buddy of theirs who had some clippers in his hand.  A towel was around Trace’s shoulders too, and he looked at me through the mirror and said, “don’t laugh!”

I laughed. And he winked at me.

And when he was done, he took me back to his house and we fucked.  Twice.

Shit, and right now Trace tastes so good, sweet and minty.  He was sucking on a peppermint earlier—his way to stop smoking.  I’ve just…stopped.   Don’t know how or why. I just haven’t bought any more since I finished my last one a week or so ago.  Trace has tried to too, but he’s had more trouble.  I think because for him it’s not really sensation of smoking but the fact that he has an oral fixation.  He’s now constantly sucking or chewing on something.

I pull back from him and press my forehead against his and breathe deep as he holds me.  It feels good to be close to him, pressing against him, smelling him.  I could tell when I came over after lunch that he had taken a shower right before I got here, and I held him for the longest time when I walked in.  I felt silly, but he just smelled so good.  I open my eyes and pull back slightly and say, “It’s not weird anymore to me.  I mean, last weekend Mere got me to admit that we were dating.  I think it’s good between us now.”

“Me too…” He smiles.   I smile back.

And I can’t help myself.  I don’t know who initiates it or goes for it, but my arms are around his neck and his hands are on my hips again and we’re kissing like there’s no tomorrow. It’s fucking amazing, and I know, I know he’s going to pat my butt here in a minute, push me off of him and pull me into the bedroom.  I don’t care, I want it.  It’s not just about getting off and having sex with him.  It’s about being close to him.  I love being close to him.

“So…” 

We both break apart with a huge intake of air.

Rachel is in the doorway with more cardboard liquor boxes.  She blows her hair out of her face, nudges the door shut with her back, and says with a drawl, “He’s trying to convince me that he needs his entertainment system with him when he goes over seas in two weeks.  I’m pretty damn sure that’s not the truth, that they’ll frickin’ buy him a new one for his hotel. Like he’ll even have time to watch TV.”  She sets the boxes on the floor and plops on the couch, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.

“Um, Hey Rachel,” Trace says, patting my butt.  I pout inwardly knowing that it’s not to go off to the bedroom, but a pat to tell me to get off him so we’re not just sitting on each other while his best friend’s cousin is laying on his couch.  I get off of him and sit down in the chair next to him.  I put my hand on my cheek.  It feels hot.  Great, I’m blushing.  I don’t know why.  Rachel doesn’t seem to give two shits.

“Hey.  Sorry to interrupt or whatever, but he’s making my life hell.” She rolls her head to us and sighs.  “I’m about to call up Aunt Lynn and tattle.”

“He’s just picking on you because you’re his cousin,” Trace says, standing up and walking to the fridge to grab a drink.  He grabs a beer and I know why.  I smile at him as he opens the cap.  He needs to take the edge off.  I was getting to him.

I was turning him on. 

“Don’t worry about all that right now.  I’ll help you out with his stuff.”

“I know, but I just want to make sure I have all my bases covered so I can prove to him I can do this.”

“You’ll be fine,” he says, going over to sit in one of the chairs in the den with her.  I slowly breathe, forcing myself to calm down. I pull my papers back in front of me and pick up my pen, listening to their conversation as I try to organize my applications into stacks. “Once Mere gets back into town and they get to spend more time with each other, he’ll stop whining.”

I smile to myself, thinking how true that statement is.  “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Pretty much,” Trace laughs. 

The door swings open, and we all turn to see Justin’s long frame leaning in the doorway, his hand still on the doorknob. “Rach, have you called yet?”

The dogs charge into the house in front of him.  Brennan goes to Trace and gets an affectionate “pretty girl” and a fierce rub on her head.  I look back at my papers and then feel a wet nose trying to sniff the outside of my jeans.  I look down and Buckley stops, sits on his back legs and smiles at me with his tongue sticking out.

I laugh at him.

“You need to stop worrying about your damn system and pack for tomorrow,” Rachel says. “I refuse to go buy you panties because you forgot to pack them.”

“What’s tomorrow?”  I ask.  I can’t remember what Mere said their schedules were this week.  I know that she had stuff to do and Justin had stuff to do and that she’d see him on his release date and be in LA with him for several days after that.  But right now I don’t know what either of them are doing.

I guess now that I don’t have to know their schedules, I don’t remember them.  It’s kind of a relief.

“New York promo week,” Justin says.  I nod, still not looking up from my papers, wishing Buck would stop staring at me.

“Oh…” Justin laughs.  “Mere said she’s rocking Rast jeans to the party whether we like it or not.”

“Hey Courtney, maybe you two can be twins.”  I look up and smirk at Trace ‘cause he’s smiling back at me in such a flirty manner.  I asked him the other day if I needed to get an outfit for the release party, and Trace told me he’d get me some hot jeans and I could wear them with heels and a cute top.  I looked at him and asked him how much I needed to pay him to be my stylist. 

He got mad.

“He got you in a pair of jeans!”  Justin fakes surprise, and I toss my pen at him.

“Oh, shut up.”  He just laughs and picks up my pen.

“What’re yall up to?”  Justin asks, walking over to me and placing my pen on the table.  He then saunters to the fridge to grab himself a beer. 

“I’m packing and Court is doing resume application stuff.”

Justin shakes his head at me and grabs the bottle opener from the counter.  “Why don’t you just let Mere or Trace get you a job?”

“Don’t man, don’t,” Trace says.

“You can have my job!”  I laugh and turn to see Rachel wink at me.

“Oh come on, Rachel!” Justin says before going and leaning against one of the arms of the couch while sucking on his beer bottle. “Stop whining.”

“Whining?! Me?! Don’t you have someone in Atlanta to call?”  She narrows her eyes.

“She’s not in Atlanta today,” Justin spits back at her in an aggravated tone.  “She’s in Miami recording some song.”

“Then call Miami.”  She rolls her eyes, and he stands up and walks to the door. 

“Fine, you’re being a butt.”  He snaps his fingers twice and the dogs march to him as he opens the door and they trot out.  He waves his beer bottle in thanks to Trace and goodbye to the rest of us and then the door closes.

Rachel turns and sticks up her middle finger to the door.  Man, he must have really been frustrating her today.

“That’s just Justin, Rach,” Trace says.  “You know that.”

“I know, but…he’s just stupid.”  She laughs after she says it.

“Well duh,” he replies in a goofy voice, and I look over and smile at him even though he’s not paying attention to me.

“I’m definitely going to have to paint the walls in here.  And get some new furniture, too.”  I turn to look away, but in that moment Trace’s eyes move to mine and he stares.  My smile fades as his starts to grow. 

“Hey Rach,” he says, still looking at me.

“Yeah?”

His smile is wide now and he moves his eyes to Rachel. “Will you go pick out paint colors somewhere else so I can finish making out with my girlfriend?”

She groans and says, “Speaking of being a butt!” But then she laughs and waves her hand at him before turning and waving at me.  “Bye yall.”

The door shuts and she’s gone.

I eye him, assuming he’s going to saunter over to me or nod me over with a sly smile.  But he doesn’t.  And I start laughing, thinking about how crazy Rachel must be.  And how hard Justin must be on her to annoy his own cousin this bad, to try to push her to see if she can handle this and to just be an ass.  I feel sorry for her a bit, but I have a feeling she’ll do fine with him.  I don’t know her that well, but I know she can put Justin in his place.

“What’s so funny?”  Trace asks, standing up and walking over.  I look up at him and he sits himself back in the chair beside me, and spreads his legs slightly.  He smirks at me.

“I’m glad that now I can concentrate on…”  He bites his lip.  “On other things.”

“Well yeah,” I shrug and look back down at my paper only so I can distract myself from the look he’s giving me.  I’m playing hard to get, but I know in a minute or two I’ll be back, sitting on his lap, kissing him again.  “You can work on packing.”

“I mean you…” He reaches over and pulls on my hand, “…you, Court.”

“I’m trying to get a job,” I say weakly as he pulls me up, barely tugging on my hand.

He leans in and says close against my lips, “And I’m trying to pack.”

“Trace…”  I whine.  I admit it.  I fucking whine.  I do it and I hate that I’m reminded of how many times I’d roll my eyes at Justin and Mere doing this sort of thing, of other couples doing these things.  I do it, too.  And it’s not something that just started happening.  I am that girl.  I’m the girl, the woman, whatever, who loves her man and plays around with him and acts silly and ridiculous.  I might keep it to myself.  I might just keep it for him and me. It might be a secret, this silly, giddy, excited side of me.  But it’s there.

For the longest time I prided myself on being different, on being mature and sure of myself.  I’m just glad that I finally woke up and realized that I can be mature and sure of myself and still be fucking ridiculous with my boyfriend every now and then, or hell, even with my friends.

I’m getting to know more people now that I’m purposefully trying to be more open and accepting of other people, especially Trace’s friends.  But I’ve realized this past week, after I spent those couple days with Meredith at her folks just hanging out, that she really is my friend.  And that she genuinely wants to be my friend.  Despite how different I sometimes think we are, I do like her. After spending the night watching movies and hanging out with her and drinking entirely too much wine, I somehow ended up braiding her hair and watching all three Indiana Jones movies with her.  I told her in a drunken state that I also had an old man crush on Harrison Ford, and she went into a fit over it.

It was fun.  I felt like I was in high school again, or how I wished high school could have been. But I didn’t feel silly or stupid or ridiculous the next morning.  I canceled my flight and I hung out with her for two more days.  It was actually kind of great.  I did things I hadn’t done in a long, long time.  Her dad took us out with DeeDee into the woods for a hike.  I can’t even remember if I had ever done that.  I told Trace about it that night on the phone and he was proud of me for getting “countrified.”

I went with her to visit one of her cousins and his wife and two kids, and it was just nice.  It was good being around family like that, even though it wasn’t mine.

When I got back to LA I called my brother, I hadn’t spoken to him in a month or two.

I just had to get over myself.  I had to let myself go. I had to stop worrying so damn much.  I’m not saying I’m now some bubbly girl who walks around hugging people and making jokes all the time.  But guess I’ve realized I shouldn’t look down on her for being like that.  That there’s nothing wrong with it.  That there’s something really wonderful and charming about it.

Maybe this whole summer I was just jealous of her.

And I’m not saying that we’re super close friends now.  I mean, there’s no way in hell I’ll ever have the bond that her and Megan have, but still.  It’s nice to know that she is there, and it’s nice to know that she honestly doesn’t really care that much about what I’ve done or what I haven’t done.  She just wants to have a good time with me.

I focus in on the man standing in front of me and I smile when he says, “I want you.” I breathe in the scent of him, that delicious scent of his, now mingled with the faint smell of beer.  He kisses me and I can taste it.  I close my eyes and live in this moment.  Finally fucking happy and at peace with my life.  “I always want you, girl.”

“Are you my boyfriend again, Trace?”  I ask with a smile. 

“If you want me to be.”

It doesn’t matter that I’m stressing over a job right now.  It doesn’t matter.  Nothing does.  Because I’m happy.  Courtney fucking Dawson is actually happy for once in her life.  And it’s not because everything seems to be going perfectly in her life. 

I don’t have a job.  Trace is going to be leaving in a couple weeks to go back home, and I’m not going with him because of my job hunting.  And after that he’s going to be traveling to New York to work on his clothing line.  Oh, and my apartment’s plumbing busted this morning.  

These are all the things I would have let drive me crazy before.  I would have lost my mind, gotten upset, taken it out on Trace, told him how much my life was too demanding, made up some excuse.  But now, I’m calm.

I’m ok. And it doesn’t matter all the little crappy things that have happened to me, or that will happen to me, because I have a life that’s calm now, and I’m learning how to enjoy it, how to be happy in it.  Part of it has to do with Trace, part of it has to do with not having the stress of Justin hating me. Part of it has to do with us learning the truth about Angie.  But the fact is, I’ve opened my eyes to see that this summer the problems and issues were handled poorly, and that was my own damn fault.

I’ve learned from it, I’ve grown up from it, and I know that now, I’m a better person for it.

And now, because I’ve learned how not to handle situations, I know that I’m a better person because of it.  Even as Trace kisses my neck and laughs about me being stubborn as he tries to shuffle us back through the kitchen and to his bedroom, I know I’m a better girlfriend because of it, too.  Because that’s what I am, I’m his girlfriend.  And I smile knowing that even though I can’t see the future and I don’t know what’s going to happen, I have confidence that it’s going to be ok, that this is going to last.

Maybe Meredith and I are a lot more alike than we realized.

I smile at Trace when he bumps us into the side of the doorway.  I’m giving in to Trace, I’m giving into what I want.  Not what I need, or what I think is the most productive thing I can do right now, but what I want.

I’m finally giving in with no remorse, and it feels so good.