Sitting up abruptly when the alarm clock on the nightstand began to ring shrilly, Justin somehow managed to turn the alarm off before falling back onto the mattress. "Five more minutes," he mumbled to himself, burrowing beneath the thick comforter. Dragging a pillow into his arms, he buried his face against it, smiling at the warm cocoon he had created. Despite rumors to the contrary, he really liked waking up. Especially when he had slept so well the night before.

He wasn't sure why he'd slept so good, though. He'd come back to the hotel relatively early for him, considering that he was off. He'd also come alone. Not so unusual, but he'd been sure that he would find someone to share his bed. Instead, though, he'd enjoyed the dancing, the large cake Joey'd gotten, and watching his friend load up on birthday loot. And he'd been content to kiss the blonde, that had somehow attached herself to his side, on the cheek and ride back to the hotel with only Tiny to keep him company.

It was the dreams that had bothered him. Completely innocent dreams with no sexual connotations whatsoever. Normally his non-sexual dreams focused on him being onstage or reliving a basketball game, but last night…

Last night's dreams had been so strange in their innocence. Walking down a beach kicking at the waves, laying in a meadow staring up at the clouds while he chained daisies into a necklace. Wrinkling his nose at the pure fluff his brain created in his sleep, he sighed when he remembered the woman who'd been with him at each interval. And though he was sure that most women would probably leap at the chance to play leading lady in some of his dreams, the woman he'd dreamed about had all but told him point-blank that she wanted nothing to do with him.

Funny, he thought, shifting onto his back so he stared up at the ceiling. Maybe that was why he was so interested in her, why he had remembered her lavender scent before drifting to sleep, why he wondered if he'd be able to get her number.

So decided, he slid out of the bed, pausing when he was seated on the edge of the mattress. Allowing his toes to dig into the soft carpet for a moment, he reached for the phone to order up breakfast. Looking to the clock as the operator told him it would be thirty minutes, he nodded, knowing that was plenty of time to shower.

He, Trace, JC, Lance and Chris had gone in together to get a suite for the week they were in NYC to party. Hearing complete silence when he opened the door leading to the living room, he knew it would possibly be hours before anyone else stirred. After a quick shower, he was carefully shaving around the goatee he'd groomed when there was a unobtrusive, polite knock on the main door. Cursing when the razor slid haphazardly in his fingers, he quickly inspected for any potential damage. Thank God. Not even a nick.

He ate breakfast alone, reveling in the solitude as he flipped through the morning paper. No annoying chatter from a woman he had nothing in common with. No rambunctious teases from his friends. Nothing but the muted TV, on a rerun of Home Improvement he'd found, the paper, and himself.

His thoughts returned to her as he read over the comics, after seeing the book of matches with the club's number on the back that he'd swiped from the VIP lounge. Without any reason, he wondered what her morning routine was. Did she drink coffee? Did she read the paper or watch TV? Then, unbidden; did she have someone she got up and made breakfast for daily?

Some businessman, he decided with a snort as he poured himself a glass of milk. Some uptight stick-in-the-mud of a man who probably never set foot into the club she worked at. An accountant. Some stodgy, overweight short guy with glasses and a balding head. She deserved someone with more pizzazz, he decided with a scoff.

Not, of course, that he could be that someone. But he was sure he had a few friends in town who would be able to show her what life was meant to be. Though, going through his list of friends in his mind, he mentally shook his head at each one. She was too fiery for all of them.

Of course, he could always take her out once or twice. Let her see the spotlight. But he knew that it wouldn't shine favorably on him if he did so. After all, who would believe that he, Justin Timberlake, had to date an overweight bartender from nowhere?

Pushing her from his mind, he returned to the newspaper, finding a blurb about Joey's party. Smiling at the inference that he'd had someone waiting for him at the hotel when he left alone, he cheerfully continued his breakfast. Let them think that, it was better than the truth.

Maybe he'd be able to forget Bartender Johanna after another night of clubbing.

/*/

There it was again. That gentle nudge to her shoulder from behind, the silent sign that it was time to get up. She lay on her side in the bed, attempting to catch a few more moments of sleep, but the blanket had been pushed down, and the nudge was repeated. Groaning, she turned to her back, looking at the one whom she shared her bed with.

"I suppose you want breakfast."

Of course he did. He was always miffed when she had to work and he had to deal with whatever she left out for him instead of having his usual hot meal. His green eyes flashed with indignation, even as he nuzzled her neck.

"Don't go loving on me now," she warned with a scowl. "I came home early, didn't I? And you had already gone to bed. Usually you stay up and wait for me."

Again the green eyes flashed, and the grunt of response was all she knew she would receive until he'd had his breakfast. Another nudge, this one more insistent, and she finally crawled from the bed. Gasping at the suddenness of the cold bare floor against her toes, she scrambled to find her slippers, telling herself that yes, today, she would go and buy a small rug to place beside the bed. "Just let me go to the bathroom then I'll take care of you."

She headed to the kitchen a few moments later, glancing into the other bedroom to see that her roommate had already left for the day. In the kitchen, he was waiting in his usual chair, eyes narrowed and nose twitching with impatience. Assuring him that she knew she was running behind, she started the coffee pot before getting his plate. Feeling his eyes on her every step she made, she pulled the bacon from the fridge, going about her usual routine.

Staring absently at the wall behind the range, she turned the bacon, gasping when grease popped onto her arm, bringing her attention to the bandaged wound there. Without thinking, she ran her fingers over the gauze, remembering the gentleness of the long fingers that had applied it. Which only brought to mind the shirt of his, which she still wore. Strangely, the scent of his cologne, still clinging to the fabric, had eased her into a deep sleep, though she would be damned before she admitted it to anyone.

After draining the bacon on paper towels, she scrambled an egg, crumbling the cooling bacon into the mixture before pushing it onto a plate. Making sure to turn off the eye of the range, she turned when she heard the pitiful sound. "Here you go, Sweetheart," she cooed, clicking her tongue as she placed the plate on the floor.

Immediately the orange cat leapt from the chair, tail straight in the air as he sauntered to his dish. Sniffing the proffered food, he cast her a look before tucking into his breakfast.

"Glad I could be of service," she muttered, wondering when she had become servant to her finicky cat. She reached to lovingly stroke his back before moving to fix a pot of coffee.

After getting the paper from the hallway, she settled at the kitchen table, glancing out the window to the skyline of the city, idly stirring her coffee. Inexplicably, she thought of him. She wondered if he had picked up someone in the club and taken her to his hotel, and hated the strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Shrugging it off as hunger, she sipped her coffee, turning to the comics as she always did.

She couldn't understand her fascination with him; would never admit that she'd downloaded one of his group's songs when she came home the night before. Nor would she admit that his smile had been present in her dreams.

When her coffee had gone cold and Apollo climbed into her lap to taste it, she realized with horror that she'd spent nearly thirty minutes thinking of him… Justin Timberlake.

Stupid to think of him, she thought with a sigh. I'll never see him again.

Even so, as she pushed away from the table to fix a bowl of cereal, she secretly hoped she would.

/*/

When Justin stumbled into his hotel room, a glance at the clock told him it was past three in the morning. Shedding his clothes on his way to the bathroom, he stopped when he saw the light on the phone, signaling that he had a message waiting for him. He hesitated, alternating between his need to use the bathroom and his curiosity over who had called. Whining when the light seemed to taunt him, he dove onto the bed, scrambling with the phone. If it turned out to be some sort of psychotic fan who had figured out his alias for this trip, he would--

'…Justin? It's Johanna… Johanna Tucker? We met last night at…'

She'd called? When? She sounded so nervous, so… Sad, almost.

'…Anyway, Troy called me and said you were badgering him for my number. Can't imagine why you'd want it. Hell, you've probably deleted this by now. But I just wanted to thank you for what you did last night. It was really sweet… And I'm going to get off here now…'

Scrambling, he replayed the message, smiling at the way she hesitated before saying 'sweet'. Then, realizing she was rattling off a phone number, he replayed the message again, fumbling for the notepad and pen the hotel provided on the bedside table. Scribbling the number down, he bit his lip when she mentioned that she was a night owl.

Forgetting his need to use the bathroom, he sat up on the bed, dialing the number he'd written down. With a jolt, he hung up before it rang, staring at the phone in disbelief. What was he doing? Was he honestly considering calling her at three in the morning?

Must be the booze, he decided, clamoring from the bed to hurry to the bathroom. That was it. He'd had too many laced drinks, thanks to Joey, who saw no problem in helping a friend out. He'd thought the drinks would help him in his quest to get a girl for the night, but it hadn't happened. Instead, he'd gotten to that annoying 'laugh at everything because I'm half-drunk and it's all hilarious', which had pissed Trace off when he'd complained about not having a girlfriend. He'd smooth that over in the morning, not that he was worried. He and Trace had been through enough over the years, a little thing like laughing at his best friend being lonely wouldn't hurt things.

When he entered the bedroom again, he dropped onto the bed, eyeing the phone. Was she still up? Would she answer if he called?

…Was she waiting up for him to call?

If she was, and he didn't, he'd be an ass. If she was asleep, and he did, he'd be an ass. If she was up, but not waiting for him, and didn't answer his call, he'd feel like an ass.

Classic no-win situation.

"Fuck it," he muttered, reaching for the phone.

/*/

"One of your bar hotties calling you?" Cassidy teased, glancing up from the game board as the phone rang. Instinctively she reached to check her pager to make sure she hadn't missed a summons from her supervisor. Then, remembering she had turned it off the moment she stepped into the apartment, she looked to Johanna. "I'm on my vacation, the office can't call me in."

"If it's a bar hottie calling me, he's drunk," Johanna decided, already knowing the person she had called earlier wouldn't be calling her back. Why hadn't the geeks of the world created some sort of technology that would allow her to delete a voicemail after leaving it? "Let the machine get it."

Cassidy pursed her lips; she hated the sound of a ringing phone. Tapping her fingers against the table, she reached for the dice, cursing when she heard the fifth ring. Waiting for the machine to click on, she looked towards her friend and roommate when the phone continued to ring. "The machine…?"

"…I turned it off. Damn," Johanna groaned, leaning to turn the machine on. Though, when her eyes moved to the Caller ID, she inhaled sharply when she saw the number. Knowing who it was instinctively but somehow assuring herself she was mistaken, she held her hand over the receiver, finally snatching it up mid-ring. "…Hello?"

"Hey…"

Mr. Justin Timberlake. She hated him for being able to send a flutter to her stomach with just one word. Biting her lip, Johanna tried to assume a cool demeanor. She had yet to tell Cassidy what had transpired the night before, merely shrugging off the cuts on her arm and blaming it on a clumsy waitress. "Yes?"

"Sorry. Could I speak to Johanna, please?"

"Speaking…" she let her voice trail, aware that Cassidy had set the dice down and was paying attention. Holding up a finger, she scowled when her friend merely grinned.

"It's me. Justin," he said, and there was a slight question in his tone. "…What did you call me last night? Jerry Timberland?"

"I was kidding when I called you that," she blurted. An embarrassed flush heated her cheeks. "I'll admit that at first I was a little unclear on your name, but after you repeated it over and over, it kind of made an impression."

"I only repeated it 'cause you kept calling me Jerry and Jim and John and… At least you got the first letter right," he said with a chuckle. "I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No, you didn't," she promised softly, waving Cassidy away when she leaned closer as though to eavesdrop completely. Honestly, the woman acted a though Johanna never had a phone call. "I'm always up late at night. The perks of working a night job. Even when I don't have to work, I keep to my work schedule so it won't be so hard… But you probably don't want to hear about that."

"It's cool." He grunted softly, causing her eyebrows to furrow with confusion. "I understand what you're talking about. I get so used to touring and then when I'm not it takes forever to get on a normal schedule, and by then…"

"Yeah." Standing, she reached for her empty glass, picking up Cassidy's as well, though her friend's glass was still half-full. Nodding towards the kitchen, she stepped over Apollo, who had stretched across the throw rug in the doorway. The cord barely reached to the counter and she had to lean slightly so she could maintain a conversation. "So, what's up?"

"I got your message," he murmured. She noted that his voice had a strange element to it. Something familiar, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. "And Troy did give me your number, but I didn't remember that till I'd listened to your message like three times to write it down. It was in my wallet… He writes '7' weird."

She released a tense laugh, floored that he admitted listening to her message more than once. Still overwhelmed that he had actually called her; she wondered if he was still just trying to be nice. He had to be. People like Justin Timberlake weren't interested in her. "Do you want your shirt back?" she asked, even as her mind screamed - No! Please, I want a reminder of kindness…

"No… You can have it. Keep it, throw it away, whatever. How are your arms?"

"A lot better, thank you." Leaning against the counter, she poured wine into her glass, taking a sip. Feeling lightheaded, she pushed the glass away, retrieving a canned soda from the fridge instead. "Some quack doctor fixed me up last night."

"Just so you don't sue him if it gets infected," he countered with a chuckle. "You know, it was all my fault. If I hadn't pushed on the guy behind me, then--"

"Amy's new, and she's the biggest klutz in the world," she insisted as the phone cord jiggled. Looking up, she saw Cassidy coming into the kitchen. Her friend picked up her glass of wine but made no signs of leaving the room. "You were just being stubborn."

"Me?" Justin laughed. "I'm not stubborn."

"Says the man who made me down shots in the bathroom--" Johanna cut off when she saw Cassidy's eyebrows raise with interest. Blushing furiously she turned away.

"It helped you forget the pain, didn't it? Besides, I just wanted to talk to you."

"Then talk," she said, toying with the tab of her soda.

"Uh…"

"Talented and eloquent, Jerry," she teased without thinking. It was funny; he'd seemed to have an answer to everything the night before.

"Tell me something, Johanna Tucker," he murmured.

She fought the thrill that his vocalization of her name sent through her; forcefully reminding herself that he was still being nice. Nothing more. "What?"

"What does a bartender do on her night off at four in the morning?"

Johanna sighed when she felt the cord jiggle again; Cassidy was bordering on annoying. She was about to turn and tell her to leave so she could talk in private. But her admonition died on her tongue when she saw the cordless phone was being held out to her. "Hang on a second so I can switch phones," she murmured to Justin, pushing the phone into Cassidy's outstretched hand before taking the cordless. Turning it on she waited until the other phone had been hung up; slightly amused at the shuffling sounds coming from Justin's end. "Sorry about that. What were you saying?"

"I was asking what you do on your night off at four in the morning?"

"I sit around playing Monopoly with my roommate talking to strangers on the phone," she answered easily, popping the tab of her soda as she moved through to her bedroom, pausing in the living room to mouth a thank-you to Cassidy.

"Who's winning?"

"Right now, the complete stranger," she mumbled, glancing at the game board that Cassidy was clearing off. "Game was called on account of phone call."

"No time-outs in Monopoly?" Justin laughed.

"No, because the chick who's banker has a history of money laundering," Johanna ducked the plastic hotel that was flung in her direction, "and she will draw her weapon if you accuse her of it."

"The Fed?"

"The one and only," Johanna assured with a chuckle, finding the token and flinging it back to Cassidy before entering the solitude of her bedroom. Kicking off her shoes she remembered that she still hadn't bout a rug to put beside the bed. So she braved the coldness on her bare feet, sighing when she was lying across her bed. "So, Jerry…"

"Yeah?"

"What does an international pop star do in his hotel room at four in the morning?"

"You forgot to mention 'sex god'… and devastatingly handsome. And extremely talented--"

"Let me rephrase the question: what does an egotistical international pop star do in his hotel room at four in the morning?" she groaned. Extremely talented… She'd give him that. She'd heard him. Devastatingly handsome; yes, that too. Sex god… she would never know.

"Lay in the bed with the lights out talking to bartenders," he told her with a chuckle. "Try to remember what time he has to be up for a radio interview. Wonder if he should go to sleep or keep talking to the nice bartender who doesn't know his name."

The playful tone caused her to smile. He seemed to have a great knack for matching her teasing. "She knows your name, Jerry. Just like she knows that you need your rest for an interview." She was already sitting up. Waiting for the inevitable 'talk to you soon' that would end their conversation. For some reason she felt sad at the thought.

"I can rest afterwards. I'd rather talk to you, Johanna."

"Why?" she demanded.

"You're nice. You're funny. You make one helluva coke and lime." He ticked them off quickly and she could picture him holding up a finger for each reason.

"You're nice too, Justin," she murmured.