Prologue

December 31st 2003

"Come out."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

She crossed the room and threw herself down on the couch beside me. "You'll have a good time."

"No I won't, and I'm not coming, so just give it up, Di."

I knew my monosyllabic answers were pissing her off greatly, but I really didn't see the point in going if all I would end up doing was standing in the corner, tentatively sipping some crap beer as I bitterly watch others have the time of their lives. And plus, I don't have anything to wear apart from a Paula Abdul-inspired dress my mom gave me for Christmas which actually had bells on it. I might have considered it, but as my sister kindly told me, the peachy color made me look like a giant blimp, so I guess not.

Diane threw her hands up beside me and groaned in annoyance. "So you're making me go on my own?"

"No," I said, getting up and heading towards the kitchen to refill my cup of hot chocolate. "I'm making you go with your boyfriend."

She followed me into the kitchen and hopped up onto the island, sighing. "But I can't stand the thought of you being on your own at New Years, Cat."

I shrugged and reached for the packet of cookies in the cupboard. "Just go with Joe...the hillbilly," I added quietly, snorting slightly.

Diane shot me a stern look. "His name is JOSEPH, and he is not a hillbilly."

"Sure, and I'm not Catherine Saunders."

She raised an eyebrow. "Well, at the moment, you're just a plain bitch."

I sighed and put down the milk I was holding. "Look, I'm sorry. But I was up 'til like, three, with that pissy article, I'm really tired."

"So you're not coming?" she asked, sighing again.

I shook my head. "No."

Her face softened and I felt a wave of guilt wash over me. "Look, I'm sorry. But you can go on your own, you'll have a great time. I'm probably just gonna hit the sack."

She nods and eyes me I can practically see the battle going on inside her head. "Well, as long as you're sure..."

I snort. "Trust me, I am."

"Okay," she makes a hesitant move towards the door. "But you know where we are if you change your mind."

I nodded and sipped my drink. She leaned in to give me a quick hug, wafting her gorgeous scent of some expensive perfume Joseph bought for her Christmas over my dejected form. I hugged her back as best I could with a cup in my hands and felt a twinge of jealousy pass through me, noticing how wonderful she looked. Not that that was anything new of course, Diane always looked great. Bitch.

"I'll see you next year!" I called out as I watched her slender figure walk down the hall.

She turned around and flashed me a grin. "Happy New Year, Cat!"

I smiled and her and gave her a wave before turning back into the apartment, my smile leaving my face instantly. New Years. What a shitty holiday. It's merely a time to reflect on how little I've done, how little I do, and how little I'm going to do in my life.

I know what you're thinking. A tad pessimistic? I know, I know. But I've always hated New Years and, more often than not, I'll end up in my room, watching Friends, snuggled up in my bunny slippers with a box of chocolates as my only companion. This is painfully sad, I'm fully aware of that, but that's the way I live my life. Put me in a party situation and I'm lost. Socializing? Right, there's more chance of the Beatles getting back together. So what do I do? I do the smart thing of picking a best friend who's gorgeous, funny, kind and could make friends with a pair of socks, that's what I do.

I wish I could hate Diane, I really do. If it was anyone else, I probably would. She's just about perfect and I pale in comparison. We're so different, people wonder how on earth we can be such great friends. When we go to parties, I'm the boring one whilst she flirts her way through the crowd, looking magnificent as she does so. I, on the other hand, look like the ugly duckling that never turned into a swan and my idea of conversation is discussing whether Ross and Rachel really will get together.

Of course, if I even hinted at my feelings of inadequacy around her, she'd go crazy and probably do something really sweet like make a list of all my good points. I've tried to do that before and let's just say, I got stuck on number one.

See what New Years do to me? They make me all depressed and pessimistic and stuff. Not a huge difference from my usual less than cheery self, but I find it intesifies around these joyful holiday seasons. I just don't do joyful. I do dry, sarcastic, bitter. That's my game.

Maybe it will be the start to something new for me. Maybe I'll lose those 15 pounds that have somehow nestled on my hips over the holidays. Okay, okay, they were there before, but I would not be surprised if I really had gained another 15 pounds. Maybe this year will be different.

Nah.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Another day another dollar. Another day another party. Another day another girl.

God, no wonder the papers call me a prick. Trust me, I wasn't always like this. I wasn't always so...male. But I guess after, what is it, eight years of partying? Yeah, eight years. Well, I guess after eight years of partying, it gets a little old. The past year has just all meshed into one collective memory, and that memory is of me with a pounding headache from the night before trying to understand the German reporter who's asking me questions in terrible english.

I glance over to where Trace is sitting. He's scanning the group of girls that have magically decided to dance right in front of us. He's got a slightly bored look on his face and he keeps on looking at his watch. Shit, did I even ask him if he wanted to come with me tonight? No, but this is Trace, right? He never turns down a party.

Actually, I'm not so sure anymore. Wasn't it just the other day he sort of muttered how old this whole club scene was getting? Can't say I disagree with him. It is a bit tiresome. I've gotten so used to girls spilling out of their dresses, nothing they do surprises me anymore. I've gotten so used to drinking myself into an oblivion every night, I can't wake up without taking a pain killer. I've gotten so used to seeing people conspiculously snort something in the corner of my eye and if they're not, I wonder why. This is screwed up. Really screwed up. Shit, what the hell happened to me?

It's probably just New Year. Doesn't everyone get depressed around New Year? Well, technically, no. I mean, last year I was celebrating the release of my album and I was deliriously happy. This year, I'm bitching about what a crap life I have.

Before I can dwell on the sudden change, I hear a high-pitched squeal behind me. "Justin!"

I mentally cursed God for making voices like screeching tyres and turned to the direction the sound is coming from. "Hey girls," I said, sending them a little cocky grin that I hate doing, but everyone else seems to like. "Havin' a good time?"

They giggle for reasons unknown to me. "Great Justin, just great. You?"

I shrug and smile again. Do I even know these girls? I vaguely recognize one from a photo shoot, but the other one is just standing there, looking excited as she tugs on the other girl's bare arm.

"Well, Happy New Year, Justy!"

I assume they're trying to be funny by using the name, 'Justy', and turn away from them, scowling as I hear the sound of their heels become fainter as they walk away. I shouldn't have anything against those girls, they haven't done anything wrong to me. But for some reason, just seeing them pisses me off. Why did I even come tonight? All these stupid VIP areas are so hyped up. Really, they're basically just a few extra couches and crappy tables that have marks on them were people, obviously drunk out of their minds, got up on them to dance.

When was the last time I did that? I dunno, it's the kind of thing I did when I was 17 and just thought I was the shit because I was allowed to drink at such a young age. My mom subtly hinted over Christmas I should take some time off, relax, bring my head out of the clouds for a while. She does that every now and then, basically when I'm being an ass and she thinks I need to quit the celebrity thing for a while, just to bring my ego down a little.

Maybe she's right. I know a thousand guys would kill to be in my position right now, but quite frankly I think if I see another girl with hair extensions who is wearing a barely-there outfit, my head will explode. That's not healthy, right? Take that pretty girl over there in the corner, who feels quite free to lazily stare at me up and down, probably wondering whether I'm worth the chase. She's quite pretty, and man, even I can't deny that body's hot, but she looks like all the others. No, I won't bother her. I think I'm a little sick of the one night stand thing anyway.

Whoa, I really need some time off.

Have you ever noticed how much you can tell about a person from their grocery shopping? Who’s on a diet, who’s having a party, who’s budgeting. It’s always fun at the beginning of a new year, because everyone is sticking to their resolutions and drinking wheat grass juice with sticks of celery so they don’t break the inevitable “No Chocolate” pledge. The only reason I care is because I have to work at, “Shelby Forest General Store-Where kind hearts and quality food can be found in the same aisle!” and it's my job to stare at other peoples’ shopping.

Actually, the food barely scrapes mediocre and everyone who works or shops here looks suicidal. Me included, of course. I’m one of the ashamed employees who spends half her time hiding behind the soup tins, making sure people don’t recognize me. Terrible, I know. I should be proud of my job, right? Well, I am…of my other job, that is. I’m a part time journalist for this crappy local paper called, “The Daily Buzz”, but due to the unreliability of that job, I was forced, literally forced, to start working at this crappy little store to pay my rent. And when I say part time, I mean they call me every now and then to record some fascinating event, such as the local pie competition, and then don’t call me for months at a time.

I guess this job isn’t too bad. It sure as hell has his perks. For instance, if someone looks like they’re in a rush and needs you to hurry up, it’s always fun to spend as long as you can counting out change and if they complain, burst into tears and claim you’re boyfriend just left you and you’re just trying to do something right for once, making them begin to gush apologies left right and center. Or if they’re buying anything that could cause embarrassment, like an old New Kids on the Block poster or something, you can spend as long as you can looking for a price tag, before finally screaming across the shop to a co-worker, claiming you need the price as the rest of the shoppers turn to see the crimson person who would buy such a terrible thing.

And obviously, one of the best things is the constant bitching and gossiping going on between us employees; you’d be amazed how much we know. Did you know Mrs Sanders actually had an affair with her sister’s fiancé a few years back? No, I didn’t either, but Denise whispered it into my ear the second I came in this morning. Oh, and apparently some pop star is back in town, taking some time to himself and making sure his priorities are straight. Yeah, there’s another word for that - Rehab.

Oh woah, what’s up with this dude? He’s just slammed a six-pack and some frozen pizzas onto the counter as though his life depends on it and is now staring at me with a bored look on his face, waiting for me to scan them. What an asshole.

“Hi,” I say as brightly as I can, just to piss him off.

His half-closed eyes center on me. “Hey,” he mutters.

I take my time, pretending I don’t know where the barcodes are on the products before slowly scanning them through. I look up at him to see whether it’s bothering him, but he looks completely indifferent to the situation. He’s obviously in no hurry.

“That’ll be $15 and twenty two cents, please,” I say chirpily, still trying to provoke a reaction out of him. Come on, man, help me out here. Give me a sigh, or a roll of the eyes, anything.

He pulls out a wad of cash from his back pocket and my eyes widen as I see how much money he has. Since when did guys in their twenties casually carry around about $100 in their back pockets?

He hands me a twenty. “There you go.”

I take a slight intake of breath. Is that…no, it couldn’t be. God, I think it is. It’s Justin Timberlake. The pop star everyones talking about because he’s taking a year off or something. Well that explains why he's here, and it really shouldn't effect me but damn, if I was five years younger I would have melted into a puddle of mush right about now.

Luckily, I’m not and I haven’t, but he’s still mildly attractive, with light brown, curly hair that is more styled than mine, wearing a pair of loose jeans with a T-shirt. He looks cute and casual, but he’s nothing special, especially now that I see him up close. Oh well, who cares. I hand him his change and send him a courteous smile, seeing no point in trying to irritate him now I know he impenetrable. The man has had to put up with screaming teenagers girls his whole life for Christ sake; he’s as hard as nails.

“Thanks for coming, have a nice day,” I murmur unenthusiastically.

“You too, bye,” he replies, and with that, my excitement of the day picked up his bag and strode out of the shop, turning heads as he went.

I was more of a Backstreet fan anyway.

---------------------------------------

Fucking TV, why won’t it fucking work? The first time in eight years I actually get the chance to watch TV, and the God damn thing won’t turn on. Figures.

“You might wanna try switching that on, J.”

Trace. I turn to look at him, only to see his smirking face and his hands dug deep in his pockets as he leans against the doorframe. Arrogant prick. “Don’t you think I’ve tried that, Trace?”

He shrugs and his short figure saunters over to me. “I dunno, seems like the kinda stupid thing you’d do.”

Thanks Trace, thanks a lot. I love having you as a friend.

“And anyway,” he carries on, “You don’t have time to watch TV when there’s a million and one missed calls from Johnny on the machine.”

“What does he want?”

“To make sure you haven’t changed your mind, bla bla,” he rolls his eyes. “Same old thing he’s been saying all month. I just stopped answering the phone because I knew it would be him.”

I roll my eyes. “Christ, it’s not a life-altering decision. I’m just taking some time off.”

Trace shrugs again. “Anyway, you need to return his calls, otherwise he’ll never leave you alone.”

“When did he call?” I ask, tiredly.

“When you were at the grocery store.”

“But I was only there for half an hour.”

“Yeah, and he still managed to call five times,” he says, throwing the phone towards me.

I catch it and groan. I don’t want to deal with Johnny right now; the guy can be such a woman with all that whining he does.

Suddenly, the phone began to ring violently in my hands. I wearily pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Justin, it’s Johnny.”

I really should change my number.

You know how they say a watched pot never boils? Well, I’m beginning to think that may be right. I’ve been put on nightshift because Andy couldn’t come in today and I’m literally counting the seconds until I get to leave. I hate nightshifts, they tend to be full of psychos who wait until the dead of the night to come out and get their shopping done.

One of the said psychos comes up to me. His pale skin highlighting the bags under his eyes as his gaze darts nervously around the store. His cheeks look so gaunt I wouldn’t be surprised if he said he hadn’t eaten in days.

“Hi,” he growls at me.

“Hi,” I reply, my smile faltering slightly.

He puts a bottle of whisky on the table and I fight back the temptation to roll my eyes. He’s probably some crazy alcoholic who only crawls out of his dumpster at night to get his poisoned liquid to fuel his addiction. Or maybe I’m just dramatic and have had too much time to think about it.

He dumps a twenty on the counter and rushes off before I can even give him change. I shrug and put it in the till, wondering how much the clock had moved now.

A coughing throat causes me to look up. “Hi, welcome to Shelby Forest General Store, what can I do for you?”

The teenage boy coughs again and looks at his hands. “Hi, I’m just looking for…um….”

Oh, here we go. Every Saturday night, like clockwork, this happens. How stupid does this juvenile think I am? He clearly wants some condoms. Why else would there be a nervous and dishevelled teen standing in front of me at almost one in the morning? Give me a break kid, I’m smarter than you think.

“What can I do for you, sir?” I ask as sweetly as I can. I think I’ll let him sweat it out for a bit.

“Um…I was looking for um…toothpaste,” he finishes lamely.

I grin. “You’ll find that in aisle three, sir.”

He glances out of the door, presumably to his girlfriend who is waiting in the car for him to get back. By the looks of things, it’ll be a little while longer. “And also, er…”

Urgh. All his “oohing” and “er-ing” is beginning to annoy me and I see another man join the queue. “I hate to rush you, but you’re holding up the line.”

“Condoms,” he whispers.

“Sorry?” I ask, leaning forward, feigning ignorance.

“Condoms,” he repeats louder, his spotted cheeks turning a crimson red.

“Oh,” I say, as though I hadn’t expected this at all. “What size?”

He looks at me in surprise. “Well, I guess…how big is a medium? Like, how many inches?”

My brows furrow and I try my best to look appalled. “Sir, I meant size of packet.”

“Oh,” he says, his cheeks turning even darker and he bites his lip.

I should ask what flavor, just to really get to him, but I think the poor kid’s gone through enough, especially when I can see he’s about to dart out of the shop and never return. And plus, the temptation to burst out laughing is becoming increasingly more attractive, and that would just ruin the entire illusion.

“You’ll find them in that corner over there,” I point towards a far corner of the shop, which he and his friends probably talked about as the corner that held the key to them 'becoming men'. Ha.

I’m still giggling to myself when the next customer puts his stuff down. “That was mean,” he says, spreading out his items on the counter as a broad grin adorns his face. “He’s going to have deep-rooted sexual problems because of that.”

I look up, smiling and almost stop when I see the pop star staring back at me. I shrug. “At least the therapist will have something to work with.”

The popstar laughs. “Oh, so you’re actually doing him a favor?”

I smile back at him. “In my book, yes.”

“Interesting book,” he replies, nodding before flashing me his enviably white teeth.

I shrug nonchalantly before chuckling and beginning to scan his items. “So what brings you here in the dead of the night? Kinda a strange time to be picking up vegetables, don’t you think?”

“I guess,” he says, beginning to pack his groceries. “But it’s easier this way, less people around.”

I nod. “Ah, I see. Very Mission Impossible of you.”

He looks up at me and grins. Well, that’s refreshing. Someone actually thinks I’m funny. Most of the people in this town take the phrase “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit” far too seriously, and to appreciate my humor, it’s important to be open-minded and preferably hard to insult, otherwise I can reduce someone to tears without even meaning to.

I accept his ten dollars and fifteen cents and slip them into the machine and when I turn back, his eyes are on my chest. Woah, buddy boy, don’t think so. If he thinks just because he’s rich, famous and good-looking I’m going to let him stare freely at my breasts, then he is unfortunately mistaken.

“Cat,” he says.

Ah, I see. He was looking at my nametag, that’s okay. I should have guessed really, I doubt I’m his “type”. His type being anorexic blondes of course and no, I’m not bitter.

I look down at the piece of plastic with ‘Cat Saunders’ imprinted on it. “Yep, that’s my name.”

“Is that your name?”

I roll my eyes. “No, I just said it was for fun.” What a stupid question.

He shakes his head. “No, I meant, is that an abbreviation for Catherine or Katy or something?”

I nod, not seeing why it matters. “Catherine. That’s my full name, but no one uses it.”

“So you’re Catherine Saunders?”

“Yes,” I answer slowly, trying to figure out why I’m suddenly talking to someone with the mental capacity of a four year old.

A smile spreads across his face. “As in Catherine, “The mayor is actually using the rise in taxes as a façade to hide his prostitute habit”, Saunders?”

Oh god. That was the article I had spent hours on before New Year. It had turned out causing quite a stir, which I found hilarious. It was no secret the mayor was a wannabe Hugh Hefner but apparently to say this aloud in this tiny town was like saying Elvis wasn’t really the King. I almost lost my job for that one.

But it was a political piece, what the hell was this ignorant, my-favorite-color-is-baby-blue popstar doing reading it? “You read that?”

He nods. “I sure did. I thought it was pretty ballsy of you, for sure.”

“Should I take that as a twisted compliment?”

“It was a great article.”

Oh god, why do I have to start blushing now? “Thanks.”

“I especially liked the way you compared his speeches to being very slowly burned alive,” he raises his eyebrows and gives me a stern look.

I giggle and shrug. “I only speak the truth.”

He laughs along with me until a timid cough interrupts us. Oh great, it’s Condom Boy, back with his little stash deviously hidden by a packet of tissues. The pop star glances over his shoulder at him before turning back to me.

“Looks like you’ve got more pressing issues on your hand.”

Getting a little boy laid faster? Not what I would consider a pressing issue, but I simply raise an eyebrow at him and turn to the poor guy who’s now looking at the door as though he’s expecting his mother to burst in.

“Well, I’ll see you later, Cat.” I like how he says my name, all throaty and casual, as though we’ve known each other for years.

“Bye,” I reply softly as I greet the boy with a small smile.

“And by the way!” I leave my customer hanging to turn to where the pop star is standing. “I’m Justin.”

Psht, yeah, as if I didn’t know. “Is that your full name?” I tease, grinning at him.

He winks at me and leaves the shop. Woah, hold up. He winked at me? As in actually winked at me? Not only that, but he actually looked mildly cute whilst doing it. Only he could pull something like that off without looking like he had conjunctivitis.

I think I’ll do nightshift more often.

-------------------------------------------------

“Where the hell have you been?”

“Trace, you sound more like my mother every day,” I say, pinching his cheek as though he was a five year old.

“Quit it,” he replies, slapping my hand away. “You were away for ages.”

I roll my eyes. “I was at the store, Trace. And just to remind you, we live on the mean streets of Tennessee. Nothing could happen to me even if I wanted it to.”

“Well then what took you so long?” he asks, helping himself to an apple from one of the bags.

“I got to talkin’ with the girl at the counter and I guess I was there longer then I thought.”

Trace raises an eyebrow. “Oh, the girl at the counter, eh?”

Trace is so narrow-minded. “Yes, the girl at the counter, Trace.”

“Did you get her number?”

“It wasn’t like that. We were just talking.”

“Woah,” Trace holds up his hands in shock. “You actually talked to a girl without hitting on her? What’s wrong with you, man?” he asks, grabbing my arms and shaking me.

Trace is such an ass, even more so when he’s trying to be funny, which he is now. Is it so impossible for me to just talk to a girl without thinking about getting into her pants? Well, yeah, maybe, but that’s only because all the girls I’ve been surrounded with in the past year have been amazingly gorgeous, which Cat wasn’t. It would be a little harsh to call her ugly, so I’ll settle on average. Yeah, she’s average. She had plain brown hair that went down to just past her shoulders. Let’s see, oh yeah, her eyes were quite nice--blue, when you would have expected brown. She was pretty, but in a completely standard way, nothing about her stood out. And she wasn’t exactly fat, she’s more…dumpy. Not obese, but a few months in the gym wouldn’t hurt.

God, I should just stop before I reach the brinks of a new level of asshole-ness. I really should be thinking about what a nice conversation we had instead of reasons for not sleeping with her, right?

“Hey Trace, did you read that article in the paper I told you about?”

“Which one?” asks Trace from in the fridge, where he’s putting stuff away.

“The one about local politics.”

Trace snorts and re-emerges. “No.”

“Oh. ‘Cause it was the girl that wrote that.”

“Really?” replies Trace, in a voice telling me exactly how unexcited he is to hear this.

“Yeah, we had quite a nice chat,” I say as I scrunch up our bags.

“Did you just say chat?”

“Shut up,” I say, punching him in the stomach as I head over to the living room and throw myself down on the couch, suddenly feeling incredibly tired.

That article of Cat’s is still lying on the table, where I left it a few days ago. She’s kinda cool, and it wouldn’t exactly hurt to have someone other than Trace to hang around with whilst I’m home. Maybe I’ll go round to the store tomorrow to see her. But I don’t know…lately every female friendship I have has pretty much bitten the dust because I’ve ended up doing something really stupid, like falling in love with them.

Nah, I'm safe. Nothing like that would never happen with someone like Cat.

“I’m just heading out to the store to get some milk!” I call out to Trace, who’s sitting on his ass, in front of the TV, where we've both been lazing the past few days away.

“What did you say?”

“I’m just going to the store for a few minutes,” I repeat as I stand in the doorway of the living room.

“Again?” he asks, turning his head from the TV.

“Yeah,” I reply, before I begin looking for my keys. What the hell did I do with them this time?

“But you just went a few days ago.”

I shrug. “It’s not my fault your fat ass drank all the milk.” Seriously, where did I leave the keys?

He stands up. “Then I’ll go.”

“No, it’s cool, I got it.” Ah, there are the little bastards, right on the table. I pick them up and throw them in the air triumphantly.

Trace raises an eyebrow. “You’re a loser, you know that?”

“Takes one to know one, man.”

I run out of the house before he can respond. I am actually just going to get milk, Trace and I have been official pigs the last few days and have eaten everything we can get our hands on, so repeated trips to the store are necessary. But I haven’t seen Cat since our last little talk a few days ago, and I would be lying to say I don’t hope she’s there today. I find her cynical attitude…refreshing. Maybe I’ve just been in Hollywood too long.

I pull up at the store and aimlessly wander around the aisles, picking up random things. That’s the great thing about stores like this; they sell the most obscure crap. I wander over to the DVD section, where a large section of its items are Friends series. I haven’t seen that for a while; maybe I’ll just pick up a few series before I head to the paycounter.

I can see her already; she’s serving some cuddly couple. Oh, she is too funny. She looks utterly disgusted by their canoodling; she keeps on sending them revolted looks and can’t witness one small kiss without rolling her eyes.

That girl is too much.

----------------------------------

You know what I hate? Apart from pretty people, skinny people and happy people, obviously. I really hate couples. What the hell is with them? Okay, you’ve found your significant other, do the rest of us really have to be reminded every second? It’s not that I’m jealous, because I’m so obviously not, it’s just urgh. Yes, ugh, that’s a good way to describe it.

The reason for my sudden rush of anti-love? The couple that’s in front of me, who are “so obviously in love.” Excuse me whilst I throw up. I can appreciate, perhaps even feel happy for people who have found each other, but not these two. He keeps on whispering things into her ear and she keeps on gasping and slapping his chest with her hands. Then she sneaks a glance at me and giggles as he kisses her cheek. Again, ugh.

“Here’s your receipt, have a nice day,” I smile, handing over their receipt.

“Oh we will,” says the guy, waggling his eyebrows. Listen pal, just because you have one, doesn’t mean you’re allowed to act like one.

“Thank you!” The girl calls over her shoulder as he grabs her by the hand and pulls her out of the store.

Assholes. I hope you get herpes.

That’s really put a damper on my day. I’m still muttering about idiots and the divorce rate when I hear a familiar voice.

“Actually I’ve heard it’s up to one in every two marriages that end in divorce, not one in three.”

It’s him. My heart does a flip flop in my chest and my stomach instantly fills with butterflies. Woah, hold on a second. That's not allowed to happen unless I say so. I swear, that hasn't happened since I had this massive crush on my English teacher in ninth grade and was completely in love...

Oh crap.

“Good,” I say, shooting a hateful glance towards the door where the couple recently left.

“That’s not very nice,” he says, grinning as he unloads his basket.

I shrug. “Well I’m not a very nice person.”

He glances at me as he loads his shopping and I steal a look at his blue eyes. “I think you are.”

Shows how well you know me, I’m tempted to say. But I don’t, I like how he actually thinks I’m actually a good person. “So, you’re becoming quite a regular here. Can’t resist me and my frozen potatoes?” I ask, holding up a packet of potatoes.

He laughs. “Nope. I guess you two are just irresistible.”

Why am I grinning? Like a god damn schoolgirl, for heaven's sake. I mentally scold myself as I catch sight of a Friends DVD in his basket; that’s a surprise. I point to it approvingly. “Good choice.”

He looks up from his bags. “Oh, yeah, that. I haven’t seen it in a while and thought I’d give it a shot. Plus, Friends is awesome.”

That is the smartest thing I think I’ve ever heard a man say. “It is, isn’t it?” I exclaim. I can’t believe this macho guy actually likes Friends. I may just have to fall in love with him.

He smiles and nods. “You like it too?”

I nod excitedly. “It’s my favorite show. When was the last time you saw it?”

“Hmm,” he pauses and taps his chin. “Probably just after Ross and Rachel got together?”

My jaw drops open. “Well LOADS has happened since then! Okay, what you’ll want to do is get all the episodes since then and watch them all in order, so you don’t miss anything!”

He laughs at me. Okay, maybe I’m a little enthusiastic, but Friends is a godsend for single people. What else would we do on those lonely Friday nights? It's been my date for the past nine years, and don't think I'm joking.

“Well, unfortunately these were the earliest ones I could find.”

“Oh, I have all of them, you can borrow them if you like.”

Shit. Really, shit. Not only did I openly admit I had all the Friends DVDs (and trust me when I say, there is never a good time to reveal that little gem of information), but did I offer him them? I’m such a loser, and now he’s not only going to know it too, but now he’s going to think I’m trying to wangle a date off him. I should just tape my mouth shut. Forever.

But to my great surprise, he doesn’t bat an eyelash. “Great! Why don’t you bring them over to my house and we can watch them together?”

Excuse me? So not only has he not run off into the distance screaming, “Madwoman!” at the top of his voice, but now he’s actually inviting me over? This man never ceases to amaze me.

“Hey, you could even bring your frozen potatoes,” he says, grinning at me and waggling his eyebrows.

I giggle and blush. What is he doing to me? Not only am I giggling, something I swore I would stop after high school, but now I’m actually blushing. This giggle/blush combo has got to stop. Immediately.

“Well, I guess I could…”

“You should. I’m going to be alone for the next few days and I could use a friend.”

Friend? I’m a friend? “Sure, okay then.”

He’s looking at me expectantly. What? “I’ll need your number to call you then,” he says slowly.

Oh yeah. God, this is really highlighting my rustiness to the whole dating game. Not that this is a date, of course. “Oh yeah, here.” I scrawl my number over the back of his receipt and handing it to him.

“I’ll call you then. When do you get off your shift?”

“Um, in about an hour.”

“Cool, I’ll try callin’ you around that time. Bye!”

“See you.”

You know what? Even if he doesn’t call, I think I’ll forever love him just for making me feel this happy. He’s such a great guy.

Woah, what the hell am I saying? Since when did I sound like a god damn Lizzie Maguire episode?

What has that man done to me?

-----------------------------


“Trace, I need the phone!” I whisper angrily.

He holds up his index finger to silence me. “No, don’t do that. I can just get a cab.”

I listen to his side of the conversation with annoyance. Five dollars says he’s speaking slowly just to annoy me.

“Oh no, he’s fine.”

Trace snorts. “No, he’s still a diva.”

I’m not amused.

“Okay, that’s fine. I’ll see you on Friday then. Bye,” he hangs the phone up.

“It’s about time, Shortstuff,” I mutter, rolling my eyes and picking up the phone.

“Who do you need to call so badly anyway?” he asks, collapsing onto the couch and picking up his magazine.

“Cat.”

“Cat who?”

“Saunders,” I reply, beginning to push the numbers into the keypad.

“The store girl you claim to like in a 'non sexual' way?”

“The very same,” I mutter, dialing the last number and holding the phone to my ear.

“Hold on a second,” he says, leaning over and taking the phone from me before swiftly hanging it up.

“Trace!”

“Why are you calling her if you don’t want anything to do with her?”

“I do want something to do with her, just not in a datey kind of way.”

He looks confused. “Then it’s kinda cruel to call her J, you’re just encouraging her.”

“Encouraging her to do what? We're just friends.”

He frowns. “Does she know that?”

“Of course,” I scoff. She does know it’s just as friends, right? “Look Trace, her and I would look ridiculous together.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s all…I dunno. Not like any of my other girlfriends.”

Trace snorts. “I would consider that a big plus.”

Hmm, the short one does speak the truth. “No, I mean she’s just…she’s not the girlfriend type.”

“Why?”

God, does he ever quit? “If you saw her, you’d know what I mean.”

Trace recoils and his frown deepens. “You’re such a dick, Justin.” He walks out of the room, leaving me standing with the phone in my hand and the dial tone in the air.

What did I say? Shrugging, I redial Cat. Trace can be as weird as he wishes for now. A feminine voice floats through the earpiece, but it's not Cat.

“Hello?”

“Um, hi. Can I speak to Cat please?”

There’s a pause. “Sure.”

I can hear the phone getting past from one person to another and there’s gigging in the background. “Hello?” a voice finally answers.

“Hi Cat, it’s Justin.”

“Oh! Hi.”

She sounds really surprised to hear from me. “Hey, I was just wondering when you wanted to arrange to meet up for our Friendsathon?” I chuckle.

“Oh," she still sounds pleasantly shocked. I guess I would be too if some random guy tried to become my best friend. "Of course. When’s best for you?”

I shrug. “Whenever. Maybe Friday? Trace is leaving that day, and I’ll be all lonely.”

“Trace?”

Oh yeah, I should have figured she wasn’t a fan. “My best friend. He lives with me, but he’s going to New York on Friday. Part of his plan to show he actually has other friends apart from me," I mutter, jokingly.

She laughs. “Ah, that old chestnut.”

“I know. Why won’t he just accept that I’m his hero?”

“Justin, I honestly don’t know whether you’re joking or not.”

I laugh. “So anyway, are you doing anything Friday?”

I hear a snort. “No.”

“Great, so do you wanna come over?”

She pauses. “Are you sure?”

What a question. “Of course. We’re friends right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” her voice falters slightly.

“Great, so I’ll see you Friday?”

I list off details of my address and before hanging up. I guess I can see why she’d be a little confused, I did sort of pounce on her. But I like her, I really do. I think we’re going to be friends for a long time.

------------------------

I put down the phone and turn to see Diane standing there, hand on hip, eyebrow raised. “Who was that?”

“Justin.”

"Justin who?"

Please, how many Justins are there? "The pop star."

Her eyes widen. “Justin? As in Justin Timberlake?”

I grin. “Maybe.”

“Oh my god! That’s so great!”

“Calm down Diane, we’re just friends,” I chuckle.

“Oh,” she looks somewhat deflated, but happy nonetheless.

“I’m going round to his house on Friday,” I squeal excitedly. Oh god, now he’s got me squealing. Note to self, don’t squeal excitedly, ever.

“Oh man, how are you going to be able to resist falling in love with that beautiful man?” Diane asks, grinning as she taking a bowl out in preparation for the popcorn she put in the microwave.

I smile at her, but bite my lip when she looks away. I’m beginning to ask myself that

“Okay, the black shirt or the white shirt? Black is slimming, right?”

Diane looks up from the magazine she’s reading on my bed and shrugs. “Both are nice.”

“Yeah, I’ll go for the black. Oh, wait a second, that means I’m wearing an all black outfit.” I scrutinize my appearance in the mirror and frown. “Shit, I look like I’ve stepped out of a Ozzy Osbourne video. Should I go for the white?”

I look over at her again and she repeats the shrug, before returning to her magazine. “Hey look, there’s a new Harry Potter film coming out soon. Wanna go see it?”

I spin round to face at her, my expression furious. No, I don’t want to see eleven year olds prancing around with a few twigs in their hand, I want to focus at the task at hand. I’m supposed to be at Justin’s in less than two hours. Do you know how little time that is for me to get ready?

“Diane, could you please just focus on me for a second?” I snap.

“Oh yeah, sure.” She closes the magazine and sits up straight. “The white is nice. But aren’t you a little overdressed for just lounging around and watching Friends?”

That’s true. “What do you suggest I wear, then?”

She shrugs. That’s really beginning to annoy me. “Why not what you’re wearing now?”

Yeah, greet Justin Timberlake in sweat pants and a baggy sweater. Stupid girl. “Because I look like a cow, that’s why.”

Diane does her hurt look. I hate that look; it always makes me feel guilty even when I’ve done nothing wrong. “Cat, you’re so beautiful, and you don’t even know it.”

Diane, you’re so full of shit, and you don’t even know it. I might have mildly believed her if she wasn’t so slim and gorgeous, and I wasn’t so completely jealous and nervous.

Yeah, that’s right, I’m nervous, as much I hate to admit it. He’s having a wholly negative effect on me so far, what with all this caring about my appearance and whatnot…maybe I shouldn’t go.

“This is a bad idea,” I say, chewing on my fingernail.

“No it’s not. It’s a good chance for you to get a new friend,” says Diane, getting off my bed and putting her arm around my shoulder. She nudges me. “And a hot one at that.”

I smile despite myself. “I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am. Now,” she flings open my closet door. “You are going to look fabulous!”

--

Jeans and a cute t-shirt, that’s okay, right? You can’t go wrong with a pair of jeans and a cute t-shirt, can you? I don’t know, I really can’t tell my ass from my elbow when it comes to shopping. Diane said the t-shirt was funny and I looked nice, but I’m beginning to regret the sweater coat…thing, I have on top. It’s just really an oversized sweater with a belt, but does that mean only oversized people can wear it? Is it a tag for fat people? Oh my god, what have I done? I knew I should have gone with the track jacket, but I didn’t want him to think I was sporty for Christ’s sake. Damn January for being so cold, I could’ve just gone in the t-shirt. But the coat does hide my arms…

Dear god, listen to me. I wasn’t always such a loser, promise. See what that man has turned me into? A goddamn bimbo, that’s what.

But what about my ass? That is in no way hidden in the tight pair of jeans I chose for today. Christ, I’d need a small country to hide it, but why I chose to highlight it I don’t know. Diane said I was like J-Lo, yeah, more like Jello. I look like a whale, which I guess is expected when I’ve never even been in a gym, let alone made the effort to join one. And as for that calorie counting crap, please.

Oh sorry, I was doing it again. Okay, positive thoughts create a positive attitude. I look nice, he likes me, he is my friend and we are going to watch Friends together. I am wonderful and amazing.

And too chicken shit to ring the doorbell.

------------------------------------

Christ, I never knew Trace and I could create such a mess in such a little space of time. It’s taken me two long hours to get this place looking nice for Cat’s visit. Thank god she’s a bit late, otherwise I would have never finished it. And plus, cleaning is just something to do until someone else is here, the house is so…barren, with just me in it. I know Trace and I spend half our time arguing, but I miss the little bastard already. Damn him for going to New York and leaving me all alone.

I don’t like being alone. All it does is reinforce the feeling of solitude that’s settled in my body since Britney and I broke up. A feeling so strong nothing I can do or no amount of one night stands or drugs or drink can shake off.

Oh no, I’ve started all that again. I hate it when I do this. I hate it when I go all…all…female and gush about my past. Ah good, there’s the ding-dong of the bell. Cat’s here, and I sincerely doubt she would be interested in my pathetic melodrama; she doesn’t seem like a very emotional girl.

I swing the door open and grin at the person on the other side. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she says happily. She holds up a bag. “I bring entertainment,” she holds up a bag of nachos. “And supplies.”

I laugh and invite her in. “Thank you. I’ve got a crapload of food in here too, so let’s be pigs.”

“Excellent idea,” she says, coming in and tying her coat/jumper thing around her hips. “Nice house,” she comments, taking in the foyer.

“Thanks,” I shrug. “This isn’t my favorite house, it’s kinda small compared to my other ones.”

She laughs and spins around, arms outstretched. “This is small?”

I laugh and shrug again. I guess she’s right, it is quite big. It’s just so…southern. Everything about it, from the humble size, to the earthy tones of the walls and furniture make it so much like the house I grew up in, it’s scary. That was probably the appeal of it when I decided to take time off, it's so "unhollywood" compared to some of my other houses.

I quickly spin her around the rooms, giving her the basic idea of the house, before we finish in the foyer again.

“Do you want anything to eat or drink?” I ask politely.

She turns from the piece of art I have on the wall that means jackshit to me, but she seems enthralled in it. “Sure. Where did you get this?”

Her fingers run over the confused mesh of colors. “It was a present. I think it’s from London, though.”

She stands back and admires it. “It’s pretty.” She silent for a second, before spinning around to face me. “So yeah, what have you got to drink?”

“Silly question my dear,” I smirk, linking my arm with hers and leading her to the kitchen. She jumps slightly as my skin touches hers, I wonder why?

I open the fridge door and she gasps. “Do you have every kind of soda and beer in here?”

I chuckle. “Maybe.”

She giggles. “How about you pick the drinks, and I’ll start the videos?”

I nod. “Sure thang, sweet thang.”

She blushes before heading into the living room. Ha, I just made her blush. It feels oddly satisfying making a girl like Cat blush. In fact, I’m going to make a mental note to do it more often. I quickly pour two cans of coke into glasses and put the nachos onto a dish and manage to carry it all into the living room at once. I am a genius.

She’s kneeling in front of the TV, skipping the previews, but turns to me when she hears me come in. I hand her a coke and a smile.

“Thank you,” she replies, taking a small sip of it before setting it on the table. “Oh, sorry. Do you want me to get a coaster for that?”

I snort. “Get real.”

She smacks my leg before going back to the TV. “Okay, I’ve decided we may as well start with the very first episode, you know, to refresh your memory,” she says happily. She’s so cute when she talks about Friends. It gets her so excited.

She puts it on play and grabs her coke, before sitting down on the couch beside me and snatching a few nachos.

“Cool shirt by the way,” I add, looking down at her top.

“Oh, thanks,” she giggles. Her t-shirt reads, “Blondes have more fun, but Brunettes can read”.

“In fact,” I lean back to take a good look at her. I just realized she’s not wearing her work uniform, which is the only thing I’ve ever seen her in. She looks better like this, with a little make-up on and her hair down instead of up. “You look very nice.”

She blushes again. Score. “Thanks, so do you. You’re a walking Abercrombie and Fitch advertisement,” she teases, folding her legs up onto the sofa.

I nudge her in the side. “Don’t pretend you haven’t wanted to throw me down and do dirty things to me the minute you met me.”

Her head spins to look at me, her eyes wide. “Wha-what?”

I laugh and tap her leg. “I’m just kidding girl, now let’s watch some Friends!”

-------------------------------------

Fucker. That is the only word I could use to describe him, complete and utter fucker. Goddamn ass, does he know what he’s doing to me now, with his arm casually draped over my shoulder, or what he’s been doing to me since the moment I walked in?

Fucker.

How dare he, how dare he make me feel like this? So excited and yet so frightened at the same time. I hate this, I hate him.

No I don’t, I think he’s great.

Oh shut up, subconscious. I can’t even concentrate on Friends because I’m so infatuated by the feeling of his thigh lightly brushing against my own. My only comfort is that it’s a purely physical thing. I only feel fluttery and stupid shit of that nature around him because he’s just so gorgeous and quite frankly, I’d be blind not to. I’m thinking I should keep my distance from this guy, before I end up too deep and just get my heart stomped on, again. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Distance is the key Cat, distance.

“Hey,” Justin puts the video on pause and turns to me. “How about we talk for a while? You know, get to know each other a little better?”

“Sure,” I gush.

Oh yeah, good distancing Cat.

“Trace, can you stop that please.”

He’s either pretending to not hear me, trying to piss me off, or genuinely can’t hear me. Well, as for the latter, there’s more chance of rats flying out of my ass, so I’m going go with the first two.

“Trace, please, stop that,” I repeat.

The little fucker keeps on doing it. He’s got a stupid bouncy ball and keeps on bouncing it from the floor to the ceiling, from the floor to the ceiling, from the floor…

“Trace, would just quit that shit and listen to me for once in your goddamn life!”

“Woah, where did that come from?” he asks, sitting up straight on the couch.

“Sorry,” I say, rubbing my head. “I’m tired and you’re being a dick.”

“Say it like it is, J,” he mutters bitterly. He turns to look at me. “I’m bored.”

“What are you, five years old? I don’t have to entertain you.”

He jumps off the couch. “Let’s do something.”

“Like what?”

He shrugs. “I dunno. We could play golf, go bowling, go shopping —”

“You could meet Cat,” I interrupt.

“Oh, yeah, that might be cool,” he says, throwing his ball up and catching it again.

I take it from his hands and throw it to one of my dogs, who eagerly begins to chew it. “So, you want me to call her?”

“Dick,” he mutters, staring wistfully at his bright green ball, which is now streaked with saliva. “And do what?” he asks, turning to me.

I shrug. “We could just hang out here, or go out. We can ask her.”

“Okay,” he agrees, reaching beside him and throwing the phone towards me. “Phone your little girlfriend.”

I roll my eyes. “She’s not my girlfriend, Trace, she’s just a friend.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Because you two have been spending an awful lot of time together recently.”

“So? You and I spend a lot of time together, are we dating?”

He shoots me a disgusted look. “Don’t be repulsive, J.”

“Well then don’t be stupid, Trace,” I mock before dialing the digits onto the phone.

I can understand why Trace would think there was something going on between Cat and myself. We’ve spent days together, just watching Friends, eating, talking about random shit that means nothing. I’ve actually grown pretty attached to her, despite only knowing her for just over three weeks.

She’s become a really good friend, but there’s still a lot of things I don’t know about her; she's a very private person. For example she’s not from Tennessee, she’s from Ohio, but whenever I ask her why she moved she clams up and says it’s not important. The same goes for when I ask about ex boyfriends. I just don’t feel like I know her, you know? Apart from being clueless about her past, I’ve never seen her cry, or get angry, or be ecstatically happy. I’ve only seen sarcastic, funny, full-of-random-facts Cat, which is great, but I wish I could see more.

To be fair, I haven’t told her about Britney or any of my ex girlfriends, but it’s simply because she hasn’t asked, or expressed any interest in them. It’s kinda funny; that’s usually the first thing people ask me, but not Cat. She really doesn’t show any curiosity in my “other life”, where I’m a popstar. She’s never asked about Nsync, or any solo stuff, or Britney. I think if I talked about it I would just bore her, but that’s a nice change and exactly what I wanted when I decided to take this break. She really does go against every cliché anyone could have about her.

I’m surprised her and Trace haven’t met yet, seeing as she has been round to my house at least seven times, but I think they’ll get on great. I’m just worried Trace might joke about something, like the fact she’s a little heavy or something and really upset her. But I don’t think he’d do that, he’s not that much of an asshole.

Shaking myself from my thoughts, I listen to the phone, which is ringing. “Hello?”

It’s Diane. I’ve briefly met her, but just once when I was dropping Cat off after one of our Friends sessions. She. Is. Gorgeous. And trust me, I’ve seen a fair few gorgeous people in my time, but she takes the cake, with her honey colored hair that flows to her shoulders and this amazing body that looks effortless. I probably would have hit on her had I not been so loyal to Cat, who I think might be a little jealous of her. Hell, I know I would be. But anyway, she already has a boyfriend, so that sort of puts me in my place. I’m not too upset though; according to Cat he’s a hillbilly. But then again, according to Cat, Elvis is still alive. Don’t ask.

“Hi Diane, it’s Justin.”

“Hey Justin, how are ya?” comes her chirpy tone, so unlike Cat’s slightly bored one.

“Good, good. Yourself?”

“I’m fine, thanks. Do you wanna speak to Cat?”

“Please.”

“Just be careful she doesn’t bite your head off,” whispers Diane, before handing the phone to Cat. “Phone for you, Cat.”

“Hello?” I hear a slightly flustered greeting. Yep, it’s Cat.

“Hey Cat, it’s your boy Jizzle.”

“Do you want me to hang up on you?”

I laugh. “No, sorry. How are you?”

I hear a sigh. “Not great, I have this fucking article that’s proving to be a complete bastard, my mom has just called to say she’s coming to visit me, which is never a good thing and, just to top it off, I keep on hearing how it’s the last series of Friends.”

I laugh. “What can I say to cheer you up?”

“That you’ll buy me a huge chocolate bar next time you see me.”

“Cat, I will buy you a huge chocolate bar next time I see you.”

“Thank you, that’s very generous of you. So, did you call just to display your admiration for Snoop Dog, or can I help you?”

“Fo shizzle ma nizzle.”

“What does that actually mean?” she asks. “Sorry Justin, I guess I'm just not streetwise.”

I laugh. It seems I do nothing else around the girl. “I was wondering whether you wanted to come over and meet Trace, but I’ve obviously gotten you at a bad time.”

She groans. “Kinda, but I really wish I could come.”

“How long will that article take you?”

She snorts. “About as long as it takes for you to do your hair in the morning.”

“You love me girl, you know you do.”

There’s silence on the other end. “I should be done with it in about and hour and a bit,” comes a quiet voice.

Before I can dwell on why she sounds upset, I suddenly cry out, “So you can come afterwards?”

“I dunno…”

Uh oh, there’s resistance. “Come ooon Cat. I’ll make it worth your while,” I add in a husky voice.

“Oh my god, is Nick Carter there?” she says sarcastically.

So disappointed Cat, so disappointed. “Pretty Boy? Nah, you got me and Trace.”

“Oh, how can I resist that winning combo,” she says blandly.

“Exactly, so you’ll come round?” There’s a silence. “You know you want to, Cat,” I add teasingly.

I hear a sigh. “Fine, fine. But make sure Trace knows he has worship me.”

“Of course. See ya later, babe.”

Her voice goes all small again. I wonder what could be wrong with her. Must be the article. “Bye.”

I knew she couldn’t say no to me.

----------------------------

I knew I couldn’t say no to him.

He should be a salesman, with his smooth voice and persuasive tone. God, that guy will be the cause of my downfall one of these days. Now I can’t concentrate on the asshole article because all I’ve got in my head is him calling me “Babe”. If anyone else called me babe, I think a castration would be in order, but when he does it, it makes me feel all…warm and safe, as though he really is my boyfriend.

Psht, I wish. And he always goes on in this jokey way about how much I love him. That’s like joking about heart disease in front of an obese person; it’s just so insensitive.

Okay, let’s get this straight. I don’t love him, I’m just mildly infatuated by him. It’s just a stupid crush that I’m praying will fade out in time because if it doesn’t, I honestly don’t see how we can be these past few weeks have been. We’ve spent hours just watching Friends and talking.

Of course, we always get into dangerous territory when he asks about why I moved to Tennessee or why I dropped out of college. Oh shit, he doesn’t know about the whole college thing, does he? Well, anyway, it's far to early in our friendship to go into that crap.

The computer screen stares blankly back at me. Come on Cat, just write. Okay, okay, what’s my subject again? Ah yes, the decrease in ducks at some pissy pond that only gets visited by the elderly, and that’s just because they’re too busy dying to notice what a craphole it is.

“Just give it up, Cat.”

I jump at the voice behind me. “Diane, Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” she grins and sits on my desk. “I was just wondering whether you wanted to come out to dinner with Joseph and me.”

And play the loner best friend? I’d rather get my nipples pierced, thanks. “Sorry, I already said I was going round to Justin’s.”

“Oh, how are things with him?”

I shrug. “He’s still being amazing, and I’m still falling for him. Same old thing it’s been for the past three weeks really.”

Diane of course knows about the whole Justin issue, she’s the one that’s had to listen to me bitch and moan these past few weeks. I don’t know what I would do without her amazingly dramatic scenarios where he admits he loves me and asks me to marry him.

She strokes my hair affectionately. “I’m sorry sweetie.”

“That’s life,” I say, shrugging.

“You know, all you need is a boyfriend that will take your mind off Justin. That way, you’ll get over him but still be able to stay friends and you’ll be getting laid.”

I laugh. “A boyfriend, huh? Yeah, I’ll just pull one out of my pocket.”

She rolls her eyes. “You could get one so easily. Do something with your hair —“

“It’s fine the way it is.”

“Wear more make-up.”

I shake my head. “No, people know me as this. Cat, the normal girl, with normal brown hair and normal make-up. And I’m fine with that.”

She gives me the Look, the one I get everytime I put myself down. “You don’t seem fine with that.”

Things would be so much easier if she wasn’t a psychology major. “Don’t worry about me, Di, I’m fine.”

She sighs, before the doorbell rings. “That must be Joseph.”

“Have a nice time with the cowboy.”

“Have a nice time with the pop star.”

Shit, she got me there. I grin at her and wave goodbye, before turning back to my computer.

I actually managed to get a few hundred words out of it before I just swore at it and turned off the computer. Commitment is not my best quality, obviously. I quickly change into a turtleneck and some jeans, which, in my opinion, would look so much better if I lost twenty pounds, before rushing off to Justin’s house.

I ring the doorbell and hear the running of feet to the door, as well as a few shouts. “Hello, welcome to our humble abode,” greets Justin in a fancy accent, smiling and holding the door wide open.

I look behind him to see another man lying on a crumpled heap on the floor, clutching his stomach. “Justin, nothing about this place is humble and what the hell did you do to that poor man?”

He looks over his shoulder and shrugs. “That’s just Trace. Come in, come in!”

I laugh at his eagerness and get dragged into the house. Finally, the man on the floor stands up and brushes off his trousers and shirt. He’s kind of cute, with curly brown hair and tattoos on his forearm. But compared to Justin, who looks as yum as the sundae I had earlier on in his usual outfit of a t-shirt and jeans, he sort of pales. Oh, pot, kettle, black, right? It’s just like me and Diane, although Trace is actually better looking than I am.

Great, I’m resenting this guy already.

“Hi, I’m Trace,” says the man, holding out his hand to me.

“Cat,” I reply, taking it.

Justin puts his muscled arms around our shoulders. “So, homies, what do you guys want to do?”

Trace and I share a look. “Well, let’s start with eliminating the word ‘Homie’ from your vocabulary, for one,” I say, disgusted by Justin’s second attempt that day to be black.

Trace holds up his hand and gives me a high five. “I like you already, Cat.”

I grin at him as Justin pouts. “I knew it was a mistake letting you two meet each other, now y’all are gonna gang up on me.”

“Justin,” I begin, taking off my coat. “Y’all isn’t a word. And while we’re there, neither is ain’t.”

“When did I say that?”

“Yesterday. Remember? 'That just ain't right, Cat',” I imitate, hanging up my coat on the stand. “Trace, I hope you don’t speak like you’re from a country western too, otherwise I’m going to have my work cut out for me.”

He grins at me. “Nope, I’m the cool, reserved one of our duo. I don’t use crap words.”

“Excellent.”

Justin is staring between us, mouth open. Apparently he’s still not used to my hourly insults.

“Hey Cat, ever played basketball?” asks Trace.

Oh no, not basketball. He’s GOT to be kidding. Shake your head Cat, just say NO.

“Yeah, in high school.”

Shit. Brain, mouth, listen up. Work together. We’re a team. The mouth DOES NOT open without the brain's consent.

“We got a court outside, we could play on that.”

No, we cannot all play on the court outside because one, it’s freezing, and two; I will not be subjected to physical exercise. I’m one of the girls who had their periods for weeks at a time in school so I didn’t have to participate in gym classes, and I have no desire to break the habit of a lifetime.

But no, Justin and Trace are already pulling me outside by my hand, chattering excitedly about how renowned they are for being great basketball players.

“Guys, guys, I can’t play,” I begin to protest, my breath coming out as a little cloud of mist in the cold.

“Why not?” they say together. Woah, that’s a little scary. I didn’t know I was spending the day with Twiddledum and Twiddledee.

“Because…” Um, good question. “Because I haven’t got any sneakers!”

They both look at my shoes. I’m so glad I decided to wear my high-heeled boots today, so glad.

“They’ll be okay.”

“Justin, have you ever tried playing basketball in heels?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Do you really want to know?” I laugh before I can stop myself.

“Fine. Whose team am I going on?”

“Mine,” Trace pipes up, before pulling me to the side. “Cat, I have an idea.”

---------------------------

I’ve yet to decide whether having Cat on your team is an advantage or a disadvantage. Trace and her devised a cunning plan that consisted of Trace getting the ball off me and passing it to Cat, who would shoot it nicely into the hoop.

Great plan, too bad it’s not working.

If Trace actually passes the ball to her, which he has learnt not to do, she rarely catches it and if she does, she sort of flops it towards the hoop. Of course, most of the time it just bounces of the rim and she shrugs and continues inspecting her nails.

But at least she’s having a good time, I can tell. I’ve never seen her laugh so much. Trace and her are getting on like a house on fire, just as I suspected they would. I would be lying to say I wasn't a little envious of they way they're gently flirting with each other.

We’re both trying to impress her. Why? I don’t know, but we’re playing our best and being extra malicious with the comments towards each other, being the show offs that we are.

“Come on, Timberpond, give it your best shot.”

Cat’s giggling, I can hear her. “My momma could do better than you, Shortstuff.”

“Not what she said last night, Timbo.”

“That is wrong Trace, so wrong.”

The sound of Cat’s laughter distracts me and I turn to see where the noise is coming from. Once my concentration is disturbed, Trace knocks the ball out of my hands and passes it to her. She catches it, for once, and saunters over to the net. She aims, waits, and then throws the ball, sending it neatly into the hoop.

“Woohoo!” Trace whoops, running up to her and lifting her up. Wow, Shortstuff must have more muscles than I give him credit for.

“Trace!” she screams as he spins her around.

“You scored Cat, you scored!” he exclaims.

She giggles and wraps her arms around his neck. “I know, I’m amazing!”

He hugs her tightly. “You most certainly are,” he says, somewhat muffled by her hair.

What the fuck is this? Yeah, she scored, great. But is it really necessary for Trace to hug her? I’ve never hugged her; Cat isn't really an affectionate person. Well, that’s what I thought before, but now there is like, no space between them. Why has she never hugged me? Granted, I’ve never tried to hug her either…wait, why again? She seems like a cuddly person because she’s a little chubby, so hugging her would be like hugging…the marshmellow man I guess.

Oh man, I just compared a girl to the marshmallow man. I'm a toilet brush.

But I can’t deny the rush of jealousy that’s coursing through my veins as I watch them together. They’ve just met, and already they seem to be as good of friends as Cat and me are after three weeks. I wonder if something’s going on between them.

I make a mental note to ask Trace about it later, before jogging towards them to break them up.

What the hell is that mother fucking noise?

I reach over and blindly hit my alarm clock. No, that’s not it; the noise is still reverberating around my bedroom walls. I groggily sit up in bed and glance at my bedside table. Urgh, cell phone. If that thing doesn’t shut the hell up, I’m going to throw it out of the window and get a dog to pee on it.

I hit a few keys. One of them is bound to be the pick-up button. “Hello?”

“Hey Cat, it’s Trace.”

Ah, the irritating munchkin. “What do you want?”

He chuckles. “Apart from a better attitude from you?”

“Sorry, no can do. Anything else?”

He laughs. “No, I was just calling to chat.”

“How was your visit?” Justin and Trace had to go to this birthday bash of Justin’s hosted by his record company in New York. I was invited, but I had that article to do and plus, the idea of being surrounded by blonde, skinny models did not appeal, strangely enough.

“Good. How did the article go?”

I snort. “About as well as funeral.”

He laughs again. “Do you think you’ll get the job?”

Wow, he really does listen to what I say to him. I heard there was an opening for a permanent position with the newspaper which I had decided to pursue. That would mean I could quit working at the store and stop serving the legions of Condom Boys, (actually yesterday, I got a Condom Girl, which was quite exciting) and would probably get more interesting subjects to write about. But it’s a relatively tough job to obtain, so optimistic me isn’t really counting on getting it.

“I don’t know, hopefully.” I yawn, which reminds me, why the hell is Trace calling me at eight in the morning? “Trace, why are you calling me so early?”

“Because I thought I should start my day with the sound of your beautiful voice.”

“Trace, cut the crap. What do you want?”

He chuckles. “I was calling to tell you we’re just getting the plane back now and you should keep this afternoon free, so we can do something.”

Oh no, I’d better cancel the thousands of things I’ve planned for today. Please. “You should know by now there was no need to forewarn me, Trace.”

“I was thinking we could try another sport —”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” I interrupt. No, seriously, I don’t like the sound of that. Does he not remember the basketball incident?

He giggles. “I mean a low activity sport, like pool or something.”

“Oh,” I breathe a sigh of relief. “I suck at my pool. Hold back your shock,” I say sarcastically.

He snorts. “Well, either way, you’re coming on my team. You know, recreate the unbeatable team of you and me.”

“Yes, Cat the Crazy and Trace the Tempting.”

His rumbling laugh travels down the phone to me, making my day a little better already. “Trace the Tempting, I like that, it’s cute. Hey, Trace the Tempting and Cat the Cutie!”

I laugh. “Whatever you say, Tempt.”

“I’d better go, we need to get on the plane. But I’ll see you later, Cutie.”

I giggle and…oh no…I blush. “See ya.”

Trace is too adorable.

---------------------

Okay, I tried to ignore it and let it be a one off thing, but no, they just had to push it a little further, didn't they?

Cat the Cutie and Trace the Tempting? Am I the only one thinking...what the fuck?

Something has to be going on. I tried to brush it off after the basketball game, I ignored the gentle flirtatiousness the continued over the next few days, I didn’t even mention that her and Trace have spent longer talking then me and her have, but nicknames? That’s where I draw the line.

See, I figured it all out. It wasn’t jealousy that had me awake for half the night thinking about the way they were together, and it wasn’t envy I felt when I saw them flirting with each other, it was just a protectiveness for both her and Trace. They’re good friends of mine, and I just don’t want them to get hurt, right? That’s a perfectly plausible reason for those weird feelings I had on the court…and the following days…and right now, as I watch Trace wrap up the call.

I numbly let someone lead me towards the plane and ignore the flashing light bulbs and screaming girls I’ve tried so hard to get away from these past few weeks. I can just ask Trace what’s going on when we get to the plane. I pushed it to the side because we were in New York and it was my birthday and it wasn’t bothering me. But now, after hearing that fucking phone conversation that could have gone on between man and wife, it’s the only thing I can think about.

Again, just doing my duty as a friend, that’s all.

“Is there anything I can get you, sir?”

I open my eyes and smile at the flight attendant. “No, thank you.”

She turns to Trace and smiles, her long eyelashes blinking rapidly. I would probably find her attractive if I wasn’t so sure she was going to malfunction any second. “How about yourself, sir?”

He glances up from his magazine. “No thanks.”

She nods at us and remains there for a while before slowly walking away. Trace elbows me in the side.

“Robot,” he mutters before putting on his headphones.

“Hey Trace,” I being, tapping him in the side.

He takes out one earpiece. “Yeah?”

“What’s going on with you and Cat?”

Shit, that sounded really harsh. Trace must notice this, as he turns to give me a surprised look. “What do you mean?”

“You guys are always…flirting and shit.” That’s right Justin, put it eloquently. “And what’s with the phone conversation you guy just had?”

I'm not sounding any nicer. He smirks. “Eavesdrop much?”

Now is not a time to be smart, Trace. I glare at him and he shrugs.

“What?”

“Well, do you like her?” I ask, prodding him on the arm.

“Stop it,” he says, slapping my hand away. “And of course I like Cat.”

I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean. Like that.”

“What are we, in Junior High? Oh my god, do you like Kelly Patterson?” he whispers behind his hand excitedly, much like the girls we would often taunt when we were younger. "Hey Justin, maybe we could get together after school and paint each other's nails!"

“I was just asking,” I mutter grumpily before turning away and putting my headset on to watch the movie. If Trace isn’t going to give me answers, then fine, that’s just fine.

He sighs. “Are you asking me whether I like her in a girlfriend way?”

I nod and take of the headphones. “Yeah. I mean, do you find her attractive?”

Trace pauses, before shrugging. “I guess. Let’s face it, she’s the kind of girl I would have ended up with if I wasn’t your best friend.” Put it bluntly why don’t you Trace. “I suppose so,” he says finally. “Why? Do you think she likes me?”

“Absolutely not,” I snap. Whoops, that wasn’t meant to come out so hastily.

He recoils slightly. “Thanks.”

“No, I mean…um, nothing.”

“Is there anything going on between you and Cat?”

I snort and replace my headphones. “Of course not.”

Trace looks at me for a second, shooting me an almost unbelieving look, before turning away. I wonder what’s wrong with him?

------------------------------

I trudge into the kitchen in my rabbit slippers and pajamas, my hair in a messy ponytail. I do love how I am always the image of perfection.

Diane’s sitting at the table, sipping coffee and reading my article. “Hey Di,” I mumble, pouring myself some orange juice.

“Hi,” she says, looking up at me and smiling. How come some people get to look so good first thing in the morning, whereas others look like they’ve been rolling in hay for ten hours? “You’re up kinda early, any reason?”

“Yeah, Trace. He called me to tell me they would be back soon.”

She raises an eyebrow and flicks the page over. “You two seem to be getting awfully close, as of late.”

I shrug. “It’s impossible not to get on with him. He called me Cat the Cutie,” I say, grinning.

She gives me a blank look. “So?”

“Diane! Do you have any idea how shocking it is for someone like me to actually be called a cutie and not a fatty?”

Her mouth drops open. “No one calls you fatty because you’re not fat. You’re just average.”

Witness the dramatic roll of the eyes. “That’s what polite people say to people who are bordering on obesity because they are too kind to say otherwise.”

She slams her hand on the table. “Stop it!”

I jump. That’s a pretty loud noise from someone so small. “What?”

“Stop bitching about yourself for goodness sake.”

I shrug. It’s just a habit, I guess. “Sorry.”

She sends me a stern look before closing the paper. “Anyway, back to my original point, you and Trace have gotten quite close quite quickly, wouldn’t you say?”

I sit down and take an apple, shrugging. “I guess.”

She sends me a look telling me she wants more information. Ah, I get it. She thinks I’ve got a silly crush on Trace as well as Justin.

“Oh come on, Diane. I’m not that easy,” I chuckle.

She smiles and rolls her eyes. “Well, you are quite the whore.”

I laugh. I wish. “Nah, Trace is actually a nice way of distracting me from Justin. When it was just me and Justin, all I could do was think about how great he was. But when Trace is there, it’s not so bad,” I shrug.

“So you don’t like Justin anymore?”

I snort and throw my apple in the bin, missing terrible of course. “I wish. I said I was distracted, not blind.”

Diane laughs before checking her watch. “Crap, I gotta go meet Joseph. I’ll catch you later, hun.”

“Sure,” I reply, heading towards the cereal. “Bye!”

She walks out and I slouch down on the couch. I can’t believe she thinks I’m even slightly over Justin. Trace is great and all, he’s basically a mini Justin (stress on the word mini), but I don’t think I could ever feel as strongly for him as I do for Justin. In fact, the past few days have been tougher than I'm willing to admit because I miss hanging around with him. I briefly called him on his birthday to send my birthday wishes and a few ego-bashing words. It was good to hear his voice, all happy and excited, even if I did have to hear it over the phone. I miss his good looks, his gift for making people laugh, his occasional lapses into singing, his ability to make me blush…

“Oh god, shut up, Cat,” I say out loud in the empty kitchen.

Great, so now I’m talking to myself. It’s good to know I’ve gone completely insane then. I wish I could hate him, I really do. It sure as hell would save me a lot of heartache. I have to snap out of this before I have too much time to dwell on it because I know if I do, I'll just end up a pool of tears. I check my watch, realizing I have a minimum of seven hours before they call me round to theirs.

Better start getting ready.

--------------------------------

I swing open the door the minute I hear a knock on it. It’s Cat, standing outside, shivering her ass off because she’s not got on a jacket. So typical of a girl.

“Hi!” I greet eagerly. I’ve missed that girl, more than I thought I would actually.

Okay, this is it. I am going to hug her, just to see whether she really is like the marshmellow…no, Justin, stop it.

She seems to be surprised as my arms snake their way around her hips. Slowly, and with a hint of caution, she wraps herself around my neck. I pull her close to me, the subtle scent of her shampoo filling my nostrils as my chins rests on her head. Man, she is nice to hug. She’s got no jaunty angles or sharp corners, only rounded edges. She’s the kind of person you go to if you’re crying, because there are no bones sticking painfully out on her spine or ribs, she’s just so warm and…soft. Like a big ball of dough.

Oh shit, not again, Timberlake.

“Hey,” she says softly, chuckling slightly. She sounds different - there’s no sarcastic tone in her voice.

“Hi,” I repeat. She’s looking at me in a weird way, it’s as though she wants to cry or something. “Is something wrong?” I ask, my voice full of concern.

“No, nothing’s wrong.” Her voice, it’s still different. It’s quiet and soft, not loud and insulting, as it usually is. She seems shy, and glances down at the ground, a lock of wavy hair escaping from behind her ear and framing her face.

I gently push it back and smile at her. Her eyes return to mine, and she smiles bashfully back at me. There’s a strange moment where we both stare at each other for no reason at all. I don’t think I’ve ever stared at her properly, there’s a lot of things I’ve never noticed about her.

“You have freckles,” I randomly say. She does, just a few ones splattering across her nose and her cheeks. They’re not very obvious and I guess she covered them up with foundation crap or something before.

She blushes and covers her nose. “I know, they’re horrible.”

I pull her hand away. “No, they’re nice.”

A silence falls over the two of us. It takes me a second to realize I’m still holding her hand and staring at her, but I just can’t seem to stop doing either. Her breath catches in her throat as I look at her slightly chubby face. I suddenly want to kiss her, even if it's just to see what it's like. Her lips look kinda plump and soft. I don't know why, I just really want to touch them. I take a step towards her, my head inclining toward hers.

Suddenly, Trace bounds down the stairs and lands at the bottom with a loud thump. “Cutie!” he shouts, holding his arms wide open.

“Tempt!” she imitates, laughing and rushing towards him, dropping my hand.

And just like that, the Cat I saw two seconds ago is gone and replaced by the usual, jokey girl that Trace and I know so well.

That was a weird moment.

I stare blankly at the wall, trying to decipher my way through my thoughts. He was going to kiss me, right? Or was it all just my imagination? Was his face really moving towards mine? Or was it just the angle in which he stood?

Aren't I pathetic? Aren't I completely pitiable? I hate Justin for doing this to me, I hate him I hate him I hate him. But he's so great, like when he said he like my freckles, something I've always been self-conscious of, I just about died with happiness. Everytime he's around me, I get this bubble of excitement and happiness buillding up inside of me and my heart begins to do acrobatics in my chest just from talking to him.

Urgh. I sound like the back of some cheesy romance novel in the discount section. Excuse everything I just said, this is so unlike me. Remember Cat, you're sarcastic, anti-love, you're the kind of person that rolls her eyes at weddings. You are not the kind of person that falls head over heels for some guys you've only known for two months and then spends hours thinking about his eyes for heaven's sake.

Thank God the phone's ringing, I was worried I might start on his totally kind and giving personality, his curly hair and the way he constantly runs his hands through it, or the way he calls me sweetie and babe and stuff and I forget all my feminist crap and let him call me whatever he wants. Oh wow, maybe it's him on the phone. In my anticipation, I run towards the phone. Woah woah woah, I ran? I haven't run since gym class in high school.

I groan in despair when I realize it's not Justin on the phone and half listen to the person on the other line.

I need help.

-----------------------------------

“Okay, would you rather date twins, or have one night with Halle Berry?”

I pause, and toss the chewed green ball I had retrieved from the dogs in between my hands a few times. “Twins. You?”

Trace stretches out and yawns, nodding. “Same.”

Trace is right; this old ball really is cool to play with. “Would you rather drown, or be burned alive?”

Trace shrugs. “Both seem kinda painful.”

“State the obvious Trace,” I smirk.

“Stop being a dick, Justin,” he retorts.

There’s silence as I continue to toss the ball around, contemplating whether I should unexpectedly throw it at Trace for calling me a dick.

“I’m bored.”

Why does that sound so familiar? “Then do something.”

“Like what?” he continues to whine, tracing the pattern on the couch. He’s silent for a second, before he says, “We could call Cat over.”

“No!” I exclaim, far too quickly.

Trace frowns and sits up straight on the couch. “Why not?”

Why not? Why not?! The vertically challenged one asks me? Because last time I saw Cat, I almost ended up kissing her for heavens sake. What was I thinking? It was such a bizarre moment. One minute I was just saying hi, the next my lips were inching their way towards hers. What was wrong with me? It only really sunk in later, when Cat had gone home and I was alone and I realized I had to sort out this mush of feelings before I did something stupid.

So there I was, tossing and turning all night, feeling weirded out that I liked Cat and then feeling guilty because she’s such a great girl, when I finally came to a conclusion. What has obviously happened here is my lack of any action in the girlfriend department has left me seeking love in any girl that crosses my path, you see? All I need to do is find a girlfriend and stop pestering poor Cat, and then I’ll be back on track again. I actually called this really nice girl I met in New York, Natasha something or other. She was stunningly beautiful; dark blonde hair framing her perfect face, striking eyes that lit up the whole room. She was perfect. And to top it all off, she was really sweet. I’m pretty sure she’ll call me back.

But you know what I’m beginning to learn? You’re never safe when it comes to women. Look at Cat, for example. I thought I was in for an easy ride with her, she’s the last kind of girl I thought I’d ever like, but a few days without a girlfriend and all of a sudden she’s like Pamela Anderson.

Trace is still staring at me, waiting for an answer. He’s probably going to start tapping his foot soon, a really bad habit he picked up from my bodyguard. I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “I just think we’ve been seeing an awful lot of her lately, that’s all.”

Trace looks at me cluelessly. “Well, what’s wrong with that?”

“Well…you know, um…She does have a life of her own, you know. We shouldn’t be harassing her all the time,” I mumble hopelessly. Good excuse Timberlake, it’s right up there with the dog ate my homework.

Trace scowls. “I don’t know why you’re being so weird about this, J. She’s our friend.”

“I know, but don’t you think we’re smothering her?”

“No.”

Keep your answers short and sweet, why don’t you Trace. He’s making this really difficult for me, especially when I know I’m talking complete crap.

“What have you suddenly got against Cat?” he perseveres.

“I haven’t got anything against her, I just don’t feel the need to be up her ass all the time, unlike some people. Honestly, why don’t you just go marry her…” I mutter. Wow, it’s been at least eight years since I last used the insult.

“Why are you acting so immature?” Good point.

I sigh. There’s no point keeping secrets from him, Trace always finds out stuff in the end. “Sorry Trace. I really am. It’s just lately —”

The piercing ring of the phone cuts my sentence in half and I quickly jump up to get it, glad of an interruption before I told Trace about Cat. Knowing him, he’d just blow it all out of proportion and try and play matchmaker between myself and Cat, which neither of us want.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Justin?” comes an unusually excited and yet oh so familiar voice.

“Cat?”

“Justin, hi!” she says, sounding slightly out of breath.

I chuckle. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Guess what?”

“What?” I ask, a hint of a smile creeping on my face. She doesn’t sound like she usually does, she’s all excited and flustered and happy.

“I got the job!” she replies shrilly.

My jaw drops. “Are you kidding?”

“No! I got it! I really did!” she shrieks slightly and a laugh.

“I’m so proud of you. Well done, sweetie.”

She sighs happily into the phone. “Thank you.”

“So when do you start work?”

“In a few days, Thursday, I think.”

“That’s awesome, well done.” I’m so happy for her, she really deserves this. After all those endless nights at the general store, she can finally put her talent and heart into a job she really loves.

Urgh, why am I so cheesy? No wonder I ended up in a boyband.

Trace is standing next to me, frowning curiously. I put my hand over the receiver. “Cat got the job.”

His eyes widen. “Are you being serious?”

I grin and nod. He tries to snatch the phone off me, but I roughly push him away, sending him crashing into the cushions on the couch. Ha ha, loser.

“You have to come over and celebrate with me and Trace tonight, obviously,” I say once I’m back on the phone.

She pauses. “Celebrate how?”

I shrug. “I dunno. Get a few beers —”

“I don’t like beer,” she interrupts.

I roll my eyes. “Fine, fine. Smirnoff Ices?”

She laughs. “That’s more like it.”

I should have known beneath that tough exterior lay a typical woman who only drank those pissy chick drinks. “Whatever, you have to come over, Cat,” I whine. Hey, wasn’t I just saying she shouldn’t come over a second ago?

“Um,” I hear her ponder. No one ponders when it’s an invite from Justin Timberlake.

“I have chocolate,” I tease.

“Well, why didn’t you just say so? I’ll be over in a few,” she says quickly.

I laugh at her sudden change in attitude. “See ya babe.”

She giggles slightly, which is fairly uncharacteristic. “Bye.”

I put down the phone and turn to Trace grinning. “She’s coming round so we can celebrate.”

Trace grins, but frowns a moment later. “But I thought you said we shouldn’t see her. You know, ‘Don’t you think we’re smothering her, Trace?’” he mocks.

I shrug. “Well, I changed my mind.”

He shoots me another confused glance. “You’re weird, you know that?”

I nod. “It’s part of my charm. Now come on and help me get stuff together.”

---------------------------

You know when you do something that you just know will have disastrous consequences, but you still do it anyway? You take the last chocolate, you put your alarm clock on snooze for the millionth time, you accept the third Smirnoff Ice you’ve had since you got to Justin and Trace’s house…

I know, I know. I’m an idiot. You’d think twenty-one years would have been enough for me to gain some self control and realize that it does not take a lot for me to get drunk, but no. I went to Justin and Trace’s, ready to celebrate my new job in a fun yet controlled, and ended getting shitfaced because I couldn’t refuse the drinks they were giving me. I guess I’m just a little buzzed rather than shitfaced, but I know in a more sober state I wouldn’t be in my current situation. My current situation being a cross examination from Justin and Trace, who have decided they don’t know enough about me and therefore have to ask me ever single question under the sun.

“Okay Cat, what is your full name?” asks Trace.

Well, that’s easy enough. “Catherine Grace Saunders.”

“So you’re initials are CGS.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Yes, isn’t it amazing?”

“And where were you born?”

“Ohio.”

“Date?”

I sigh in annoyance. “20th December, 1983, okay!”

Trace grins and pops a chip into his mouth. “Just being thorough, Cutie, just being thorough.”

Justin leans forward, holding his beer in his left hand as his other scratches his chin thoughtfully. “What are your family like?”

I shrug. “I have two sisters, Dawn and Sophie. Sophie’s older, Dawn’s younger. I’m the dysfunctional middle one,” I add, grinning.

“What about your parents?”

“They still live in Ohio,” I say, wondering why they were asking me such irrelevant questions. What are they, the police?

“Okay,” Trace rubs his hands together excitedly. “Let’s get onto the good stuff. Age of loss of virginity?”

I feel myself involuntarily blush. “Um, seventeen,” I say quietly.

“Hey, isn’t that illegal?” asks Justin. Psht, I really doubt Justin is in the position to question my morals.

Trace snorts. “Yeah, but not as illegal as fifteen is,” Justin reciprocates his glare and turns to me.

“Any weird piercings or tattoos we’re likely to be interested in?” asks Justin.

Yeah, like I would have anything as interesting as a piercing or a tattoo. “Nope.”

“How many sexual partners have you had?” asks Trace, in what I hope is a jokey voice.

Oh hell no! I glare at him, hoping my eyes are projecting my ‘Don’t be an asshole, asshole’ message, which is running through my mind. “Trace, be quiet please.”

“Oh come on!” he exclaims.

He can exclaim all he wants, he’s never going to find out. “Trace, that’s a very personal question to ask,” says Justin gently. Aw, what a sweetheart. “Pft, I’m just kidding! Seriously Cat, how many?” he says, leaning forward to listen to me.

I see where Trace’s asshole influence may be coming from. “Guys, if you don’t start asking me that I’m going to go to the papers and confirm speculation that you two are in fact, gay.”

That shut them up. “Um…oh! Did you like Nsync?”

I shrug. “I never disliked you, but I did laugh the first time I heard that God song.”

Justin grins. “God Must Have Spent A Little More Time On You?”

I sigh. “That’s the one. Whoever wrote that should be imprisoned. Forever.”

Justin’s laugh sends uncontrolled shivers down my spine. “Anyway, what were you like in high school?”

I shrug. Disliked? I don’t know. I was one of those anti-cheerleader girls that a few thought was funny and the other few thought was a bitch. “I was just another girl, no big deal.”

“Popular?”

“About as much as Saddam Hussein.”

Justin grins. “What did you do after high school.”

Uh oh. Here is where it gets harder. “Um…I sorta…went to college,” I trail off rather pathetically, avoiding their gazes. “But I dropped out,” I practically whisper.

Trace shrugs. “There’s no shame in that.”

I glance up at him, my embarrassment fading slightly. “Really?”

Justin nods and picks up another beer. “Yeah. I mean, Trace and I barely made it through high school, let alone college.” I smile gratefully at him, before he asks. “So, why did you drop out?”

Shit. How can I sum those chaotic few years without giving them too much information? “The most stupid reason imaginable, let’s just leave it at that.”

“Is it the same reason you left Ohio?” asks Trace, looking at me curiously.

Shit, these boys are smarter than they look. “Sort of, yeah.”

There’s a silence, where they’ve obviously run out of things to ask me because all they can think about is what The Big Reason could be. I sigh. I may as well tell them, however humiliating it’s going to be.

“I dropped out of college to move to Tennessee with my boyfriend,” I say, eventually.

They look up at me, surprised I broke so easily. Yeah, you and me both, guys. “Well what’s wrong with that?” Trace asks.

I snort. “What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with that is I gave up my whole life just for some guy who ended up leaving me after two months in this crappy state,” I snap angrily.

Even now, after almost two years, I still get angry at myself. How could I be so stupid? I think I should mention that Matthew (I even stooped down so low as to call him Matt, several times. I hate myself,) was handsome, rich and intelligent. He was everything a girl could want in a man. So me, being the chubby, not so popular girl I was, practically kissed the sky when he expressed interest in me. He was my first boyfriend, the first I guy who ever seemed to find me attractive and the guy I ended up giving everything to. I was just so happy I actually had a boyfriend I never questioned anything, what a wimp I was. Asshole. I hate men. They should be put in a small pit and fed to ravenous tigers. All of them.

Trace recoils at my harshness. “Well, why didn’t you just move back?”

I shrug. “Because I’d thrown away everything, all my opportunities, all my friends. There was nothing to go back to.”

“Bull,” says Justin, unexpectedly.

I turn to him. “Excuse me?”

“Bull,” he repeats matter-of-factly. “You didn’t go back because you’re too proud.”

Damn you, Dr Freud. “Let’s talk about something else, shall we?” I say, desperate to move on.

They nod, before Trace begins to yawn. “You know guys, I’m kind of tired.”

I yawn instinctively and sigh. “Same.” I haul myself off the couch, my head already beginning to pang somewhat.

I look around for my coat, preparing myself to go home before Justin stands up. “You can’t go home like this.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Why not? I’m fine.”

He shakes his head. “No, you can’t drive like this.”

I shrug. “I can walk.”

He snorts. “Cat, if you think I’m going to let you walk home by yourself, then you are unfortunately mistaken.

I groan. “Why? I can walk home by myself.”

He shakes his head and bends over, picking up a few stray bottles. “I don’t think so. Pretty girls like yourself bring out the wannabe thug in little boys.”

I freeze. Pretty girls like myself? Pretty girls? A grin sneaks onto my face as does a blush.

Of course, he doesn’t notice and carries on cleaning. “So tonight you can just stay here in one of the guest rooms.”

I stifle a yawn. “Honestly, just let me go home, I’ll be fine.” He called me pretty, pretty!

He shakes his head again and touches my arm, sending chills through my body. “Please stay here tonight,” he asks softly, his blue eyes the image of sincerity.

My heart melts. “Okay,” I whisper, and he grins at me. He knows full well he could have just said, 'There's a pink elephant outside your bedroom' and I still would have whimpered, "Oh, okay then Justin."

“Great. Come on, I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

I’m vaguely aware of bidding Trace goodnight but my focus is mainly on Justin, who took my hand to lead me upstairs. He heads into one of the countless rooms along the hall and ushers me in it. It’s a nice room, sort of boring, with white walls and white sheets and a closet.

“Is in here okay?”

“Honestly, I’d have been fine walking-”

He holds up a hand to silence me. “Ah ah ah, just go to sleep. There are clothes in the closet over there,” he nods towards the closet and quickly kisses my cheek. “Sleep well, Cat.”

He leaves the room, leaving me standing in the middle of it, blushing and touch the place where his lips touched my skin. The fluttery feeling in my heart just won’t go away and I find myself staring wistfully at the door he just exited.

-------------------------

I happily stroll down the stairs, a slightly smile playing on my lips the next morning. If i ignore the pain in my head, then maybe it'll just go away. Christ, I'm such a light weight. I didn't even drink that much last night, and yet I'm still groaning every time I hear a bang. But it's worth it, last night was amazing. Not only did I get called pretty, but I got a kiss on the cheek too. My life is complete.

"Hi," says Trace as I come in.

"Hey," I say as Trace pushes a slice of toast in my direction.

"Sleep okay?"

I nod as I munch my toast. "How's your hangover?"

He shrugs. "Takes more than a few beers to get me. I'm well trained," he says, flexing his muscles.

I laugh. "At least you're good at something."

He feigns annoyance before pointing over to the phone. "There's a message from your roommate on the answerphone."

My hand flies to my forehead. "Shit! I didn't tell her I wasn't coming back last night!"

Trace waves me off. "Nah, don't worry, Justin did, last night. But she still said something about your mom phoning or something."

"Oh great," I mutter, heading over to the phone and listening to my messages on loudspeaker.

"Hey Cat, it's Diane. I just wanted to let you know your mom called saying she left her glasses or something so she wants you to give her a call. I'll probably be at college when you come back, so I'll catch ya later, hun."

I shrug and prepare to walk away from the phone, when another female voice filters through. "Hey Justin, it's Natasha." A dagger drives through my heart. "I'm just returning your call..." he called her? Another dagger. "To say I am going to be free on Friday night if you wanna meet up or something, that'd be really great." A whole fucking sword is plunged into my chest. "Call me later, bye!"

Just like that, my good mood was snatched away from me. My eyes water, but I quickly bite on my lip to stop them falling. So Justin is pursuing this Natasha girl? I angrily eat another slice of toast. I should have known. I'm just another chubby girl that he's going to refer to as having a "great personality". We will never be together, and he will never look at me the way I look at him, and it's killing me.

Suddenly, I hate every person in the world named Natasha. I bet she's pretty, and thin, and blonde. Bitch.

I want Justin to say it's not true, I want him to say what I'm feeling isn't in vain, I want him to defy the odds and admit he is madly in love with me, I want him to say the other day wasn't just my imagination and he really was going to kiss me before Trace interrupted us.

But want is getting me nowhere. I need to stop dreaming.

Five Things You Will Need To Get You Over Your Pathetic Crush:

1) Chocolate, obviously. And lots of it, with the calorie content scribbled out.

2) An entire series of Friends, preferably the one where Ross and Rachel finally get together and true love prevails.

3) A good friend who is willing to lie and say the aforementioned Crush is an asswipe

4) A copy of a staunchly feminist book that rips men to shreds and supports your theory that men should be put in a small box somewhere.

5) I Will Survive by the amazing Gloria Gaynor constantly replaying in the back round, and whoever told you it was wrong to sing along didn’t know what they were talking about.

These are the rules I have lived by my entire life. I have a crush, I get hurt when I see him with some Barbie doll, and then I go into my healing process, which mainly consists of eating too much chocolate and Diane bitching to cheer me up. And call me sad for seeking solace in fattening dairy products and empty insults, but until you’re in a similar situation, be quiet.

“How many dates have they been on again?” asks Diane, opening another bag of chips.

“Four,” I mumble miserably, not looking up from my pile of color coordinated M&Ms. “And another one tonight. If he stills likes her after this one, then it’s going to turn serious.”

Diane violently shakes her head. “No way, it’s at least the seventh or until they’ve slept together or something.”

“Yeah, but he’s not seeing any one else and all his attention is solely on her. She’s his everything,” I mutter sarcastically. “He talks about her all the time.”

“What does he say?”

I shrug. “Stupid, boring shit that only he finds interesting because he’s the one dating her, like how her favorite color is yellow because it’s the color of the sun.”

Diane’s face scrunches in disgust. “What a loser.”

“That’s what I thought, but Justin thinks that it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever heard.”

“She’s obviously a total bitch,” says Diane, offering me a cookie before taking one herself. “She sounds so fake.”

“Exactly.”

I sigh and cover my face with my hands. This is all so screwed up. Part of me is saying it’s none of your business; he wasn’t your boyfriend in the first place etc etc etc. The other part however is mentally shouting obscenities at the “Natasha”, who I am yet to meet. Justin actually said me, her, him and Trace should all go out and have lunch one day. Yeah, right. As if I would voluntarily subject myself to such torture. If I had to spend an hour with someone who I knew Justin might be sleeping with, I’d poke my eyes out with a fork. Oh god, has he slept with her yet? It’s a little early for all that, right? They’ve only been seeing each other for what, two weeks? Three? But then again, I bet she’s an easy slut who sleeps with every celebrity that she meets. Whore.

I wouldn’t know whether a girl has stayed over at their house or whether Justin has spent a night away, as I haven’t been to theirs in over a week. My excuse is, “Ugh, I’m just so busy with work.” Busy with work my ass, I think I do more work shoe shopping. Ah well, at least going into the office somewhat eases my Justin-troubles for a few hours. Just a few though, because as soon as I get back home there’s always a message from him or Trace saying something sickeningly sweet like, “Hope you had a good day at work, give us a call.” There’s more chance of me calling Alcoholics Anonymous. Don’t they get it? I don't go round to their house unless I'm sure it's a Natasha-free zone.

“I bet she’s got fake boobs,” says Diane, noticing my silence.

I nod. “Yeah, which explode when she gets on planes.”

Diane grins. “And I bet she’s got an illegitimate kid by the name of Kid Rock Junior.”

I laugh. “Yeah, the result of a drunken night with the King of White Trash himself.”

“Which makes her the queen of White Trash,” adds Diane.

I begin to cackle evilly. That’s a cheering thought. Maybe I’m reading too much into this. After all, they have only been dating a little while, and Justin is too young to settle down. Yeah, I’m just overreacting.

“It’s probably just a physical thing,” I say out loud.

“Absolutely,” Diane agrees. “Soon, he’ll realize she has the conversational skills of a cheese sandwich and he’ll dump her.”

Wow, I could be his rebound. Wait, that’s bad, right? I guess I should be comforted by the thought its just sex, but I’m not. There’s something in the back of my mind reminding me Justin would never look at me and think, “Hey, I would love to sleep with her.” If we ever were to get into a relationship, it would be because he loved my sarcasm, or my humor, or some other endearing personality trait, not because he thought I was beautiful.

Well, that’s what I think anyway.

-----------------------------

She’s gorgeous. She truly is.

Her hair, it’s just so…silky, and I love the way she constantly flicks it over her shoulder when it comes over her face. And her eyes, I could melt in them. They’re such a dark, chocolate brown, but always have a sparkle in them. And her voice, it’s so gentle and soft, like feathers slowly falling from the sky. There’s just something about her confident, sweet nature that’s making me fall for her. She has this amazing aura that radiates of her smooth, soft skin.

If Trace was here, he’d kill me.

Okay, so I’m talking like some high school chick that has a crush on her teacher, but I can’t help it. I really like Natasha; she’s the first genuinely sweet person I’ve met in a long time, and the fact she’s breathtaking makes things even better. I’m captivated just from listening to her talk, observing the way her glossy, pink lips move to form each word. I may have found a keeper in this one.

“And then….” She trails off, a blush entering her cheeks. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve just been talking and talking. You must be bored.”

Around someone as beautiful as you? Never. “No, I’m not. Please, carry on.”

She shakes her head. “No, no. Let’s talk about something else.”

The waiter arrives with the bill and I quickly pay for it. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

She nods and smiles. “Sure.”

I lead her to the car, holding her by the small of her back, and open her car door for her, but not before dropping a quick kiss on her lips. She grins at me and I head around to the other side. I get in and start the car, before turning to her shyly.

“Do you want to come back to my place?”

She smiles. “That would be nice.”

I lean over to give her another kiss before driving out of the restaurant car park. I can barely contain my excitement. We’ve been seeing each other for a couple of weeks now and haven’t done anything but light fooling around and I would be lying to say I haven’t anticipated more.

We idly chat until I pull up outside my house. We begin kissing before we even get to the door and I end up having her pushed up against my front door in my lust. I quickly open the door and pause. Trace is still home and I’d rather his first impression of her wasn’t ‘Oh, that’s the girl Justin screwed a few nights ago’. I lead her inside and look around to see where Trace is. I can hear his laughter along with another coming from the games room.

I open the door to see Cat and Trace playing some random X-Box game, laughing their heads off, not even acknowledging my arrival. I cough, and they look up.

“Oh, hi Justin.”

“Hi,” I say, smiling at Cat.

“Hey,” she says quietly. I haven’t seen her in a while; it’s probably because of her new job. To be honest, I’ve been kind of preoccupied with Natasha lately.

“How you been Cat?”

She shrugs and her eyes drop down to her hands. She seems uneasy. “Fine, thanks.”

I’m about to enquire into why she sounds upset when I realize I haven’t introduced Natasha, who’s standing right behind me. I gently take her hand and pull her forward. “Oh, sorry Natasha. Cat, Trace, this is Natasha.”

Natasha steps forward, smiling as she shakes their hands. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” says Trace brightly.

“Likewise,” mutters Cat before she begins twisting the corner of her shirt around her finger. Something is definitely wrong, maybe her new job isn’t as great as she thought it would be or something. I’ll have to ask her later.

“Actually, I think we’ve met before,” says Trace.

Natasha nods and grins. “Yes, I think we have. You’re the guy who spilled Jack Daniels on my top at Justin’s party.”

Trace blushes. “At least it wasn’t on all of your top.”

Natasha shakes her head. “Nah, just ¾ of it. It’s a good thing I didn’t like that shirt anyway.”

We all laugh and I turn to Cat. “So, how’s the new job going?”

She shrugs. “It’s alright.”

I turn to Natasha. “Cat is a journalist for the local paper.”

Natasha nods. “I think you showed me one of her articles.”

Did I? Oh yeah, that’s right. I showed her Cat’s first official article, which was about a painting and seeing as Natasha is an artist I thought it would interest her.

Natasha turns to face Cat, smiling warmly. “It was a wonderful piece. You really brought a new perspective to the painting.”

Cat blushes slightly. “Thank you.” She pauses and looks uncomfortable. “Are you interested in art?”

Natasha nods. “Yes. I’m actually hoping to work on some stuff whilst I’m down here in Tennessee. Hopefully the south is going to fill me with inspiration,” she adds, smiling.

Cat nods before checking her watch. “Speaking of work, I really should get going now. I have an article to work on and I don’t want to get fired quite so quickly.”

We laugh slightly and Cat picks up her things, giving Trace a quick hug before walking past Natasha and I, her head bent. She doesn’t seem to want to look at me, and it’s making me feel guilty, although I don’t know why, I haven’t done anything wrong.

“Bye,” she whispers.”

“Nice to meet you,” Natasha calls out as Cat opens the door.

She glances over her shoulder and gives us a weak smile. “You too. I’ll see you guys later.”

She sends a quick look at me, and our eyes clash in a frenzy of blue. The corners of her eyes seem slightly moist, and she’s biting down on her lip, as though she wants to say something, but her mind won’t let her. She hurries out of the door and I consider going after her, because something is obviously bothering her. Trace must have seen it too, because he brushes past me and runs outside to catch her before she leaves. I have no idea what could be wrong with Cat, but when I looked into her eyes I felt my heart skip a beat at the thought she could be upset over something. I have a strange protectiveness over her; the idea of her being unhappy tears me in two. I think it’s because underneath all the sarcasm and supposed hatred towards everything in the world, there’s just a girl who can get as easily hurt as the rest of us. I really should go with Trace to talk to her.

But soon I’m too distracted by the feeling of Natasha’s lips against my neck and her hands gently skimming over the skin underneath my shirt to concentrate on anything else.

---------------------------------

It’s ridiculous really. I haven’t cried in months and yet the sight of Justin with Natasha sends me into a whimpering mess. She had to be nice, didn’t she? She just had to be kind, courteous and polite…everything that I’m not. I bet she gives all her wages to charity and spends her free time sewing mittens for sick kids. She’s the kind of person I would avoid in the best of circumstances, because I know I would just end up hating her for being such a faultless image of perfection that made me look like a car crash in comparison.

But I could deal with all this. I really could. After all, she’s just another person who happens to be prettier and nice than me, I can deal with that. I’ve done it my whole life. But the way Justin acted around her was like having someone stomp all over my shattered heart. The gentle voice he adopted when he spoke to her, the way his eyes softened when they landed on her, the tenderness in which he touched her, which I’m sure sent chills through her body, as they do to mine. The difference is, when Justin touches me, he has no intention of sending me into blushing frenzy. When Justin looks at me, his eyes soften because he’s thinking about what a good friend I am. When Justin talks to me, he uses his boisterous, ‘I’m just around the guys’ voice. To him I am, and always will be, just a friend.

And it’s tearing me in two.

I was so stupid to let myself fall for him. This happened before, with Matthew, and I let myself get walked all over because I was just so in love with him. I almost wish Justin had never been there that first, fateful day in the grocery store and he had never laughed at me teasing Condom Boy. I wish I could have kept my original impression that he was an ass, rather than discovering he was a sweet, funny gentleman that I would yearn for so desperately. I didn’t even know how strongly I felt for Justin until tonight. Part of me assumed, or hoped, that it was just a phase because I’ve been single for a while and he was the best looking guy I knew. But tonight, seeing him with her, seeing the way he treated her in contrast to how he treated me, and knowing that they were probably going to sleep together, made my heart shatter.

Tears are threatening to stream down my face as I fumble around my purse for my keys, barely seeing anything in the blur of tears. I hear the slam of the door and groan. If that’s Justin, I’ll kill myself.

“Cat! Wait!” I hear a voice call.

I rest my head against the door of my car. Trace.

“Cat!” he repeats, running up to where I stand. He stops and stands beside me, staring at my hunched figure. “Are you okay?” he says quietly

“I’m fine,” I say, opening my purse again to look for my keys.

He reaches out to halt my movements. “I know.”

My hand goes limp and I turn to him. “You know what?” I ask, in hope that he’s talking about something else.

His eyes scan my face and his expression turns sympathetic. “ How you feel about him.”

“I…I don’t know what you mean…” I stutter.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” he interrupts softly. “I didn’t see it at first, but tonight showed me.”

I take a shaky breath. “Are you going to tell him?”

“Are you?” he asks quietly.

After a pause, I shake my head. “No.”

Trace sighs, and I let a tear slip, feeling it quickly roll down my cheek. He reaches out to me and I reluctantly collapse into his arms, gasping for breath as I sob into his chest. It’s a strange thing, crying. Afterwards, I always feel slightly refreshed and sometimes better, but in order to get that I have to go through minutes of torturous pain. Maybe that’s what my situation with Justin is like. Maybe I have to go through these few torturous weeks before I realize we’re not meant for each other, or I find someone else, or I suddenly fall out of love with him. I don’t know. I don’t even know whether I do truly love him. I’ve only known him for two months or something, and although they have been an almost perfect two months, isn’t it a bit quick to fall in love with someone?

Part of me wonders whether I’ve just fallen in love with the idea of love, whether Justin was merely the nearest, semi good-looking man who I could immediately fix in the position of wonderful boyfriend because there was no one else and I haven’t dated anyone in years. In reality, Justin probably isn’t that great of a boyfriend. He always works, he sometimes doesn’t listen, and he has a tendency to talk about things he has no idea about. Perhaps I just have him built up in such high regard in my mind, I don’t ever consider reality. I don’t know, all I know is that living through this purgatory is killing me. I can’t even hate Natasha, all I can do is merely resent her or feel jealous of her, but that isn’t as rewarding as knowing she was unkind, or insincere or any of the other horrible things Diane and I dreamt up.

This is it. This is what it feels like to get your heart broken.

I roll over and readjust the sheet so it covers me in my new position, with my back to the window. No sooner had I pulled it one way, it was suddenly tugged the other. I frown, and groggily peep over my shoulder, trying to find the sheet-stealing culprit.

And there she is. Lying in all her glory, the sun shedding light on her perfect face and her silky blonde hair, which has fanned out across the pillow. I smile to myself. I had forgotten Natasha spent the night, but now it all comes rushing back to me. The kisses, the pleasure, her body. Last night was amazing. She is amazing. Our relationship is…amazing.

Okay, so I maybe going over the top, but it’s been so long since I’ve had that glowly, morning after feeling. I feel like I could touch the sky if I wanted to. Natasha’s eyelids slowly flicker open, and upon seeing my grinning face, she smiles back.

“Hi,” she whispers, her soft voice sounding like music to my ears.

I lean in and kiss her. “Good morning.”

She smiles and begins tracing the muscles on my chest. “Last night was…nice.”

I feign offence. “Nice? Is that all I get? Nice?”

She grins and suddenly pushes my back, straddling me. “Okay, it was incredible.”

I smirk and grip her soft thighs. “That’s what I thought.”

She rolls her eyes. “Cocky bastard.”

I laugh gently push her off me. “So, I guess I should go down and make you some breakfast in bed, right?”

She props her head up with her elbow. “Yep, and then perhaps I’ll upgrade last night to mind-blowing.”

I laugh again and quickly put on some clothes before running downstairs, a telltale smile still plastered across my features. “Hi Shortstuff,” I greet Trace as I ruffle his hair.

He pushes my hand off and frowns. “Hi,” he grunts.

I happily begin toasting some bread and look at the cereal available. “What’s up with you?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replies quietly.

I turn from pouring out glasses of orange juice. “Am I that obvious?”

He nods and picks up his bowl to put it in the sink. “And our rooms are separated by very thin walls.”

I snigger and punch him on the arm. “Sorry.”

He shrugs and begins to walk out of the room. “Trace,” I call out.

He spins around to face me. “What?”

“What’s wrong?” I ask, frowning. He seems a little off. He’s not firing insults at me like he usually his, he’s not asking whether Natasha has any deformities that he would be interested in, he’s not even complaining much about me and Natasha’s loud adventure last night.

His eyes darken and he remains silent for a moment. “Nothing,” he says eventually.

“Did Cat get home okay?”

He sighs and looks at the floor, scuffing his shoes against each other. “Yeah, she got home fine.”

“She seemed a little upset yesterday, is everything okay?”

His head snaps up and he stares at me. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

My heart skips a beat with worry. “Is something wrong?” I panic. Immediately, I feel like shit for not going after her yesterday and mentally curse my hormones.

Trace remains silent for a second, looking at me as though he’s choosing his words carefully. “Just…just leave her alone for a while, okay?”

I frown. “What? Is it me? Have I done something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “No, I just think it’s best we give her a little room, that’s all.”

He quickly turns on his heels and heads out of the room, cutting our conversation short and leaving me wondering what the hell could have happened. I hate the thought of Cat being upset about something, especially when Trace sort of hinted that it could have been because of me. I mentally go over everything that’s happened between Cat and I the last few days. To be honest, not a lot. She’s had her work and I’ve been seeing more of Natasha so we haven’t really seen much of each other. Maybe that’s it, maybe she feels like I’m ignoring her. Of course, I don’t think I have, but women are fickle about that kind of thing. But then why would Trace want me to “give her room”?

I’ll do something nice for her, like get her chocolates or something. Just a little gesture that shows her I still care about her and I’m here for her, but if she wants her space, then I’ll give it to her.

--------------------------------

Right angles, that’s the way to go, right angles.

I’ve just spent at least ten minutes making sure everything on my desk is perpendicular and then spent a further few minutes ensuring all my pencils were sharpened to a razor-sharp point.

Well, this is fun.

Natasha. Natasha. Natasha. I despise her because I can’t despise her. She’s just too nice for her own good. I mean god, where was the halo? Then again, I only met her once, so there’s plenty of time for her true bitch self to come crawling out, right?

Yep, clutching at straws here.

Now I know how Ross from Friends felt when he saw Rachel and Paulo together. God, I am Ross from Friends, aren't I? Oh well, maybe I’ll find some gorgeous boyfriend who will make Justin jealous enough to reveal his undying love for me and eventually we’ll be skipping in the meadows with happiness. Of course, that vision is from the Land of Unrealistic Fantasies, where Santa exists and Britney Spears really is a virgin.

I hear a cough at my desk, jerking me from my thoughts and causing my head to snap up to see who’s standing in front of me. “Oh, hi Mr Karter.”

He raises an eyebrow at the pencil shavings still on my desk and I hastily brush them into the trashcan. “Hello Miss Saunders.”

If my computer was on, it might have looked like I was actually working but seeing as I’m staring at a blank screen, my daydreaming is highly obvious to my disapproving boss. “What can I do for you?”

He stares at me for a second, clearly thinking I’m insane, before turning and bringing someone forward. “I’d like you to meet your new cubicle buddy, Sean Reeves.”

Cubicle buddy? What kind of a phrase is that? I ignore it and stand up to meet the man Mr Karter shoves in front of me.

Oh my God. Tom Cruise is in my cubicle, holding out his hand to shake my own.

No, wait a second, Tom Cruise can’t be in my cubicle, ready to shake my hand because he’s much shorter than the giant standing in front of me and plus, this guy actually looks nothing like Tom Cruise. But god, just god. The guy is breathtaking. I’m momentarily pulled from my Justin-blues in awe and manage to hold out a hand to shake his.

“Hi,” I gush.

He smiles at me, his green eyes sparkling. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”

I nod. “Likewise.”

Mr Karter suddenly claps his hands together, causing Sean and I to drop our firm handshake in surprise. “Right, well, I’ll let you two newbies get better acquainted and if there’s anything you need Sean, just ask Catherine or someone else in the office. I’ll be sending someone around shortly to give you a tour.”

Sean reciprocates Mr Karter’s beaming smile. “Okay Mr Karter, thanks a lot.”

Oh god, he’s voice is actually making me melt over here. He’s got a soft yet confident voice with a strong southern accent, much stronger than Justin’s…

Oh great. Just when I thought I’d got the bastard out of my head, he just jumps back in again. I try to push him out of my mind again and turn to Sean, smiling.

“Well, I’m Cat.”

He smiles warmly. “Sean.” He shoves his hands into the pocket of his expensive looking pants and looks around our cubicle. “So, looks like we’re going to be roomies.”

I let out a giggle, normally something only Justin can provoke. “Yep.”

His focus returns to me and he smiles. “Great.”

I grin like a teenager and sneak a glance at him, taking in his dark suit and his piercing green eyes with black hair. He’s gorgeous. In fact, I think in a way he’s even better looking than Justin. Justin’s sexy, and god is he appealing, but Sean is traditionally handsome. I always knew Justin was good-looking, but I wasn’t necessarily attracted to him at first. He slowly pulled me in with his addictive personality and sweet charm, so it's not a purely phsyical attraction.

But Sean is different. From the second I laid eyes on him my jaw dropped to the floor and I couldn't care less about whether he's a nice person or not. He’s the kind of guy that I wouldn't care if I never knew that well, but as long as I could stare at appreciatively, I'm fine. I know for a fact the women of the office will be talking about him at lunch, and he’ll be hot stuff for a few weeks before people settle down and accept him as the office’s token model. And just think, I get to share a cubicle with him. This has got to be the only positive point in my day.

I’m quickly snapped from my thoughts when Jenny, an intern that I vaguely know, approaches our cubicle and says she has to take Sean around the office. I grin as she gapes at him and then turn to switch my computer on, deciding I may as well get a game of solitaire going.

About half an hour later Sean returns and we slip into easy conversation, mainly discussing where he worked before and how Mr Karter has an expressionless voice. He’s actually a pretty nice guy and soon I was so enthralled in out conversation, I didn’t even think about Justin. I had been having such an awful day due to my self-pitying and persistent sweaty images of Justin and Natasha occasionally popping up in my head, but Sean’s arrival had made me completely forget about my pitiable state.

“Did he really say that?” I ask, snorting.

Sean smiles and nods. “Yep, he said that it was wrong to insult Judy Garland when she was such a legend and he made me rewrite the whole piece.”

I laugh. “Don’t worry about that here. I don’t think Mr Karter even reads our editions, so we get to say whatever the hell we want.”

Sean chuckled but a slight tap caused us both to turn and see Abigail, the timid and nervous wreck of a secretary standing with a glorious bouquet of flowers in her hand.

“Hi Abi,” I say cheerfully, always feeling sorry for the poor girl.

“Hi, um, Cat. These came for you,” she replies, holding out the flowers to me and then anxiously awaiting my reaction.

“I don’t think so Abi,” I say, my eyes scanning for a card that might say who they are for. I find one amongst the lilies and, sure enough, it says Cat Saunders on it. I frown. Who could be sending me flowers? It’s not my birthday, Valentines Day is long gone (thank god) and I don’t recall doing any good deeds as of late that would mean I deserved these.

“Boyfriend?” offers Sean.

I resist the urge to snort and shake my head. “No, I don’t have one.”

I rip open the little white envelope and examine the unfamiliar writing.

Sexiful Cat,

Thought these would brighten your day, hope everything’s okay with you. Perhaps you could give me a call and we could start series seven of Friends? I’ve missed our highly intellectually stimulating TV sessions.

Oodles and oodles of love,

Justin xxx

And just like that, Sean is forgotten and my feelings for Justin come rushing back, stronger than before.

Bastard.

--------------------------

“Where’s Natasha?” asks a voice.

I rub my eyes before opening them and see Trace looming over me. “I was almost sleeping.”

“Oh really?” says Trace, conveying no interest at all. “So, where’s Natasha?”

I sit up on the couch and rub my eyes again. “She went home. Had to get a painting finished or something.”

“Oh,” Trace says, dropping himself down on the couch and switching on the TV.

“Do you like her?”

“Who, Natasha?” replies Trace, not taking his eyes of the television.

“Yeah.”

He shrugs. “Don’t really know her.”

I roll my eyes. “But from what you know of her so far?”

He shrugs again. “Yeah, she’s okay.”

Okay? Okay? Is Cindy Crawford “okay”? “I think she’s a little more than okay, Trace.”

“Fine. She’s amazing, she’s breathtaking, she rocks my world," he says dully.

I sigh and lean back on the couch, trying to think of an insult to throw back at him when the phone rings. The usual tussle to get it follows, with me winning and Trace nursing a sore toe, which I took the liberty of standing on. “Hello?” I answer.

“Hi Justin,” says a soft voice.

Thank god. It’s Cat. “Hey, sexiful.”

She chuckles slightly. “Yeah, we’re going to have to talk about that.”

I laugh. “So you got them?”

“Yes,” she whispers. “They’re beautiful.”

I grin. I have such an amazing charm even girls like Cat get reduced to whispering tones with my kind gestures. I’m the man. “I’m glad you like them.”

“Thank you so much.”

“Anything for you, babes.”

She lets out a slightly shaky breath. “But you didn’t have to do that.”

I shrug. “Sure I did. I haven’t talked to you in ages and I thought a bunch of flowers the size of a sheep might say how much I miss you.”

She laughs. “A phone call couldn’t have done the same thing?”

“Nope.”

She laughs again before I hear voices in the background. “Sorry Justin, but I have to go.”

“Okay, well will you come round later?” I ask hopefully.

She pauses. “Um…I’m not sure.”

“Why not?” I protest.

“Oh, you know, work.”

“Cat, are you avoiding me?” I ask outright.

She seems shocked, as though that was the last question she was expecting and doesn’t respond for a moment. “No, not at all. It’s just —”

“You know if something was wrong, you could tell me, right?”

She sighs. “Of course.” I hear a muffle as she puts her hand over the receiver. When she gets back on, she sounds slightly flustered and I know, on this occasion, it really is work. “Justin, I really have to go. Call me in half an hour?”

“Sure.”

“Bye Justin.”

“Bye Cat,” I say softly, before hanging up the phone.

Trace is staring at me when I get off. “I told you not to pester her,” he says sternly.

“I’m not,” I reply defensively. I’m not pestering her, I’m just being…persistent.

“Then why did you demand she come over when she said she was busy?”

Hmm. Good question, one that I don’t really have an answer for. “I just wanna see her.”

Trace sighs and leaves the room, shaking his head as he goes. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. It’s like he wants me to just ignore the fact Cat is upset and wait until she’s better before I talk to her. She’s my friend and I’m worried about her, nothing wrong with that, right? Exactly.

So precisely half an hour later, I call her again. After all, she did actually ask me to call this time, so I know my call should be welcome. I know she would get in trouble if I called her work number so I called her cell phone and patiently waited for a few rings before a voice answered.

“Hello?”

I frown. That’s not Cat. That’s a man’s voice. And he’s got a southern accent. And he’s answering Cat’s cell phone. And that instantly bothers me. It’s her personal phone which he has no right to touch, let alone answer. What the hell is he doing answering her phone? Who is this southern hillbilly I suddenly want to kill?

Woah, Justin, calm down, he only answered her phone. “Um, hi, can I speak to Cat please?” Yes I should, seeing as it is her phone, asshole..

“Cat’s a little busy right now,” replies the voice and I can hear he’s trying not to laugh.

Cat’s voice floats through from the background and I can hear a shuffle and a few shouts and giggles before, finally, I hear her voice. “Hello?”

She sounds as though she’s smiling or just been laughing and sort of sounds…out of breath. Oh my god, what are they doing? She wouldn’t answer the phone during sex, right? Wait, sex! She’s having sex with the piece of trailertrash I just spoke to? No fucking way.

“Cat, what the hell is going on?!”

She laughs. “Sean stole my phone and I had to wrestle to get it off him.”

Sean? Sean? Stupid name, if you ask me. “Who’s Sean?”

“Oh, my new work buddy,” she says nonchalantly. She doesn’t sound like she did before. She sounds all…happy…and as though she has completely forgotten our previous conversation.

All of a sudden, I hear another shuffle and by the sound of it, “Sean” has gotten the phone again. I strain to hear the conversation between them.

“Sean, give it back!”

“Nuh uh, Shorty. You’re just gonna have to beg.”

I hear a snort. “I don’t think so,” comes Cat’s unmistakeably defiant tone. Good for you Cat, stand up to the dick.

“I’ll give it back to you if you say I’m a sexy and desirable specimen of a man and you want me so bad.”

Pft, yeah, right. This jackass obviously doesn’t know Cat like I know her; otherwise he would know she would rather kill herself than--

“You are a sexy and desirable specimen of a man and I want you so bad,” she says.

What. The. Fuck.

“Sorry about that, Justin. What did you want to talk to me about?”

The fact you’ve done a complete 360 in the last half hour? “Whether you’re coming round or not.”

“Oh,” she says, sounding as though she had completely forgotten. “Um, will Natasha be there?” she asks hesitantly.

I frown. Why should that make a difference? “Um, maybe. Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” she hastily says. “I’m not sure about tonight, how about we do something this weekend?”

My frown remains. “If you can’t come today…”

“Do something with Natasha,” she says, in a slightly bitchy tone which surprises me but I ignore.

“Okay, but I’m keeping this weekend reserved for you, so don’t back out, alright?”

She chuckles softly. “I promise.”

“Bye sweetheart.”

She sighs. “Bye.”

I stare at the phone after I hung it up. I wish it hadn’t been such a battle trying to get her to come round. I’m getting the distinct impression she doesn’t want to be around me and I have no idea what could have started this sudden hatred towards me. What am I saying? Cat's my friend, I’m probably making a bigger deal out of this then necessary.

But I’m still going to refer to this Sean guy as Sean the Shithead.

------------------------------

I wearily pull on my coat, mentally wondering which film I should watch this evening. Sean proved to be a funny, and coincidently good-looking, distraction from my Justin issues and since we didn't have any work to do, we just talked and laughed together for three hours. He’s a cute guy, and I’m still sneaking secret looks at him out of the corner of my eye when I can.

But when Sean isn't distracting me, I'm lost. Justin's all I can think about when Sean and I aren't talking. He's slowly pulled me under and now I'm just drowning in my want for him. A want I know will never be fulfilled, and yet I still got that warm feeling in my stomach when he called me, "sweetheart". The thought of him and that bitch together makes me sick. Fine, fine, I'll call her Natasha.

“Hey, Cat.”

I look up from buttoning my coat to see Sean. “Yeah?”

“I was wondering whether you wanted to go out and get a drink or something tonight?”

My heart does a few spectacular gymnastic jumps in my chest. “Um, what?”

Sean wraps his coat around his broad shoulders and puts his hands in his pockets. “Do you want to go out for a drink? You know, celebrate my first day?”

Part of me says no. Absolutely not. You can’t use this guy to try and make you forget about Justin, it’s not right and it probably won't work.

But the other half takes one look at him and says, “Sure, sounds great.”

The soft hum of the microwave captivates me as I watch the steady spinning of my burrito. I love microwaves, they’re so simple, and yet have provided me with so much comfort and joy over the years.

I’m having a lazy day. I have specifically put today aside to:

1) Watch episodes of Friends and trying to ignore the feeling of companionship between the pathetic and fixated Ross and myself.

2) Eat a whole lot of junk and possibly reach the weight of a small killer whale.

3) Admire and get sentimental over simple kitchen utensils.

Saturdays are usually a day where one recoups from the raucous partying they did on the Friday - not for me. I never go partying, I rarely drink and Saturdays are generally spent in front of the TV. Does that make me a boring person? Of course.

But today is a Saturday to the extreme. I have enough food to feed a small country and have my Friends videos placed in chronological order, ready to be watched. All the curtains are closed and I’m still in my version of pajamas; a hideously shapeless T-shirt and an equally repulsive pair of sweat pants that make my ass look never-ending. Well, I’m all set for a wonderful day.

Diane walks in, putting her earrings in and casting a pitying glance over my state of dress. “Hi.”

I look up from the microwave. “Hi. You going out with Joe today?”

Her eyes narrow. “Yes, Joseph and I are spending the day together. Want to come?”

I snort. “Nah, I’m busy.”

She looks over my shoulder into the dark living room, which I have converted into my safe haven, with the cushions from the couch all spread out and an episode of Friends on pause. “Mm, I can see that.”

I smile at her, before realizing it’s time to take my burrito out. I take it out and wince at its heat. I throw it between my hands as I make my way to the plate on the table.

“So, what happened between you and this Sean guy?”

I shrug and head to the fridge to look for a drink to go with my meaty treat. “Not much. We just talked, got to know each other.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And?”

I look at her over my shoulder. “And…he’s nice?”

She rolls her eyes and puts her purse on the table. “I mean is this a potential relationship?”

Ha. Good one, Diane. “I don’t think so, Diane,” I say condescendingly.

“Why not?”

“He’s way out of my league. Hey, have you noticed I say that a lot about guys?” I reply bitterly, roughly pulling off the lid of the Coke to haphazardly pour it into the glass.

She shrugs. “Yeah well, you talk a bunch of crap, so I’ll have to meet him and make my own judgements.”

I roll my eyes and mutter a, “Whatever.”

I know it’s an immature response, but she doesn’t seem to get it. It’s not like I’m kidding when I say people like Sean and Justin are out of my league, because they genuinely are. I’ll admit I’m don’t have a particularly positive outlook on life or myself, but even the most optimistic person would be surprised to see me dating one of them. Okay, I’m not ugly, I’m just normal. You wouldn’t pick me out on a crowded street or look at me and think, “Wow, I wish I was her”. But on the other hand, you wouldn’t look at me and think, “Get back to the circus”.

See? I’m not completely self-esteemless.

I wonder what it’s like for people like Justin or…Natasha, to just wake up in the morning and be safe in the knowledge at least someone will find you attractive. I think people grow attracted to me, after witnessing my ‘sparkling personality’, ha ha.

“Anyway,” says Diane suddenly, pulling me from my thoughts. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

I look up from my Coke and raise an eyebrow. “Really? What?”

She takes a deep breath and an uncontrollable grin spreads across her pretty face. “Well, Joseph and I have been talking, and…”

I smile at her. “What is it? Come on, tell me.”

She shakes herself. “Okay, well, we’re moving in with each other!”

My eyes widen. “Really? Are you being serious?”

She nods excitedly. “Yep!”

I run forward and embrace her in a hug, laughing. It’s not customary for me to rejoice in other peoples’ happiness, but Diane is my best friend and I know how much she loves Joseph.

She laughs and pulls back slightly. “But you know what this means. There’s gonna be a guy around the house,” she says, grimacing slightly before smiling again.

My grin falters slighty. Shit. Joseph is moving in here?

She sees the look on my face and quickly tries to correct it. “But you don’t have to move out or anything, I was just saying it’s gonna be a bitch to have to put down the toilet seat all the time.”

I smile weakly back at her. She pulls me in for another hug and I try to hide my upset over the situation. It’s going to be awful living with them. I don’t dislike Joseph or anything, but it would be so awkward to try and live in an environment where it’s basically two soul mates and then a surplus person on the side who sort of ‘hangs out’. That means…oh god. I’m the spinsterish best friend who lives with two lovebirds. Why don’t I just get a cat and make the picture complete? Urgh, just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse.

The phone rings and Diane answers it, before handing it to me. “Hello?” I answer in a tired and hostile voice.

“Hey, hey, hey! Wassup, chica?”

It’s Justin. I was wrong-things can always get worse.

-----------------------------

The first thing that strikes me when I see her standing on my doorstep is that she seems upset. The wind is picking up her brown locks and sending them flying in all different directions, but she appears unconcerned and hasn’t has the sense to tie it back with the hair thing I can see around her wrist. Her eyes look slightly bloodshot and the skin underneath them is red, as though she’s been rubbing them. Her shoulders are slightly slumped, which is unusual for her, because she once told me she always stood up straight; it made her, ‘fabulous boobs look even better’.

“You look like you could use a friend,” I say, gently.

She looks at me and smiles slightly, shrugging. “I guess.”

I pull her inside the warm house and quickly wrap my arms around her. She says she’s not a tactile person, but I think, underneath all that sarcasm, she really is. I can tell by the way her arms gratefully go around my neck and she buries her head against my chest.

“What’s wrong?” I ask into her hair, tightening my grip slightly.

“Nothing,” she mumbles, before pulling away. “It’s just silly, really.”

“If it’s upsetting you then it’s not silly. What is it?”

She backs away from me and looks down at her hands, which she has begun to twist. “Could you be more perfect?” she mutters so quietly I barely catch it, and I have a feeling she didn’t want me to.

I take her hands in mine. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

She sighs. “Joseph is moving in with us.”

“Does that bother you?”

She shrugs and looks away from me. “I just don’t want to be some pathetic third wheel in my own home,” she says, sort of shyly, as though she thinks I’m going to think she’s stupid or something.

“Sure,” I say understandingly. I lead her into the living room and sit her down on the couch, where she’ll be more comfortable.

“I mean, I know it’s selfish —” she begins, but I cut her off.

“No, it’s not. I can understand why you wouldn’t want to be there.” And I can. It can get so awkward for the other person if two people are close like that. Trace and I have experienced it many times, and we even moved apart when Britney and I wanted to live together. You just feel like you’re imposing all the time.

“And I am happy for them, it would just be…weird, you know?”

I nod.

“But if I said to Diane I was moving out or something, she’d just end up breaking it off with Joseph, and then I’d feel like shit for holding back their relationship.”

I nod again. “So what are you going to do?”

She exhales loudly. “Well, I don’t know. Ideally, I’d move out, but that would make Diane feel guilty, which I don’t want to do.” She sighs. “But there’s no way I could live with those two. Is that childish?” she ask, turning to me.

I shake my head. “No. When Britney and I decided to live together, Trace moved out.”

“Did you feel guilty?”

I pause. “Well, no, not really. Because first of all, I didn’t ask Trace to move out, he just did. Second of all, he ended up moving in with another friend, so it wasn’t as though he was out on his ass.”

She laughs gently. Suddenly Trace walks in, baseball cap backwards and a swagger in his step. “Hey homeboy and homegirl, how be you?”

Cat laughs and stands up to give him a quick hug, which surprises me, but I remind myself they’ve become just as close friends as Cat and I are. That’s close friends.

Trace must sense the seriousness in the air because he frowns. “What’s wrong?”

Cat briefly explains as I watch her intently. She’s sort of in a bad place. Understandably, she doesn’t want to be around her best friend and her boyfriend smooching, but then again she doesn’t want to hurt her. Suddenly, an idea forms in my head and I look at Trace, who’s mulling the situation over in his head. I catch his eye and raise an eyebrow, asking for his agreement. He looks at me, and then at Cat, before turning back to me. He nods.

Cat looks between us, frowning. “What’s going on?”

I grin at her. “Cat, why don’t you just move in with us for a while?”

I’m an idiot. You know how some people are a little stupid? Well, I’m a whole lot stupid. This is how it should have gone:

“Hey Cat, wanna move in with me and be exposed to me and Natasha’s disgusting canoodling and probably be driven to suicide?”

“Oh, no thanks, Justin. I’d rather have sex with Donald Trump.”

“Okay. Let’s watch a movie.”

“Sure.”

It would have been great. You see, if I was clever, and actually used the brain I know I have somewhere, I wouldn’t be in the mess I’m in now, literally. Boxes
with various titles such as, ‘Summer Clothes’, or ‘Photos’ untidily scrawled on them wouldn’t surround me. An open tin of paint wouldn’t be precariously balancing on the table by the window. Trace wouldn’t be sprawled out by my feet, saying he was too tired to move after he helping me shift all my boxes. No, no. I would be at home, albeit uncomfortable with Diane and her beau, but at least I wouldn’t be going over the conversation Justin and I had, where I displayed as much common sense as a toothbrush.

“Cat, why don’t you just move in with us for a while?”

My hand flies to my mouth in an unflattering, extremely teenybopper-ish way. “Really?” I squeal, my voice rising several octaves. I hate it when that happens, I sound like some teenage boy who’s voice is breaking.

“Sure,” he grins. “It’ll be like camp.”

Camp was awful. I got in trouble for pushing a girl into the river because she said her hair was better than mine. Hey, maybe I could do that to Natasha. “Come on, Cutie. It’ll be a blast,” coaxed Trace.

I sighed happily. “Then I guess I have to.”

Justin put an arm around me, sending a tingling shiver down my spine. “Great, Cat. We’re gonna have so much fun!”

And here I am, wondering whether I would survive if I jumped out of the window. Why am I voluntarily subjecting myself to this…hell? I know Natasha’s been spending quite a bit of time around here and I’ve successfully avoided her so far, but with me living here, I’ll see her all the time. And after our first meeting, I realized I am dangerously close to liking her. Ugh, better wipe that out immediately. I’ll just picture her having sex with Justin every time I think I’m beginning to like her; that’s sure to get me pissed off again.

Another thing I did not take into account was that being in such a close proximity with Justin will no doubt heighten my feelings for him. Unless being with him all the time causes me to get bored of him and I end up feeling nothing for him. Yeah, well, I personally don’t see that happening. Especially because he’s announced his ‘out of shape’ and spends half his time exercising and walking around in little tank tops. I hate to sound like some teenage comedy starring Melissa Joan Hart, but yum.

“Cat, are we almost done?” a whiny voice says.

I look down at the crumpled heap that is Trace. “Yeah, we’re done. That was the last box.”

Trace puts on a delirious smile and I laugh, before adding, “Apart from the heaviest one, downstairs.”

Just as a disgruntled pout adorns Trace’s face, a figure hidden by a giant box labelled, ‘Heavy Crap’, enters the room. “I got it,” comes a muffled voice behind the box.

The box lands on the floor with a thump and Justin stands up, stretching his back. “That’s a heavy bitch, Cat. What the hell you got in there?”

“Um…um…oh, just stuff. Like, you know, yeah.”

The reason for my sudden inadequacy to form any words? Justin, of course. But not just casual Justin, dressed in some pants and a t-shirt, more like fucking gorgeous Justin, wearing no shirt, and a pair of low-riding jeans. Jesus Christ he’s got an amazing body. My eyes drift down his chest to his stomach, in awe of every inch of his skin. The perfectly formed pecs, the soft-looking patch of hair that disappears into the waistband of his pants, the way the very sight of his stomach is making me forget the English language…

Damn you, Justin. Damn you for being so…fine. I’m practically quivering over here. I don’t usually quiver. And I don’t usually go googly eyed at a six-pack, but since when did normal rules apply to Justin Timberlake? I swear I’ve regressed four years just by the sight of him half naked. Why don’t I just get braces and a job at McDonalds to make the teenage girl picture complete?

“Well Cat, it better be pretty god damn useful, ‘cause my back is killing me,” he moans, clutching his back before muttering under his breath, “Fuck me.”

Don’t tempt me, Timberlake.

“So,” Trace suddenly stands up between us, giving me a stern look. “I guess you need to unpack now, right?”

He’s pissed. Despite witnessing my little breakdown the night I first met Natasha, we’ve never actually talked about the Justin issue. I think it’s because he realizes questioning me about it would only make things worse and, let’s face it, end with a meltdown on my part, which neither of us want. I think he assumes I’m over it if I’m moving in with them but no, I’m just stupid.

I nod at him but avoid eye contact. “Yeah, but you guys don’t need to help me with that.”

I dare to look at Justin in the eye and find him frowning. “Are you sure?”

I nod again. “Nah, I’m cool. I thought you guys were going to go and look at that new golfing range or something.”

A look of excitement spreads to Justin’s eyes. “Oh yeah, that looks awesome, man!”

I laugh at his cuteness. Urgh, don’t use the word cuteness Cat. “You have that stupid golfing range in your backyard, dumbass. Why don’t you just use that?”

He shrugs. “That’s not fun.” He smirks, and I melt, which is something I’m beginning to think I should grow to expect. “But are you sure you don’t want us to stay here and help you unpack?”

I shake my head, a strand of irritating hair falling from my hair tie. I hastily brush it away. “It’ll become really masculine if I let you guys help.”

They snort and nod. “Are you sure you don’t want us to paint it, though?” asks Trace, looking around the white room. “It seems a little drab.”

I shake my head and shove my hands into my pockets. “I’ll make it interesting, don’t worry.”

They stand there and look awkward, before my impatience gets the better of me. “God, will you guys just piss off to the golfing range already?”

They laugh and both move forward at the same time. I hate that, it’s like they’re some gang about to rape me or something.

Trace leans forward and brushes his lips against my cheek. “I’m glad you’re here, Cutie.”

I smile. “Me too.”

“We’ll talk later, okay?” I know he’s talking about Justin, and I know that’s going to be an incredibly long, deep, heartbreaking conversation. Great.

My smile turns a bit tight, showing my nervousness. “Okay.”

Trace leaves the room; hopping over boxes and looking so much like a leprechaun I can’t restrain a laugh. Justin smirks and moves forward, putting minimal space between us. I’ve yet to decided whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

“I’m glad you’re here too, Cat,” he says, putting his hands on my hips.

Oh god, his hands are so warm and I can feel even more heat radiating off his perfectly toned upper body… “Me too, I can’t thank you guys enough.”

He shrugs but his hands remain on my hips. I’m suddenly acutely aware of the fact my hips aren’t my best feature and could probably house a small country. Oh shit, they’re so big…

“We really want you here.” I realize he’s talking and try to ignore the fact my hips are expanding by the second enough to listen to him. “Me and Trace could use someone like you around.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh really? Why?”

He shrugs and smiles cheekily. God, that’s sexy. “We need someone to keep our asses in line.”

I nod. “Very true, very true.”

He grins before quickly swooping down and kissing my cheek. “Gotta go sweetheart, but I’ll you later tonight?”

“Sure,” I nod. “I do live here, after all.”

His grin broadens and he leaves the room, quickly waving over his shoulder as I gaze in wonder at some tattoo on his muscled back. I bet his back looks really great during sex, when it’s flexing as he thrust-

Woah woah woah. Not only did that boy cause me to go an unattractive siren red color when he kissed me, he also had me dreaming up disgusting sex fantasies at three in the afternoon. What the hell is with that?! I realize my hand has slipped up to my cheek and his covering the bit Justin kissed, and from a quick glance in the mirror, I can see my expression is clearly dreamy.

Snap out of it Cat. Remember he’s got a girlfriend, remember he’s a good friend now, remember he’s not really your type….

Don’t remember that you couldn’t get him anyway.

-----------------------------------


If there were ever a joke I wish I had never told, it would be the whole comparison between sex and golf. Do I really have to remind you? “Sex is like golf, it’s all about getting the ball in the hole…” It just seemed like a good thing to say at the time, okay?

“Trace sucks!” I call out as Trace gears up to do some big ass shot, which he, of course, screws up.

“Asshole,” he mutters, turning and briefly firing daggers at me with his eyes, before picking up another ball.

“Trace has sex with his grandma!” I shout out as he does his second one.

“Fine, you can take a turn!” he snaps, and I smirk as I get into position.

Whenever Trace and I play golf, we bond. It’s our bonding thing. Kinda like how girls go shopping, only we don’t spend thousands of dollars of random shit we don’t need. Nah, for me and Trace all we need is a club, a ball and a stretch of land and then we’re all set for some serious macho talk.

“So, how are things going with 'Tash'?” asks Trace sarcastically.

I roll my eyes. “I only called her that once, and it was a joke.”

“Mmhmm,” says Trace, in an unbelieving way. “So seriously, how are things?”

A grin breaks out across my face. “Very cool man, very cool.” They really, really are though. Natasha’s great.

He lapses into silence and I line up my shot before turning to him. “Do you like her?”

He’s silent. “Yeah, she’s okay.”

I roll my eyes at the lack of information. “That’s what you always say.”

He shrugs. “Maybe that’s what I mean.”

I turn to him, smirking. “Shortstuff, you have an opinion of everyone, so just spit it out.”

I turn back to my ball and am just about hit a really powerful shot when, “She’s kinda boring, don’t you think?”

My ball goes way off the left and eventually rolls into the lake, but I don’t care. “Excuse me? Boring? Have you seen her?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen her.” He shrugs and tosses me another ball, but I’m not interested. “That’s what makes her boring, she’s just too…”

“Perfect?” I supply sarcastically.

“Exactly,” he replies. “There’s just no…excitement there, you know? I bet she doesn’t have one fault.”

“Of course she does,” I scoff. Actually, she doesn’t. “She has a bastard Chihuahua.”

Trace raises an eyebrow. “Chihuahua? Mmm, sounds nice.”

I scowl at him and turn back to my game. I guess he has a point. Natasha isn’t exactly a challenge. I mean, she’s not too dependent on me, she’s not clingy, she’s good in bed, she has her own money. Wait, not only did I just agree with Trace there, I just complained that my girlfriend wasn’t a psycho.

“Anyway,” I proceed. “Isn’t it great Cat’s moved in?”

He smiles. “Yeah. Now SHE’S someone you’d wanna date.”

I turn to him and frown. That was random. “What?”

He looks and me and shrugs. “Well, I’m just saying, she would be.”

“Do you like Cat?”

“Do you?” he quickly reciprocates.

“No, do you?”

He sighs. “No, I was just hoping that…”

“Hoping what?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Nothing. We should probably head back now, we’ve been gone hours and Cat will be lonely.”

I nod and brush off the weird moment Trace had there. I don’t think he likes Cat, but I don’t see why he thinks I like her. For a second there, it felt like he was encouraging me to date her. Oh well, he always was a strange boy. We drive back home in silence; we both seem to be thinking over personal that we don’t wish to share. I have this weird feeling they both have something to do with each other though.

When we arrive back home after picking up a pizza, it’s already late into the evening. I guess Trace and I spent longer at the range than we anticipated. We walk upstairs towards Cat’s new room and see her folding up empty boxes. She looks kind of cute, in an over sized sweater that some guy must have given her and a pair of jeans that she claims make her ass look, ‘huge’. She looks really…natural. It’s only times like this I admit she’s a lot prettier then I give her credit for. Not necessarily beautiful, but pretty.

“Hey,” I say, and she looks up.

“Oh, hey guys. I’m done,” she replies, holding her hands out for approval.

I take in my surroundings. I only then realize I’d never seen Cat’s room at her old place, and I think I can see why. Cat’s room is obviously very personal to her, and you only get in there if you’re really special. I take a second to congratulate myself before looking around the room and something suddenly hits me. You know how Cat likes to think she’s this big hard ass chick who so doesn’t what to fall in love? Bull, complete bull. She’s got all these movie posters of classic love stories and pictures of Paris and Venice and other such dreamy cities. It’s clearly the room of a hopeless romantic.

The room itself is dull and white, but she’s livened it up with these drapes and cushions and stuff, so there’s a strange clash with all the beautiful oriental things and the pictures. But somehow it works, with the posters peaking out behind the colourful material. I tear my eyes from the wall and a few glinting picture frames catch the corner of my eye. Psh, so typical of Cat; tons of photos, and she’s barely in any of them. They’re mostly of Diane, and what I assume is her family. The only one she is in is with her and…some guy. He’s pretty good-looking, and I say that in a non-gay way. But he’s the kind of guy scrawny seven years old boys aspire to be. He has these broad shoulders and a square jaw and the arm that is tightly wrapped around Cat is muscled, as is the rest of his body by the looks of it. He’s not too muscled though, and I bet he’s some football captain, which every girl loved. Shit, that guy’s wearing the same top that Cat’s wearing now.

I’m guessing this is her boyfriend, the bastard that screwed her over. I can kinda see why she’d be tricked, he’s quite handsome. Cat looks different in the picture. I’m guessing it was taken what, three years ago? Two? She just looks so…happy. As though nothing in the world could bring her down.

It’s a far cry from the kind yet pessimistic girl standing in front of me now, who is talking to Trace about the positioning of her bed. Cat’s great, don’t get me wrong, but I can’t help but think that guy fucked her over big time and really damaged her in the long run. She’s probably still not over him, and it does explain her slight resentment to couples and love.

Suddenly, I just want to wrap my arms around her and tell her that one day, some lucky guy really will sweep her off her feet, just like in the movies.

------------------------------------------------

Justin’s acting weird. I shouldn’t notice, but I do. Trace is talking about some random thing about my bed and all I can concentrate on is the fact Justin is skimming over my pictures. He’s probably already seen the picture of Matthew and me and is wondering why I still have it.

Don’t ask me why I kept it, or why I wear his sweater every now and then. I think that picture just reminds me that once, there was a guy that loved me and I loved him and everything was great in my life. I didn’t need to be sarcastic in every other sentence, I didn’t have to curse every happy couple out there, and I didn’t even worry about my weight or what I looked like. Yes, I really was like that once. So in love it was sickening. But that’s over now, and who knows if it’ll happen again.

Trace is stifling a yawn. “I think I’m gonna hit the sack. All the moving has tired me out.”

I thank him and promise I’ll save him some pizza before he goes, leaving an immersed Justin and me.

“What ya looking at?” I ask, as if I don’t already know.

He looks at me over his shoulder. “Oh, just your pictures.”

I nod and walk over to join him. “Yeah, I’m silly like that. I have to have pictures of everyone. I need one of you and Trace, actually,” I say, poking him in the back.

He grins and continues to look. He must think I’m blind. I can clearly see his eyes centered on one specific picture. “Go on, ask,” I mumble. Although Justin knows the background to Matthew and I, I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t waiting for me to tell him more.

He smiles bashfully. “Sorry.”

I shake my head and grin. “Don’t worry about it, I know you’re dying to know.”

He pauses, before nodding viciously.

I laugh. “Well, we got a box of pizza, you can supply the wine, and we can get down to business.”

Justin laughs. “Okay, I’ll be back up in a second.”

I open the window and crawl out onto the balcony. Well, it’s not really a balcony, but there’s enough space for two people to lie down and look at the stars, so it’s good enough for me. Justin eventually returns with some red wine and two wine glasses.

He lies down next to me but even the smell of pizza can’t pull me from my thoughts. It’s nights like this that always remind me of Matthew. When we first came to Tennessee we used to spend hours just staring at the stars, talking about what we had left behind and what was ahead of us. We thought we were destined to spend the rest of our lives together, we really did.

You know how people say every cloud has a silver lining? Those people are normally referred to as “optimistic”, or “positive”. I, on the other hand, refer to them as, “in denial”.

What is with the world’s constant attempt to put a positive slant on everything? Let’s face it, some things are crap. Just pure, untouched, crap. If you’re heel breaks on your shoe when you’re heading to a job interview, that’s crap. Or if it starts raining and you’re wearing a white shirt that goes unattractively see-through?

And even if this ‘silver lining’ crap is true, then doesn’t that mean every good thing that happens to you will have its downfall? That seems more sensible, and much more realistic. It’s like, tit for tat. So maybe every cloud does have a silver lining, but also, with the good comes the bad. That’s a depressing thought. That’s like saying we’ll never be fully happy, but at least we can never be completely sad. We’re like robots, always just ‘okay’.

With Matthew, my clear mistake was leaving Ohio, and college and my friends just for some stupid guy. What’s the silver lining there? Okay, I met Justin and Trace, who are rapidly becoming my best friends, despite only having known them for four months. But at the same time, being around Justin but not being with Justin, tears me apart. After all the pain I went through with Matthew, and all the pain I’m going through now, sometimes I really wonder whether coming to Tennessee wasn’t just one big mother fucker of a black cloud with no silver lining.

“You’re doing it again,” a sound interrupts my pessimistic thoughts.

I look up at the offending voice. “Doing what?”

“Going all misty-eyed, as though you’re thinking about something amazingly deep and profound that I probably wouldn’t understand,” says Justin, smiling at me as he turns his head to look at me.

The world is shit as is everything in it? Oh yes, very wise. I don’t think I could be more teenage if I tried. “I was just thinking about silver linings.”

He grins. “Every cloud has one.”

I snort. “That’s what I was thinking about, whether that is true or not.”

His brow furrows. “Of course it’s true. You can’t think that there’s bad in everything.”

“But there is,” I say matter-of-factly. “In the real world, anyway.”

His frown deepens. “Pessimistic much?”

I smile. “A little, I guess.”

He rolls his eyes. “A lot, actually.”

I shrug. “I was thinking about me and Matthew…. the guy in the picture,” I add.

He nods and I can feel his gaze on me, despite the fact my eyes are glued to the sky. “When you’re looking back on a relationship, sometimes it’s a little hard to see it’s good points,” Justin says softly.

“Maybe,” I whisper. “I just wish I hadn’t been so stupid.”

“Everyone’s stupid when they’re in love,” he replies, putting his head on top of his hands. “It wouldn’t be love if we didn’t do stupid things.”

“Yeah, but what I did was really stupid,” I snort.

“Then why did you do it?” he asks gently.

I feel the horrible prick of tears in my eyes. “I was so excited someone actually liked me,” I say, in a would-be confident tone.

“What do you mean?”

A tear slips down my cheek and I want to slap myself, but figure in the dark Justin can’t see anyway. “I was so desperate for someone to love me and find me attractive. For my whole life I always had people telling me that no one ever would, and that I was destined to be alone. They’re probably right,” I murmur softly, my voice thick with emotion I hope Justin can’t hear.

I feel a hand gently cup the side of my cheek and wipe away my tear. “I don’t think they are,” Justin whispered.

The gentleness of his words and touch touched something deep inside of me, and I felt my tears rapidly fall in streams down my face. I was pulled into comforting arms and soothing words were whispered in my ear. I didn’t feel embarrassed or stupid or ashamed of my tears, not like I usually would.

But when the thought occurred to me that I truly was in love, it only caused more tears to fall.

She's avoiding me, I can tell.

Her bare feet dance over the kitchen tiles as she puts a few slices of bread into the toaster. She quickly rushes over to the refrigerator to look for some orange juice, which she haphazardly pours into a cup, before gulping it down. She presses the button to make the toast come up early and scrapes a layer of butter on each, before hurriedly munching it as she throws her knife into the sink.

She does all of this without making eye contact once.

“In a rush?” I ask, folding up my newspaper and placing it on the table.

She nods and looks at her feet. “I have to get to work in ten minutes.”

I stand up from my seat and walk over to her. “Are you okay?”

She finishes her toast and heads over to the opposite side of the room to pick up her purse. “What do you mean? I’m fine.”

I’m less than convinced. “I mean after last night, are you okay?”

She stops rummaging through her bag long enough to blush. “Oh, yeah, sorry about that. I don’t usually let my emotions get the best of me like that.”

I follow her to the counter where she’s standing, determined to get some eye contact. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

She shrugs and continues to search her bag. “Well, thanks, for um…being there, I guess. But it won’t happen again.”

I frown. “You don’t like crying, do you?”

“Who does?” she mutters, taking out some make up stuff.

“It’s good for you, you know. Crying always makes people feel better.” She shrugs. “I can see you don’t do it much.”

She shakes her head vigorously and applies some lipstick. “Never, if possible.”

I should have expected that response. To me, last night was actually a good thing. No, no, I’m not some heartless bastard who rejoices in the misery of crying women, I just think it was a good opportunity for me to see a different, more vulnerable side to Cat. After all, all she ever represents to the world is tough-girl Cat, who’s wonderful, but it’s nice to know she's got strong emotions and problems, just like the rest of us. And I know it sounds kind of psychotic, but I feel kind of privileged to have comforted her; kinda like it's brought us close together. I doubt she’s let many people see that side of her. It either shows she really needed someone to talk to, or she trusts me. For my ego, I’ll go for the latter.

“Perhaps you should. Then you wouldn’t keep so many things bottled up all the time.”

She quickly brushes on some powder that hides her freckles in a cloud of dust. “Thanks, Dr Freud. Next time I want a psychiatric analysis I’ll know who to call.”

“Cat,” I groan. She’s making this difficult. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

She snaps her mirror shut. “I am, so please worry about someone worthwhile.”

“You are worthwhile, Cat,” I murmur softly. I hate it when she gets so tough on herself. Girls are always like that but usually I just kiss them or something to make them feel better, but it’s not like I can do that with Cat. “You make it real hard for someone to be nice to you, you know that?”

She nods and returns the things to her bag. “I’m not a nice person and I don’t expect the people around me to be either.”

I grin. “You are nice, you just don’t want to admit it.”

She snorts. “I think everyone in this house would benefit from being a lot less nice.”

I smile. This girl is crazy, yet amusing. “So, what you’re saying is you’d like it better if I was horrible to you?”

For the first time that morning, she looks me square in the eye. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

I frown and open my mouth to question what she means. Before I can utter a word, she slips on her shoes, tosses a ‘Bye’, over her shoulder and her heels hastily clatter out of the house. I have the distinct feeling the last part of our conversation was not as light-hearted as I thought it was. What does she mean she wishes I wasn’t so nice to her? It as though she wants to hate me. Why on earth would she want that?

Trace shuffles into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He sits down at the seat opposite me. “Hey.”

I pour myself some cereal before sliding the box towards him. “Hey.”

“Was that Cat I heard leaving?”

I take a spoonful and nod. “She had work.”

“Damn,” he mutters. “I wanted to catch her before she left, because I didn’t get a chance to last night.”

“Chance to what?”

“Talk to her.”

I frown. “About what?”

Guilty eyes meet mine. “Oh, nothing, just, um…how she’s finding her room.”

Oh, a real pressing issue. That‘s probably not it, but I remind myself not to put myself in other peoples business and don‘t ask more. “Well, she was in a hurry.”

Trace nods and begins to eat. I scoop my bowl’s contents into the trash and head towards the phone. “Who you calling?” he asks.

I glance at him over my shoulder. “Oh, Natasha. I haven’t seen her for a few days, what with moving Cat and all.”

Trace looks up from his cereal at the mention of Natasha. “Are you spending the day with her?”

I shrug and begin to dial the numbers. “I’ll probably invite her round to stay for a few days.”

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Trace murmurs, staring deep into his bowl of soggy cereal.

I hang up the phone. “What do you mean?” I ask, my brows furrowing.

He glances up from his food. “I just think it’s a little…” he trails off. I hate it when people do that, it’s so infuriating.

Which is why I roll my eyes. “Spit it out, Trace.”

He shrugs. “Just a bit…inconsiderate, I guess.”

Inconsiderate? “To who?”

He suddenly looks guilty, as though he’s said something he shouldn't have. “To, um…me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You?”

He nods. “Yeah, I mean…you see Natasha all the time.”

I shake a finger at him. “Technically, I see you all the time and don’t see Natasha as much as I should.” I laugh, but it quickly turns to a frown. “Trace, if you don’t like Natasha why don’t you just say it?”

“I do like her, I just…”

There he goes trailing off again. “Trace, I don’t know what your problem is with Natasha, but I really hope you get over it. You’re going to be seeing her around for a while.” My voice lightens. “After all, who else could I date, right?”

Trace suddenly slams his fist onto the table, sending me jumping a mile. “Jesus Justin! You’re so fucking blind!”

And with that, he storms out of the room and I can hear the harsh slam of his bedroom door a few seconds later. What in hell has gotten into my two new roomies this morning? One wishes I hated her, the other is accusing me of…actually, I don’t even know what I’ve done to put Trace in a pissy mood. Maybe he thinks I’m spending too much time with Natasha. No, that can’t be it. Trace and I have this unspoken agreement that we’ll never sink to the level of “You’re not paying enough attention to me!”, so why he’d all of a sudden claim that Natasha and I were too close seems ridiculous to me.

I brush it off and redial Natasha. “Hello?”

“Hey, Sexy legs.”

She giggles. “That has to be the worst nickname you’ve ever come up with. Including JT.”

I laugh. “Perhaps. How are you today, beautiful?”

“Fine. You?”

“I’m okay, but I really need to leave this house.”

“Why?”

“Cat’s confusing me, and Trace is just pissing me off,” I mutter, pinching the skin between my eyes.

“Aw, poor baby. Wanna come over?”

I grin. “Please. I need your sexual healing.”

“Justin, if I was there, you’d be getting a big massive slap,” she says, but I can tell she’s smiling.

“I’ll see you in a half an hour, okay?”

“Sure. Later, sweetie.”

“Bye.”

I hang up the phone and glance up the stairs. Part of me wants to go and ask Trace what is going on, but I know he’ll still be cooling off, so I decide against it and get ready to go to Natasha’s.

After all the shit that’s gone down in this house in just one morning, I don’t see myself coming back tonight.

---------------------

Okay, this is bad.

No, The Brady Bunch Reunion Show was bad, this is catastrophic. Everyday something else happens between Justin and I that drags me deeper into this unrequited love cycle. But after my little performance last night, I’m emotionally attached, which quite frankly means I’m fucked. I’ve let him see that side of me, the side that cries at the end of Sleepless in Seattle and hopes to one day get married in a fairy tale-esque setting, that is my point of no return. He’s seen my cry. I wasn’t lying when I said I try to never cry. In fact, before I met Justin, I hadn’t cried in about seven months and even then it was just because it was that time of the month and my cookies had burned.

But after meeting him, it’s been like my emotions have been dragged onto some crazy roller coaster that I have no control over. Personally, I liked me better before. I really shocked him when I said I’d rather he wasn’t so nice to me. Well of course I wish I could hate him, then I wouldn’t be in this whirlwind of love. I could just refer to him as, ‘the bastard that I have to live with’, rather than, ‘the man who has turned my world and emotions upside down’.

But, of course, when I tried to tell Justin this, he didn’t understand. I doubt he ever will. The odds are not in my favor. It seems extremely likely it’s going to be the lonely life for me.

With this cheerful thought in my mind, I toss my keys onto my desk and sink down onto my chair, running a hand through my boring hair. I long for the day I wake up and my hair will be gorgeous and not frizzy, like, oh, I don’t know, Natasha’s.

“Cheer up, it may never happen,” a thick southern accent interrupts my thoughts.

I hate that phrase, but with that accent? It’s so forgivable. “Hey Sean,” I mumble, my head still leaning against the back of the seat, my eyes closed.

“Hey Cat. Good weekend?”

I open my eyes to see Sean casually leaning against the wall of our cubicle, a messenger bag strapped over his shoulders and a zip-up hoodie hugging his slightly muscular frame. That’s the beauty of Sean; one day he’ll be wearing a hideously expensive Armani suit, the next he’ll be in jeans and a t-shirt. I assure you, both styles are breathtaking. “Yeah, it was okay.”

He takes a sip of coffee from his Starbucks carton cup. “What did you do?”

I shrug. “Moved house.”

He laughs. “Ah, not much then?”

I smile and shake my head. “What you got behind your back?” I ask, referring to the hand that’s hidden from my sight.

He smiles and puts his hand in front of me. “For you.”

I smile bashfully and accept the cup. “Thank you.”

“And don’t worry, it’s not coffee.”

I blush. “Is it…”

He nods and rolls his eyes. “Yes Cat, I did get you hot chocolate with extra cream.”

I giggle. “Thank you. It’s so sweet of you to remember.” And it really is, otherwise I wouldn’t have resorted to the stupid phrase, ‘it’s so sweet of you…’ Sean learnt in our second week of working together that, although I like coffee just as much as the next person, you can never beat a good cup of hot chocolate. Immature? Unsophisticated? Unhealthy? Yes, but totally enjoyable.

He takes off his bag and shrugs off the hoodie. “So, how are you finding your new place?”

I shrug and take a sip of my drink. “It’s going…okay, so far.”

He raises an eyebrow and hangs his jacket over the back of his chair. “Just okay?”

I pause, wondering whether to divulge such information to him. “I’m living with some male friends of mine, and I’m just finding some aspects of it a little…difficult.”

He nods sympathetically. “Ex-boyfriend?”

Ha. I bite back the, ‘I wish’, which is forming on my tongue. “No, not exactly.”

He sits down and sends me a sly look. “You keep your secrets, Miss Saunders. I know all about you and your numerous, ‘male friends’.”

I laugh. “I can’t keep them a secret, can I?”

He shakes his head as he grins and turns his computer on. “By the way, I got the chemical article finished.”

“Oh,” I lean forward and take the pieces of paper from his hands, our skin touching momentarily. “How did it go?”

He shrugs. “I’m not like you. I can’t spin out a killer article in two seconds. It took me the whole weekend, and I still don’t have a clue what an atom is.”

I laugh and blush slightly at his compliment. “Well, it’s the finished product which matters.” I leaf my way through the pages. “This looks good, though.”

“Thanks,” he says, typing his password into the computer. “You know,” he begins, leaning forward to me. “I was thinking you and me could tackle that feature on abortion that Mr Karter’s been talking about.”

I frown, before memory serves. It’s some big deal in the office because Mr Karter’s chosen such a controversial subject which is bound to cause a stir. Whoever writes it, and depending on how well it’s written, is going to get a lot of attention and perhaps respect. I had considered it, but it seemed like an awful lot to handle after only being a full time worker for two months or so.

“It would be risky, but I think together we’d do a great article.”

We probably could. Sean’s a very talented writer, and I’m…okay, I guess. “I’ll think about it.”

“Great,” he says, spinning back to his screen.

Suddenly, my cell phone starts to ring. I quickly pick it up, wanting to hush the noise and not attract any attention as Sean smirks at me knowingly. “Hello?” I whisper.

“Cat, what the hell are you doing?”

I roll my eyes. “Trace, I’m working!”

“Oh, sorry,” he replies. “I was just wondering if we could meet up for lunch.”

I frown. “Um, why?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“About what?”

There’s a silence on the other end. “I think you know what, Cat,” replies a dark voice.

“Trace, it’s first thing on a Monday morning. I don’t want to play a guessing game.”

I can almost see the roll of his eyes. “Justin, for goodness sake!”

I freeze. “Trace, is he there? What if he hears you?!”

“Don’t worry, he’s…um…out,” his voice fades to a guilty whimper.

“He’s at Natasha’s, isn’t he?” I say quietly.

There’s another silence. “I’m sorry, Cat.”

“It’s okay,” I whisper. I feel as though someone’s ripped my heart out from my chest and is playing basketball with it, but hey, that’s "okay".

Trace sighs. “See, Cat? This is why we have to talk.”

I nod. “Okay, I’ll meet you at that little diner near the store at one.”

“Great, thanks, Cutie.”

I giggle. “No problem, Tempt.”

“See you at one.”

“Later.”

I snap my cell phone shut and throw it onto the desk. I already know what Trace is going to say to me. He’ll go on and on about what a great girl I am and how Justin thinks that too, but it’s just not meant to be, bla, bla. I know he’s right. I should be doing everything in my power to stop thinking about Justin this way, but I seem to have no control over my heart, and that’s something I don’t like. I like being in control. I like being shielded from people. I like being unexposed.

“Hey, Cat.”

My head snaps up to look at Sean, who‘s standing up and presumably on the way to the editor to give him his article. “Yeah?”

“Are you busy Friday?”

My brows furrow. “Um, no, don’t think so. Why?”

He grins cheekily. “No reason, I was just wondering.”

I chuckle at his weirdness before turning back to my computer screen. I’ll overanalyze what Sean said later, right now I have to concentrate what I’m going to say to Trace at lunch.

I push my sunglasses to the tip of my nose and scan the almost-empty diner. An old couple are sitting in the corner, huddled together, ignoring the world. I look a little to the left and see a business man sipping his coffee as he reads over some papers. I frown and turn to the last area of the restaurant I haven’t scrutinized.

Finally, I see him; sitting by the window, tattoos crawling out of his black wifebeater and curls sneaking out of the bottom of his baseball cap. I adjust my glasses so they shield my eyes and run a hand through my hair, before strolling up to his table.

“Hi,” I say, sliding into the booth, opposite him.

Trace’s gaze shifts from the window. “Oh, hey.”

I take off my sunglasses and slip them into my purse. “So, what’s going on?”

He shrugs and picks up a menu. “I just thought it was about time you and I had a little chat.”

I raise an eyebrow behind my menu. That’s the kind of thing a teacher says to a pupil when he suspects they’re about to start shooting up the school or something. “Okay.”

A bored looking waitress approaches our table, chewing gum loudly and holding out a pad and paper. “You guys ready to order?”

We look up at her. “Sure,” says Trace, setting his menu down. “I’ll just have a coke and a cheeseburger, please.”

She nods and turns to me. “Same, thanks,” I reply, folding up my menu and handing it to her.

Her navy blue skirt fans out as she spins away from us to leave. Trace turns to me, his eyes boring into me own. “So…”

“So,” I reply.

He sighs. “I think we opened a can of worms a while ago and now we need to look at it properly.”

My nose crinkles in disgust. “Ew, Trace. Couldn’t you have come up with a better metaphor than worms?”

He rolls his eyes. “Quit it, Cutie, I’m being serious.”

I sigh and fold my hands on the table. Clearly my attempt to lighten things up has fallen flat on its face. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

He takes my hands in his and gives me a sympathetic look. “What’s going on with you?”

I shrug. “You tell me,” I mutter, the seriousness of the situation making me feel uncomfortable.

“How do you feel about Justin?” he asks, in a straightforward manner that alarms me.

“Well, he’s my friend, and I…”

“Cut the bullshit, Cat,” he interrupts, a frown on his face. “How do you really feel about him?”

I pull my hands away from him and look at the table, already feeling a sting in my eyes. “I don’t know.” I feel like a child being told off by their mother for touching something they shouldn’t have. It’s not like Trace to be so serious and grave.

He fidgets with his napkin, hesitating with his words slightly. “Cat, I know you like him, I can see that, and pretty soon Justin will figure it out too.” I practically shuddered at the thought. “And I don’t want you guys to ruin this great friendship over something like this.”

I nod. Despite all my attempts not to, Justin has become a regular part of my life. If I don’t talk to him for two days I begin to worry he’s been in a fatal car accident and end up leaving a hundred messages on his phone. I didn’t really want to be his friend at first. There were too many complications, what with the rest of the world kissing his posters goodnight every evening, and I was happy with the friends I had already. But, somehow, the little bastard wormed his way into my life, with little resistance from me if I’m honest, and now I can’t live without him.

“You’re right,” I say after a length of silence. “He’s my friend first and foremost.”

“I don’t think it’s too late to…turn back. You know, stop,” he adds awkwardly, not looking me in the eye. It’s obvious Trace isn’t used to dealing with matters like this and when he has to, it makes him highly uncomfortable. I should be grateful he’s taking time out to try and help me through this, even though this is something he’d probably label, ‘chick business’.

I frown. “What do you mean?”

He pauses, before throwing his napkin down on the table and settling his gaze on me. “How long have you had these…feelings…for Justin?”

I shrug. I’ve know him for what, four months perhaps? So that would make it… “About three months and three weeks.”

Trace groans and puts his head in his hands. He gives his face a quick rub before looking back up at me. “Okay, that’s not too bad. You're not too deep. We can totally handle that.”

I giggle at him slightly, and he frowns. “Sorry, it’s just kind of funny how you’re getting so worked up about this.”

He fixes me with a piercing glare. “Cat, I’m trying to help you, because I know you’re the one that’s going to end up hurt if anything comes of this.”

That sure wiped the smile off my face. “I know,” I mumble quietly.

He rubs his eyes again. “I’m sorry Cat, I wasn’t trying to be harsh. I just don’t want to see you get hurt when we can stop the problem now.”

“Oh really, how?"

Trace shrugs. "Look, you haven't felt like this towards him that long. I'm sure that you could stop these feeling before the grow into something more. All that is needed is a little effort on your part."

"Don’t you think I’ve tried to stop lov-…liking him?” I say angrily, my voice rising slightly.

The waitress arrives with our food and sets our plates in front of us, causing us to hush our conversation. I send her a happy smile and begin to salt my fries, feeling Trace’s stare on me the whole time.

Finally, I slam the salt onto the steel table and look at him. “What?!”

“Do you love him?” he asks, in an eerily calm voice.

I wish, for my sake and Trace’s, that I could roll my eyes and say, “Psht, Justin wishes!”, but I can’t. For the first time in a long while, I have no snappy comeback.

I put my head in my hands. “I don’t know,” comes a muffled reply. I pause, before I softly whisper, “I think so.”

Trace reaches out and replaces his hand in mine. “It’s going to be okay, you know.”

I look up at him, wondering whether my mascara has reached the Alice Cooper level of smudged. “Really?”

He nods. “This is what I mean. Maybe you don’t feel as strongly as you think, you know? Maybe it’s just a crush you’re blowing out of proportion.”

I shrug. That would make sense, I do have the slight tendency to blow minor things up into colossal crisis’s. I almost erupted into tears the other week because we had run out of mayonnaise. “I suppose.”

“When was the last time you had a date?”

Too long ago, really. But dating pisses me off. You spend half the time trying to figure out who the person really is and when you eventually find out, you don’t like them after all. “A while ago.”

“You probably just feel lonely and are pining for whoever is close to you.”

I nod and miserably blob a fry into the ketchup. What Trace is saying makes sense, but part of me isn’t convinced. I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend when we met. I thought I would have a crush on him for a while, but I have a crush on everyone. I fell for Justin for the simple reason that I liked him.

Trace leans back in his seat and rests his head against the back of the stuffed booth cushion. “Perhaps a little space between you two would be a good thing.”

I nod. “Well, I might be doing this fairly major feature, and if I do, it’ll be a lot of work. In fact, I’ll spend most of my time around at Sean’s.”

He nods and sips his untouched coke. “Oh yeah, Diane mentioned something about him.” I can tell he’s ready to move onto lighter subjects than Justin, which I am more than happy about. “So come on,” he puts his drink down and pops a fry into his mouth. “Let’s hear all about him.”

I feel a blush creep onto my cheeks. “Not much to tell, really,” I reply coyly.

Trace grins. “You like him.”

I chuckle. “He’s a cool guy, I have to admit.”

Trace grin broadens. “You totally wanna screw him.”

I let out a loud laugh, attracting some strange looks from fellow diners. “Well, I wouldn’t kick his ass outta bed, that’s for sure.”

Trace laughs and seizes his burger, ready to consume it in three bites, as I’ve seen him do before. “Are you gonna ask him out?”

I unsuccessfully try and brush the grease from my burger off my hands whilst shaking my head. “I couldn’t do that, I would be far too embarrassed.”

Trace nods and finishes his burger. “You could always just have a wild, office affair where the pair of you rendezvous in the copying room for wild, passionate sex.”

I blush and giggle. “He did say something about Friday night, actually.”

Trace drops his fries and flicks his imaginary long hair behind his shoulder. “Tell me everything, girlfriend!”

I laugh. “It’s probably nothing, all he said was are you free Friday and I said yeah. That’s all.” I flip out my mirror and check my make up, thankful that Trace is dropping the Justin issue for a while.

“Ten bucks says you’ll have slept with him by Tuesday.”

“Trace, unlike you, I don’t jump into the bed of every member of the opposite sex,” I say seriously, before sticking my tongue out at him.

Trace chuckles. “I know. I’m such a himbo.”

“Good word, Trace, good word.”

He nods and checks his watch. “What time are you due back at work?”

I bring my wrist to my face, pulling back my sleeve so I can see my watch. “Ten minutes or so. I’d better go,” I stand up and move to get money from my purse but Trace shakes his head.

“Don’t worry babe, I got it.”

I smile at him and bend down to drop a quick kiss on his cheek. I can tell he’s surprised, I’m not one to publicly be affectionate with people and it’s usually him or Justin that initiates kisses to me, never me to them. I guess it’s my subtle way of expressing my gratitude.

“Thanks, Trace,” I whisper into his ear, before slinging by bag over my shoulder and leaving the diner.

Maybe Trace is right. Maybe some time away from him will be all I need to cure myself of this ridiculous “love” I’ve grown for a certain Justin Timberlake. But haven’t I been trying to detach myself from him the last few weeks? Every time I try to put a gap between us, he goes all hurt and fills it with a lunch date or some more episodes of Friends. Now that I’m living with him, things aren’t any easier.

I sigh and put the keys in the ignition. One more try can’t hurt, right?

---------------------------------------

I lightly press my lips against the soft skin of Natasha’s shoulder. She giggles slightly, and reaches behind her to pat the back of my head.

“Not now, Justin.”

I move my kisses up to her neck. “Come on, Tasha. I need some lovin’ here.”

She giggles again and dabs her brush into the array of colors. “I’m sorry, babe. I really want to finish this.”

I let out a whine and move away from her, looking at the painting. “It’s good, now let’s get busy,” I say, returning to my original position of behind her with my body pressed against hers.

She turns around and laughs. “Justin, if you could please remove your mind from the gutter for just one moment, you’ll find I’m working.”

I rest my head against hers. “I know, I’m sorry. I just need something to do.”

Her eyes widen and she smacks me in the chest. “And you thought you could do me?”

I let out my suppressed grin. “I was just kidding, Tasha.” I put my hands on her hips and her frown falls.

“Good. So, let me just ask you this now, are you gonna let me do any work today?”

I pause, before shaking my head. “Nope.”

She rolls her eyes and approaches the couch, me following. “So, what happened at home that has put in you in such a desperate mood?”

I scowl at her and flop down on the couch beside her. “Trace and me had an argument.”

“’Bout what?” she asks, taking a handful of chips and begin to eat them.

I steal one from her grasp and put it into my mouth. “I don’t even know, really. He just got really pissed off at me, really quickly.” I decide not to go into details, as I know I’d have to tell her Trace had less than warm feelings towards her.

She nods and brushes the salt off her hands. “And Cat? How are you coping with her?”

I shrug. “I thought things were great, but God knows. She’s so…difficult to work out. When she says something, I always get the feeling there’s like this…double meaning, or something.”

Natasha nods and stands up to retrieve our glasses of water. “It’s called being a woman, Justin.”

“But she’s got me so confused!”

“I repeat my previous statement.” I shrug and accept my water. “What happened?”

I hesitate. I don’t want to spread around the previous night’s events. I know it took a lot out of Cat to be so emotionally open with me, and I would feel as though I was betraying her trust if I told other people what happened. And anyway, it was a private evening for the two of us and although I’m not too sure how Cat thinks of it, I thought it really brought us closer together. It’s our business, not anyone else’s.

“Well, we were talking and we really…bonded, as stupid as it sounds. Anyway, this morning I wanted to check that she was okay, but she basically ignored me and made it seem like nothing had happened.”

“You make it sound like you two slept together or something,” Natasha says, smiling as she sips her water.

I laugh. “No, nothing like that. She just seems really unwilling to get too close.”

Natasha nods. “Yeah, she seems like a very private person.”

“She is,” I agree. “And then she said something about wishing I wasn’t so nice, as though she wanted our friendship to be less than it is.”

Natasha frowns, before shrugging. “Maybe she’s just overwhelmed. You know, she’s moved in with two people she doesn’t know that well and has to adjust to a whole different life. It’s a bit of a daunting thought. It might not even be you, it could be work or something. Just try and make her life a little easier.”

That makes a little sense. “So what should I do?”

“Just give her a little time and act normally around her,” Natasha says, as though it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Let her know she can have her own space, but you‘re there if she needs you.”

I nod slowly. “I guess she could use a little breathing space.”

Natasha gets up, taking my glass and her own and taking them to the kitchen. “I’m sure it’ll work out fine.”

I lay down on the couch and watch her return. How did I get a girlfriend as good as her? She blushes slightly. “What are you staring at?”

“You,” I reply simply, pulling her down onto the couch with me.

She giggles on top of me. “I see that frisky side of yours is back after that little chat.”

I nod and capture her lips with my own. “I say, less chat, more action. What do you think?”

She laughs and kisses me. “I definitely agree.”

------------------------------

I close the heavy oak door behind me and lean against it, eyes closed. After my lunch with Trace, I went back to the office to be greeted by an eager Sean, who was ecstatic because we had been given the abortion article to do. Sure, it’s great, but all I want to do is crawl into my pajamas and sleep forever.

Too much has happened today and it’s only Monday.

“Cat! Is that you?” I hear Trace yell.

I walk into the game room, where I find him engrossed sitting cross legged on the floor, in front of a game in front of the TV. “Hi.”

His head doesn’t turn from the television set. “Hey.”

“What are you playing?” I ask, gingerly sitting down beside him, trying not to crease my work skirt.

“Er, a racing car thing,” he replies distractedly.

I roll my eyes. How men get so gripped by immature console games never fails to astound me. “Thanks for lunch today, it made me feel a little better.”

His hand reaches out and pats my knee, before quickly returning to the joystick. “No problem, babe.”

I laugh. “Do you and Justin call everyone babe?”

He smirks. “Nah, just the sexy ones.”

I laugh again and stand up, kissing the top of his head as I go. “Well, thanks for being such a good friend.”

He blushes slightly and shrugs. “It was nothing. And anyway, I need to have at least one friend in this house.”

I frown on my way out of the room. “What do you mean?”

“Justin and I had a little lovers spat.”

My eyes widen. “About what?”

“Natasha, and how I don’t like her, and I called him blind.”

The temptation to rip the fucking game thing out of the wall grows as fear courses through my body. “What!”

“Don’t worry, it was no biggie.”

No biggie? No biggie? I glad he thinks so, because I’m about to explode because it’s such a colossal disaster. “Trace, I can’t believe you did that!” I shout.

He pauses his game and turns to me, his child-like face the picture of innocence. “What? I didn’t do anything.”

I snort loudly. “Oh no, you only told him how I felt.”

He rolls his eyes. “Stop being such a drama queen, Cutie. I didn’t tell him anything.”

My erratic breathing somewhat slows down. “Are you sure?”

He rolls his eyes again and turns back to his game. “Yes, I’m sure. Now stop freaking out, Cat.”

I humph and cross my arms. “Whatever.” Mature, I know. “Is he still at the skank’s house?”

Trace erupts in laughter. “Oh come on, she’s not that bad.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh really? She’s sleeping with him, that’s enough.”

Trace sniggers. “You just wish you were the one sleeping with him.”

My cheeks darken at the very mention of Justin and I having sex. “Shut up.”

Suddenly, I hear the opening and closing of the front door and jump. It must be Justin, although I assumed he would stay the night at Natasha's, or “Tasha”, as I heard him refer to her the other day.

“Hey, guys,” he says happily, entering the game room and smiling brightly at both of us.

“Hey,” says Trace over his shoulder.

“Hi,” I mumble, feeling greatly uncomfortable under his ice cool gaze.

“How was work, Cat?”

I shrug and rub my arm. “It was ‘kay.”

“Good,” he nods, and I wait for him to start pestering me about my day, but he doesn’t. “I’m just gonna head up and get changed. Who’s making dinner tonight?”

“Um, I will,” I say after a while, amazed at his ability to forget everything that happened this morning between me and him or him and Trace.

“Great, I’ll help you.”

“Okay,” I nod slowly.

I begin to question how he’s magically ignored the awkwardness that settled between us this morning, but realize less fussing from him is exactly what I want. The less attention he pays to me and my roller coaster emotions, the less of his adorably caring side I’ll have to see. Perhaps, eventually, I’ll just see him as a friend.

Or, perhaps this little distance between us will make me crave for him even more.

--------------------

I stand in the shower, allowing the hot water to flow over my body and remove the touch of Natasha. I run a hand through my hair, which needs to be cut, and then lather some shampoo into it. I, perhaps unwisely, offered to help make dinner with Cat. I know Natasha said to give her some breathing space, but I’m not going to avoid her.

I was planning on staying the night at Natasha’s, but she was trying to get that painting thing finished and I had already distracted her enough, so I knew there wouldn’t be much fun at her place. Despite still being angry at Trace, Cat hasn’t done anything wrong, so there’s no need to stay away from her. Slowly, I’m beginning to understand why she was so weird this morning. She obviously has real issues with opening up to people, which I can understand. Hell, I can even relate to that. She probably just felt embarrassed so I’m going to try my best to act normal around her and try to assure her I’m not judging or criticizing her.

That’s why I offered to make dinner with her. Just to find some common ground once again and let things go back to normal. I get out of the shower and run a towel over my body, before slipping on some jeans. I consider putting on a shirt, but I can’t be bothered and, knowing my cooking skills, I probably get something on it.

I bound downstairs and find Cat standing in the kitchen, biting her lip thoughtfully as she reads the back of a spaghetti sauce packet. “Hey.”

She jumps slightly and turns to look at me. Her eyes center on my chest and widen slightly. Well, well, that’s unexpected. I didn’t have Cat down as one of those girls who would go all stunned at the sight of my body. The regular feeling of satisfaction flows through me as I see her blush and turn away from me. She’s clearly not used to seeing men exposed in front of her. The shyness and innocence she so desperately tries to hide from the world is clearly shown and it tugs at my heart strings.

“Um, hi,” she replies.

I smirk. If girls like Cat go all gooey when they see me half naked, what does that say about the impact my chest must have? I’m a cocky bastard, I know. “What do you want to make?” I ask, approaching her and putting my hands on her hips. I want to test her in a way, see how much I can make her blush, so that means maximum contact.

She jumps slightly feeling of my warm hands on her hips. “Um, well, um, I was thinking spaghetti or something.”

I rest my chin on her shoulder and look at the packet she’s holding. “Sounds good.”

“Or we could just make some good ole mac and cheese,” she says, laughing slightly.

I chuckle and kiss her cheek, pressing my naked torso against her back. “Sounds even better.”

She stands there for a second, and I can hear her taking deep breaths, as though she's calming herself, before she replies. “Great. I’ll get some pasta boiling, you can get the cheese sorted.”

I nod and release her, chuckling silently to myself. We work in silence, and I have no doubt she’s wondering what the hell has gotten into me. I beginning to wonder myself, actually. Why do I want to tease her? Why do I want her to want me? I don’t know, but it’s fun to watch her tilt her head down to hide her blush and to see her hair fall gently across her face as she goes all bashful.

I give her the cheese once it’s done and she adds it to the pasta, stirring it gently. I play with the radio, trying to find a station to listen to. “Oh, stop!” she suddenly says.

I grin and look at her. “No way, Cat.”

She goes red. “It’s a good song.”

You’re The One That I want by John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John? A good song? Sure, perhaps in 1987, not now.

“Cat,” I say, between my sniggers, “I can’t believe you like this song.”

“What!” she protests. “It is a good song!”

I nod and bite my lip to hold back my laughter. She turns back to the stove, obviously thinking I’m going to ignore the fact she likes a song from Grease. I stealthily walk up behind her, so that she doesn’t expect to feel the sudden grip of my hands on her sides as I spun her around. She shoots me a confused look, before I launch into singing the chorus, eyes closed and everything, as I hold her body against mine and swayed my hips, our twisted impression of dancing.

“Justin, what are you doing?” she asks, clearly not sure whether to laugh or run into the distance screaming.

I ignore her question and continue to sing and dance, spinning her around the kitchen floor as she giggles. “Oh-oh-oh, honey!”

She throws her head back and lets out a laugh as I let go of her to do some serious Saturday Night Fever posing. “Justin, are you okay?”

“Baby, I’m better than okay, I’m singing Grease!”

She laughs again and leans against the counter for support. When my little performance is finished, I approach her and place my hands on her hips, grinning.

“Did you like that?”

She nods. “It was…an experience.”

I poke her in the stomach. “You’re just pissed I didn’t finish my amazing display of talent with a strip tease.”

She smiles shyly and…yep, blushes. It’s funny how someone seemingly so confident and so unaffected by what happens around her can be reduced to such coyness at the mention of sex or stuff to do with it. That’s what makes it so enjoyable to tease her. I lean against the counter, with one arm on either side of her. She’s staring at me quite deeply, and it reminds me of the time I wanted to kiss her before Trace interrupted us. Up this close, I can remember why. I see those blue eyes, that cute little nose, and, of course, those freckles. I reach up and unclip her wavy brown hair, which I’ve heard her whine about several times because it's 'boring'.

It falls from it’s clasp around her face and she blushes slightly at the stare I have her under. “It looks nice down,” I say quietly.

She nods slightly, and I can see her eyes travel down my torso and take in the sight of my chest. She seems to find it very interesting, it's like she's never seen a guy so openly undressed in front of her. I cocky grin places itself on my lips as her eyes shyly rise to meet mine again.

But the piercing ring of the phone causes us both to jump.

I give her a quick smile, before heading over and picking up the phone which sat on the table. “Hello?”

The playful grin that was on my face is quickly wiped off. “Hey, can I speak to Cat please?”

I know that voice, and I’m less than impressed to be hearing it again. “Who’s speaking please?” I ask frostily.

“Sean,” replies the calm, deep voice.

“I’m sorry Sean, Cat’s about to eat her dinner. Can I take a message?”

“Oh, um, yes please.” I don’t miss the tone of disappointment in his voice, but quite frankly, I ain’t sympathetic. “Can you tell her that Sean wants to see whether she’s still free Friday and if she is, could she give me a call back, please?”

I scowl deeply. Is this asshole trying to wangle a date off her or something? “I’ll try and pass on the message, Sean,” I reply, tone sarcastic.

“Thank you. Goodbye.”

“Bye,” I spit spitefully into the phone.

When I hang up, Cat is standing behind me, drying her hands on a dishtowel and frowning. “Was that for me?”

I nod. “I said you were about to eat.”

She nods. “Who was it?”

A complete asshole who I bet is gonna try to fuck you on your first date, if you go on it, which I sincerely hope you don’t. “It was Sean. He wanted to know if you were free Friday and if you were, could you call him back.”

A small smile spreads across her features. “Really?”

I nod as I get out some plates for Trace and us. She smirks slightly, before taking the plates I held out for her and putting pasta on them. “Are you gonna call him back?” I ask lightly, after a pause.

“Sure,” she says. “He might just be calling me to work on this article thing, but he mentioned something about going out for dinner, so…” she trails off and shrugs.

No, I’m tempted to scream, don’t do it, Cat. I’ve never met him, but I bet he’s a total loser with gross teeth. Ugh, just thinking about him is making me angry, but when an image of him and Cat happily strolling along the beach, hand in hand, it makes my blood boil.

Must be my friend instinct kicking in.

If there was something my mother and I never agreed on, it was clothes. She thought yellow was a fantastically bright color which reflected people’s inner happiness. I disagreed. She thought hanging a sweater around your neck and then tying the arms in front of your chest was the best idea anyone has ever had. I did not.

However, one particular, unresolved difference echoes in my mind as I smooth down the front of my outfit and scrutinize my appearance in the mirror.

“Cat, black is a color worn to funerals. It is not supposed to be worn on a day-to-day purpose.”

Is that true? If I wear black, will Sean think I’m some weird psycho chick who’s participates in ritual animal sacrifices? The only reason I even wear the stupid color is because I know it has a slimming effect, or so everyone says. And those stupid fashion magazines which I don’t have the patience to read claim you can always fall back on your Little Black Dress, and this is a little black dress.

After an attack of self-consciousness and a frantic phone call to Diane, I was told that the dress was perfect, hugged me in all the right places, and does have a slimming effect, ('Not that you need one', commented Diane, to which I replied, 'Whatever'). It’s a nice dress I suppose, with three quarter length sleeves and the neckline coming into a V shape around my cleavage. But I don’t wear it often. Muchos gracias to the revealing neckline: one false move and I fall out of it.

I quickly fasten this ridiculously chunky necklace around my neck and peer into the mirror one last time. The necklace is a blood red shade, so I am adding a little color. I decided to curl my hair a little tonight, but already I can see the bastard curls falling into frizzy waves. I’m not surprised; that always happens to me, despite the copious amounts of hair spray I liberally squirted into my brown locks.

I kept my makeup simple, because I know applying the colorful paint is not my forte. When I was a teenager and rebelling against my mother’s “natural beauty” theory, I would put on as much makeup as I could and ended up looking like a sad reject from the Rocky Horror Show. Instead of revisiting that particularly awful time, I just applied the usual foundation to hide my freckles, dusted my cheeks with blusher otherwise people will wonder whether I actually have a pulse, and finally, ran a slightly red color over my lips.

I look okay. Better than I normally do, obviously, but still not as great as Natasha, who I briefly encountered yesterday as she stopped by to drop off some stuff of Justin’s. I almost died when I greeted her in my not-so-flattering pajamas and saw she was donning a particularly attractive pair of tight jeans with a cute shirt. What made it even better was her sickeningly nice attitude towards me. “Hey Cat, how are you? Settling in well? Is there anything you need for your room?” I mean god, why doesn’t she just change her name to Mother Theresa. I spent yesterday bitterly stomping around the kitchen, trying to ignore the giggling that I could hear from Justin’s room and seeking solace in any food I could find. How come some people get everything, whereas other get nothing?

No, Cat, stop it. Do not reflect on yesterday, think about now. Sean is going to come by and pick you up, we will have a great time and everything will fall into place. Easy.

Pft. As if anything in my life was ever easy.

---------------------

She said yes.

She actually agreed to go on that stupid, ridiculous, pointless date with that ugly, stupid, asshole of a man, ‘Sean’.

Let’s ignore the fact I’ve never actually met the guy, and focus on the evidence.

1) He’s from Tennessee and not married or in a relationship, so he’s either gay or still living with his momma.

2) He’s a journalist. It is a well known fact male journalists are assholes. Don‘t ask me what backs up this statement; they just are.

3) He has this really masculine, deep voice which always seems calm. You know what they say, the placid ones are always the ones that end up killing everyone because they have so much suppressed anger.

4) Sean is a stupid name. Why? Because it is.

See? The guy is clearly not right for Cat. I actually ran a few of these interesting and thought provoking thoughts by Trace, but he didn’t seem interested. In fact, he laughed at me and said I was making shit up. He laughed, because I am being a good friend and protecting Cat. He’ll see. Cat will see. They’ll all see, and I’ll be the one that who was right all along.

I can hear heels clicking across the wooden floor of the hall and I quickly turn on the TV, trying to hide the fact I’ve been waiting to see what Cat’s wearing for her perilous meeting with Psycho Boy, otherwise known as a ‘date’.

I keep my focus fixed on the television, but hear the door creak open. I slightly cock my head to the side. “Hey Cat.”

She enters the room and sits on the couch, cautiously smoothing her dress so it doesn’t get crinkled. “Hi.”

“You all set for your…” I can barely say it, it disgusts me so much. “Date?”

“Yeah,” she says, and from the corner of my eye, I see her stretch her legs.

I finally turn my head so I can see her clearly. She looks nice, nicer than she usually does, with a tighter, more revealing outfit on and her hair slightly curlier than usual. Her makeup is different too, more obvious, slightly away from her usual brush of mascara and hints of foundation.

“You look nice,” I say awkwardly.

“Oh,” she blushes slightly and plays with the material of her dress. “Thanks.”

I smile at her and turn back to the TV. “So, what time is this guy supposed to pick you up?” See what I did there? “This guy”? I made it sound all casual, as though this wasn’t something I had been stressing about for the past few days, but just a minor detail in my otherwise full and exciting life. Very clever, Justin.

She shrugs. “At seven thirty, I think.”

I nod. If he’s late, I’ll cut him in half.

“How old is he?”

“Twenty four, twenty five.”

I immediately sit up straighter. “That’s quite a bit older than you.”

She nods. “Well, three years, yes.”

Shit. That’s three years more experience to perfect his suave, secretly immoral act on woman. Cat doesn’t stand a chance. It’s like sending a lamb out to the slaughter, this date. Wait a second, that means he’s a year or two older than I am. Is that why Cat likes him? Because he’s all mature and shit? Trace and I can be mature, when we want to be. Prick. He just always has to make people feel inferior, doesn’t he? In fact, let’s make that point five in my lovely little list.

“Do you think these shoes look okay?” she asks, stretching out her legs again.

I look over and see some black high heels. I don’t know, shoes all look the same to me. “Yeah, why?”

She shrugs. “I just realized my red stilettos might look better.”

I pause and gaze over her outfit. It’s mainly black, with splashes of red in her necklace and lipstick. “I think you should go with the red. It’ll match your jewelry stuff.”

She grins and quickly hops off the couch, and I can hear her heading up to her room to change her shoes. I turn back to the TV, trying to get engrossed in what I think is a pie-eating contest, when I hear Trace enter the room. After our little tiff the other day, we’re cool. Sometimes, we just have arguments about nothing, just to release some energy. If we didn’t, we’d probably end up killing each other.

“Hey man.”

“’Sup?”

“Where’s Cat?” he asks, sitting his short ass down on the couch, where Cat sat just a moment ago.

“She’s changing her shoes.”

“To what?”

I shrug. “Red stiletto thingies.”

Trace head snaps in my direction. “Are you being serious?”

I turn to look at him and frown. “Yeah, I said they would match her jewelry. What’s wrong with that?”

He snorts and leans back onto the couch. “Justin, what is the first thing that comes to mind when you see red shoes?”

That’s easy, sex. It’s common knowledge red shoes are a complete turn on for any red-blooded male, myself included.

Oh. Shit.

Trace laughs and relaxes into his seat. “Looks like Cat’s gonna get some of that, tonight.”

I find his rhyme less than amusing as I jump up off my seat. “Oh my god."

"What?" asks Trace, not taking his eyes off the TV.

"She can’t wear those!”

Trace shrugs and laughs at the TV. “Why not?” he asks distractedly.

“Because that asshole might try and get her into bed!”

Trace shrugs again. “So?”

My eyes widen at him. “What do you mean, so? Do you like the idea of Cat being seduced by some greasy hick?”

Trace turns to me with a confused look on his face. “I like the idea of Cat enjoying herself, but you obviously don’t.”

“If it involves being taken advantage of, then no, I don’t.”

Trace rolls his eyes at me. “Stop acting stupid Justin. Cat’s a big girl, she won’t let him take advantage of her.”

It amazes me that Trace is so calm and yet I’m almost steaming. “Trace, how can you be okay with the idea of someone sleeping with her?!”

Trace frowns. “Because I’m her friend, and I want her to be happy. If having sex makes her happy, then so be it. Hell Justin, she doesn’t say anything about you and Natasha’s loud activities.”

I try to calm my unsteady breathing. “I know,” I mumble, sitting back down.

“And it’s not like Cat is some virginal nun about to embark on a innocence-snatching adventure with Hugh Hefner of something. Anything that she does with Sean she’s done before.”

I shrug and prefer not to think about Cat‘s sexual history. “Yeah, I guess.” I remain silent for a moment. “But you don’t think she will, do you? I mean, after all, it’s just their first date.”

Trace groans loudly and runs a hand through his wavy hair. “I don’t know, Justin! I doubt it, okay?”

I smile and relax into my seat, his comment calming me. “No, she definitely won’t sleep with him.”

Trace rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to ask why you care so much,” he mutters under his breath.

“What was that?” I ask, leaning forward.

Before he can reply, the doorbell rings, signaling the arrival of the asshole that is Sean. I quickly jump up, eager to match my various slanderous names to a face.

I swing the door open with a slight smirk on my face, ready to witness the complete disaster standing on my doorsteps. I can’t wait.

Fuck.

He’s handsome, very handsome in fact.

Fuck.

He’s got a naturally big, muscular physique that must draw girls to him like a moth to a flame.

Fuck.

He’s holding out a rose, which I know will make Cat swoon, even if she tries her best not to.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He looks at me and frowns. “Um, hi. I don’t think I’ve come to the right place.”

This is your chance Justin, say that there is no Cat living with you and then get security on his ass. “Are you Sean?”

He nods. “Yeah, I’m here to pick up Cat?”

I open the door and allow him inside. “You’re in the right place, don’t worry.”

He smiles and holds out his hand. “Sean Reeves.”

“Justin Timberlake,” I reply, shaking it.

His nose crinkles slightly, and I can see he’s not a fan. “Yeah, I know. My sister is an enthusiast.”

I nod and plaster on a fake grin. “Well, Cat should be down any second.”

He nods and looks at his surroundings, clearly desperate to fill the silence that has settled between us. “Cat never mentioned she lived with…um…”

“She just moved recently,” I say, already feeling a little sting at the fact Cat failed to mention who she lived with. If they’re such, ‘great friends’, surely my name would have cropped up in one of their intellectual conversations? Unless Cat is ashamed to talk about me. Ouch.

Trace suddenly saunters into the hall. “Trace Ayala,” he says, holding out his hand to Sean.

“Sean Reeves,” he replies, smiling casually at him. Shit, I don’t see any missing teeth. But ah ha, his teeth fail to have the same sparkle to them that mine have. Justin--one, Sean, zero!

“So, you work with Cat?” says Trace, and I envy his ability to make friends with someone he’s just met.

Sean nods. “Yeah. I’ve been working up the courage to ask her out for a little over a month, now.”

Trace chuckles. I don’t. “She is a tough cookie.”

“I’ll just go get Cat,” I mumble, excusing myself from budding friendship. Why Trace is being so nice to Sean confuses me, but I let it slide. I quickly run upstairs and knock on Cat’s door.

“Come in.”

I let myself in. “Your date’s here.”

“Okay.” She straightens herself and steps away from her mirror, before turning to me. “How do I look?”

I take in her suddenly desirable appearance. Stop it, Timberlake. She doesn’t even look that stunning, so stop acting like she’s suddenly the image of perfection. “You look lovely,” I mumble unwillingly.

She smiles. “Thank you. What do you think of the shoes?”

I glance down at her feet and see some high heeled, rather sexy shoes. “Very nice.”

She grins, before grabbing her purse from her bureau. “As long as I don’t trip up in them. Let’s go.”

We walk down together, and are greeted by the image of Trace and Sean laughing heartily together. Traitor.

As soon as he hears the creak on the stairs, Sean’s eyes dart up to search for Cat. We slowly descend, our every move being watched by Sean and Trace. I don’t fail to see the steady eye contact shared by Sean and Cat, and I’m tempted to walk in front of her to break it.

“Hi,” says Cat in a dreamy voice I’ve never heard her use.

“Hi,” replies Sean’s irritatingly smooth tone. I would love it if he got laryngitis. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you,” she blushes and I feel something stir inside of me. I’m the one that makes her blush, nobody else. “So do you.”

Urgh, please, can someone just kill them before this mutual appreciation forces me to hang myself?

“You look wonderful, Cutie,” comments Trace, beaming at her.

She twirls a lock of hair around her finger. “Thank you.”

“When are you guys going to be back?” I suddenly ask.

Cat frowns slightly. “Um, I’m not sure.”

“If it’s going to be late, will you call?”

Trace hits my arm and I turn to him. I know I’m treating her like a child, but I figure if I make her feel guilty enough, she’ll definitely not sleep with him and be back at our place by ten.

“Um, okay,” she replies. She suddenly catches sight of the rose in Sean’s hand. “Oh, Sean!”

I roll my eyes but go unnoticed by anyone but Trace, who hits me again. I've sent her flowers before. I bet she liked mine better than that weed Sean has just presented her with. I bet this is all part of his devious plan to get into her pants, jackass. Deep down, I know Cat isn't like that, but I just wish I had some reassurance.

Wait a second, the key to figuring out a girl’s desires lie in her underwear. Stop smirking, it’s true. If it’s sexy, that means she expects something to happen. If it’s not, then nothing will. I’ve never seen Cat’s underwear, I wouldn’t even be able to tell you what she wears on a day to day basis, but I’m pretty sure it’s nothing too wild. Hey, maybe I could look for panty lines when she turns round, that would narrow out the possibility of thongs.

Oh shit, first I was worrying about her shoes, now I’m worrying about her underwear. All you need to do is slap a few sexual harassment cases on me and you’ve got a grade A sicko.

This is all Sean’s fault.

---------------------------------------

I like Sean. A lot.

I practically melted when he handed me the rose, and when he opened my car door for me, and when he said I looked amazing. I don’t usually get called amazing, but I’ve decided I like it.

Sean has proved to be a wonderful companion. He’s been polite, courteous and complimentary, and we’re only half way through our date. Due to Sean’s never ending knowledge, much of our conversation has been full of facts and observations of life. As interesting as they are, I’m finding myself drift away from the conversation to stare at random parts of him that I never noticed before. It’s terrible, really. Here is this man, an incredibly intelligent man providing wonderful conversation, and all I can do is wonder what he looks like without his top on.

“If everything we’ve done in life is a parody of what we’ve done before, then isn’t life a parody in itself?”

“That’s true,” I say vaguely, dreamily admiring his perfect hair.

He laughs. “Or maybe I’ve just had too much time to think about things.”

I chuckle. “Not at all. I’m sorry, my head’s still spinning from the idea that one day, robots could outsmart us.”

He shrugs. “Watch the Matrix, honey. You’ll know what I mean.”

I laugh and allow a waiter to take away my empty plate. “So, when do you want to start working on the abortion article?”

He shrugs. “Anytime you want. But I don’t want to talk about work. I brought you here with particularly unrelated work interests in mind.” He grins and I I blush slightly, which seems to encourage him as he leans across the table and whispers seductively into my ear, “Such as passionately pushing you up against your front door and kissing you until you succumb and invite me inside, so we could get down to the nasty.”

He sits back down and his broad grin lets me know he was teasing me, but that there was also a hint of suggestiveness in his voice that makes me raise an eyebrow and smirk at him.

“Play your cards right, and maybe I will.” Of course, I’m not serious, but it’s fun to play along.

He laughs and refills our wine glasses. “Tease,” he mutters.

I laugh and sip my wine. “Sorry Sean, but it takes more than dinner to get me to ‘get down to the nasty’, as you so eloquently put it.”

He chuckles deeply. “I know, I was only kidding.”

It’s been so long since I so shamelessly flirted with someone I almost forgot how good it feels. Sexual innuendos are flying across the table, but with Sean I feel comfortable with them, because I know he doesn’t expect anything to come from them.

“So, you never mentioned the superstar under your roof.”

I shrug. “I never felt the need to. I’m not involved in that side of his life, so sometimes I sort of forget about it. I just know it’s not something I should flaunt around.”

He nods. “How long have you known him?”

“A few months. We were just friends but when Diane moved in with her boyfriend, I decided to move out and Justin offered me a home with him.”

“That was kind of him,” comments Sean, playing with the stem of his glass.

I nod. “It was.”

He’s silent for a moment. “Do you wanna get out of here? Take a walk?”

“Sounds great,” I say, already reaching behind me to get my coat.

He pays so quickly I can’t even argue to share the cost, and soon we’re strolling through the dark streets of Tennessee, our hands brushing against one another until they finally join, but neither of us said a word.

The strange thing about dating someone who was previously a friend is that you’re sort of thrust into third or fourth date realms when you’re just on your first, because you know the person already. I couldn’t ask Sean about his family or job, or where he grew up. He is a Tennessee native, he has one younger sister and I already know plenty about his job. I've asked all these questions before, I can't do it again.

Suddenly, a feeling of worry washes over me. We walk in comfortable silence, but is it really comfortable, or is it just because we have nothing to talk about? It would make things incredibly awkward if it turned out we were just flirty friends with no relationship in the future.

But what really confuses me is why I'm here in the first place. Sean is clearly gorgeous. Even Justin can barely reach up to his standard of handsomeness. So what is he doing asking me out? I know plenty of girls around the office repeatedly tried to hook up with him, and almost all of them were unsuccessful.

“Sean, can I ask you something?”

His head cocks sideways to look at me. “Go ahead, doll.”

“When was the last time you went on a date?”

He pauses. “About…two months ago. I’ve been busy with work,” he explains.

I nod. “When was the last time you were asked out onto a date?”

He blushes. “Yesterday, by that Veronica girl from publishing.”

I nod. Veronica-the office bombshell. “Did you accept?”

He frowns and shakes his head. “No.”

“Why not?” I ask, eyes widening.

“Because she’s not my type,” he replies simply. “Can I ask you why we are talking about who else I could be dating when I’m on a date with you?”

I blush and shrug, scuffing my feet slightly on the sidewalk. “It’s just…I don’t understand why you asked me out. Let’s face it, you could do so much better.”

Shit, why did I blurt that out? Now he probably thinks I’m some awfully insecure freak who dabbles in self harm. Well, he's only 50% right.

To my surprise, he merely shakes his head slightly and smiles. “Why are women so insecure about everything?”

“It’s in our genetic structure.”

"Do I actually need to give you a reason for asking you out?"

I giggle slightly and nod. "Yeah, and make it a good 'un."

His smile has faded to a frown. “Cat, I wanted to take you out because you're a funny, intelligent, pretty girl who I have a lot in common with and, quite frankly, men would be crazy not to want you."

My mouth drops open and I look for signs of sarcasm in his voice, only to find none. “I…um…I…”

He suddenly stops walking and gently grasps my arm, halting my movements as well. He gazes at me for a second, the moon casting light on his emerald green eyes, causing them to glitter as they scan my face. Before I can comprehend what is happening, his padded lips are softly pressed against mine. I hesitate at first, before my hand slips around his neck and into the mass of black hair as my lips slowly respond to his. The dusty cogs that have been still since I was last kissed are slowly brought to life as his tongue dances along my lower lip, before I finally surrender to the kiss and allow him more access.

After a few moments, we separate, our foreheads resting against each other as our slightly fastened breathing slows to a normal pace. His eyes land on my feet.

“Nice shoes,” he says, quietly.

We both begin to giggle and I make a mental note to thank Justin.

Justin. The name begins to echo in my mind.

Justin, the guy who I have unwittingly fallen for. Justin, the guy who had a slightly protective edge tonight, when Sean picked me up. Justin, the guy who plays with my emotions without even realizing it.

Justin, the guy who, even after an amazing kiss from an amazing man, I still can't get off my mind.

My fingers slowly ravel and unravel Natasha’s hair as she sits in between my legs, her back to my chest, watching TV. She unexpectedly came over last night and I welcomed her with open arms. Having fun with Natasha beat staring aimlessly at the TV, wondering what was happening between Sean and Cat.

When it comes to female friends, I’m naturally overprotective. Always have been, always will be. I’m particularly familiar with the workings of the male mind, being one myself, and I am fully aware of the extents to which a man will go to in order to get what, or who, he wants. I’ve been there, for goodness sake. I’ve been the prick who sleazes up on some poor, unsuspecting girl and then loses her phone number the next day. Christ, after Britney and I split up, that’s all I ever did to try and get over her. Trace and I have spent that last two years sleeping around with just about anything, and then bragging about it the next day because it’s the seventh model we’ve managed to sleep with or something. Man, we really were assholes.

But we’ve grown up and out of that phase. I spent plenty of nights trying to find the reason to my complete lack of respect towards women, and I know it’s just because I was tied down in a relationship for too long, when I was too young. Okay, it’s no excuse for being such a, to use one of Trace’s words, ‘himbo’, but I’m not like that anymore.

However, just because I have managed to successfully extract my brains from my boxers does not mean the rest of the male population has. Especially when they’re around Cat’s age. I guess I should be grateful she’s dating someone who is a little older than her, so I’m spared the college asshole who screams ‘Score!” at regular intervals and has a beer bottle growing onto his hand. I should be happy that Sean has an element of maturity to him, and probably because of his age, he’s over the ‘Love ’em and Leave ’em” thing.

I don’t understand what it is that gets me so worked up when it comes to Cat. I’ve never behaved this badly when it comes to any of my friends dating, and as I said, Sean really doesn’t seem like that kind of guy. Part of me felt jealous last night, as the other half screamed why? I don’t own Cat, I don’t find her that attractive, and it’s not like I had any plans to pursue a relationship to her. Not to mention the fact I already have a beautiful, intelligent, kind girlfriend, who I was having a great time with until he turned up.

The only conclusion I can come to is that it’s just because Cat and I are really good friends. I care about her a great deal, so I guess I’m extra, perhaps even overtly protective of her. And plus, I know she’s hasn’t had great relationships in the past, and the thought of some guy screwing around with her like that, again, makes my blood run cold. When I think back to that night on the balcony, I remember how heartbroken and dejected she seemed to feel. I never want to have to see her cry again.

It’s ridiculous really, but every time I see Cat with a guy, I get this churning feeling in my stomach as I watch her interact with whoever she’s with, be it Trace or Sean, or even the guy at the coffee shop who gave her a discount because he said nobody loved his hot chocolates like her. It seems every guy she is with, in my mind, is immediately someone who could hurt her. As soon as that thought is in my head, all I can do is hate them for no apparent reason. But I am sure I saw that coffee guy staring at her boobs, so the prick better watch his step.

“Justin!”

The sharp voice pulls me from my thoughts and I look in the direction of it’s owner. “What?”

“I just said your name three times and each time, you looked blanker than the last.”

“Oh, sorry Trace,” I say, sitting up a bit straighter. “What’s wrong?”

He shrugs and throws himself down on the couch away from Natasha and I. “Just wondering why you were looking like some zombie from Night of the Living Dead.” I roll my eyes at him and turn back the TV as he sips his orange juice. “Oh, did Cat get back okay last night?”

My head snaps to look at him. “What?”

“I went do bed kind of early, so I didn’t hear her get back.”

“Well neither did I!” I exclaim, with a little too much panic in my voice. “I was with Natasha!”

“Where was she?” asks Natasha from my lap.

“She was out with some guy from her work,” answers Trace.

“But where is she now!” I demand.

“Maybe she went back to his place,” shrugs Trace, and I want to kill him for even suggesting Cat would sleep with that piece of muscled crap. My blood runs cold as images of him taking her back to his sleazy bachelor pad with mirrors on the ceiling and having his nasty way with her fill my head. Bastard.

“I’m going to kill him,” I growl, ready to toss Natasha off me so I can head to the phone and dial 911 to file a missing persons account.

“Or maybe she’s standing behind you, listening to this drama with a smirk on her face,” says a voice from the doorway.

We turn to see Cat leaning against the doorframe, dressed in her pajamas, lazily sipping some hot chocolate and grinning at us.

“Are you okay?” I ask, rushing towards her and placing my hands on her arms, after pushing Natasha onto the couch.

She looks slightly alarmed. “I’m fine, why?”

I suddenly realize there are three people in the room, and they are all giving me very strange looks. I release her arms and step back slightly, shrugging. “Oh, nothing. I was just worried something had happened.” I swallow all the questions burning on my tongue and hurry back to the couch to scoop Natasha back into my arms, as though I’m trying to prove something, but I don’t know what.

She looks at me for a second, before shaking her head and sitting down next to Trace. “Hey Natasha, how are you?”

“Good, thanks,” replies the beauty who has nuzzled against my chest again. “But if what these boys say went down with you and this guy last night is true, you’re better,” she says, grinning.

“No Sean with you, Cutie?” Trace asks lazily, as though he thought the answer would be yes.

“No,” she says shyly, looking down into her lap and tracing a pattern on her thigh.

Hallelujah, praise the Lord.

“You’re up kinda late though, are you sure he didn’t spend last night wearing you out?” teases Trace, grinning at her out of the corner of his eye.

I am not laughing.

Why am I hearing what can only be described as “jokey banter”? Why are Trace and Natasha not only expecting to see Sean with Cat, but acting as though the idea of them sleeping together on the first date is an acceptable and not at all disrespectful turn of events? If she had a good time, great, fine, I’m not bothered. If he seduced her with his smarmy southern charm and took advantage of her however, I will not be held accountable for my actions. Ugh, the very thought of him tangled in her red, cotton sheets, lying amongst her ridiculous number of pillows and lazily gazing at the old movie posters on her walls is making my stomach turn.

Cat’s face flushes a deep red. “Of course not, it was just a long evening and I was really tired,” she mumbles, bashfully.

“Oh, so he was boring then?” I say loudly.

She looks up at me and raises an eyebrow. “Boring?”

“Well, yeah. You said it was a long evening; I take it you didn’t have a very good time.”

She looks slightly bewildered and shakes her head. “No, not at all. I just got back kind of late.”

“Why? Did he keep you out? Why didn’t you call?” I begin, ready to fire another ten questions at her once she’s answered my first few.

She shrugs. “I forgot, sorry. But no, it was great.” She begins to smile. “It went really well.”

“And he treated you right? You know, he was polite and respectful and courteous?” I continue, realizing I’m literally hammering demands down her throat, but I won’t rest until I’m sure he didn’t overstep any boundaries.

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Justin, he was the perfect gentleman. What’s the problem?”

“Nothing, just being a good friend,” I reply quickly, pasting on a smile.

A feeling of relief washes over me as I watch her drift off into her own thoughts, her smile still adorning her face. If she had a good time and he hopefully didn’t try anything on, then that’s all that matters. Hey, for all I know, Sean could actually be a great guy. And it’s not like those two are embarking on some life long relationship together, waiting to be bound by marriage. They were just two people who merely basked in each others company for a few hours, and then went home, a good six inches between them and ended the night with no physical contact at all. Perfect.

“So come on, tell us all about it,” says Natasha.

Cat looks up at her and grins. Those two don’t even know each other that well, but all women seem to have common ground when it comes to men. Put two female strangers in a room and I guarantee, if they both have man troubles, they’ll be best friends in seconds.

“I sense a chick chat coming up, don’t you Trace?” I say to my diminutive pal.

“Yeah,” he pauses to send disgusted looks in the directions of Natasha and Cat. “Wanna go shoot some hoops?”

“Sure.” I haul myself off the couch, and leave the two gossiping girls in the living room.

-----------------

I don’t like her, really I don’t.

At least, I’m trying my best not to.

Natasha’s invite for a girly conversation sounds all too appealing, thanks to the fact I’ve spent the last few weeks living with two emotionless men whose idea of an intimate talk is discussing how last Saturday’s game went. It’s true, I have enjoyed several heart wrenching chats with both of them, both resulting in tears, but I’m in dire need of a fun, no strings attached gossip with another female. I don’t usually allow myself to partake in such annoyingly clichéd activities, but nothing is more fun that talking about stuff that is really of no importance with another woman.

But it’s Natasha. The woman I’m trying my best to at least dislike, and possibly hate if I can. I’m amazed I’ve managed to avoid her as much as I have, since her and Justin seem unable to go a whole 48 hours without some form of physical contact with each other. They’re the kind of couple who are full of small kisses, lingering touches here and there, fleeting glances. Justin is full of these ‘funny’ jokes about how couples like them ‘must make you sick, Cat’. Of course they do. Canoodle as much as you want, but can’t you just do it behind closed doors?

When I shove my bitterness to the side, I realize it’s only Natasha and I in the room and the treacherous bastards that are Justin and Trace have left me alone with her. Well, isn’t this cozy.

“Um…have you had breakfast?” I ask, desperate for an icebreaker.

She shrugs. “Justin tried to make an omelet, which was quite amusing, so no, I haven’t eaten.”

I laugh, despite trying not to, and head into the kitchen. At least if I have food, my constant companion and ally for the past twenty one years, I should feel more comfortable. I put in a few slices of toast without even considering what slim people like Natasha usually eat for breakfast, which I’m sure it’s a nutritious, low calorie bowl of oatmeal seeds or some other natural, organic produce. There’s no way she gets a figure like that from generously covering her toast with copious amounts of butter, as I do every morning.

“So, tell me about this guy,” says Natasha, taking a sip of her coffee and looking like she’s from a Gap advert, with her white shirt which is unbuttoned just enough to get someone interested but not too much, and a black pair of pants resting snugly on her hips. In my baggy pajamas, I feel like quite the slob.

I slide into a chair and prop my head up with my hand. “Well, his name is Sean, we work together, he’s twenty five, he’s got black hair and incredibly green eyes and…that’s about it, really,” I trail off and shrug, which I know I only do when I’m nervous.

She nods. “Sounds good. Do you mind if I smoke?” she asks, taking out a pack of cigarettes from her purse.

Ha, a flaw. She smokes. Wonderful, I feel slightly better now, isn’t that terrible?

“No, go ahead.”

She mumbles her thanks and lights a cigarette. “Justin hates this,” she motions to her hand which is holding the white stick in between her slender fingers. “He calls them death sticks.”

I mumble incomprehensibly, not able to come up with an argument and hating her for having such a warm, welcoming demeanor. She’s the girl at camp who made friends with everyone, including the fat, geeky kid who sat in the corner sucking their thumb.

“Where did he take you?” she asks, tapping the ash off of her cigarette and looking hopelessly sophisticated as she does so. Like some model from Milan, taking a break from her glamorous shoot to have some coffee with the ending, ‘ccino’.

“Oh, this small, Italian restaurant not that far from here.” I finally answer, after pushing my thoughts to the side long enough to answer her. “And then we went for a walk.”

She nods and raises an eyebrow. “A walk, huh?”

I blush instinctively. “But nothing happened. We just kissed.”

Her eyes widen. “Well, that’s something! Tell me all about it, was it good?”

I grin. “Oh yeah. It was like being kissed by a little piece of heaven.”

“Sounds like someone’s not gonna hold out for long,” she teases, before taking a drag of her cigarette.

I laugh. “We’ll see.”

“So, what’s he like? You know, personality-wise.”

“Very, very clever. As in, almost uncomfortably intellectual. But at least he knows when to drop all that and just be silly,” I say, fiddling with the stalk of an apple. “He can be very funny. And flirty, which I wasn’t expecting,” I add, grinning.

She reciprocates my smile and heads to get the toast. “Anything else?”

I shrug and bite into my apple. “Kinda old fashioned. You know, he pays for the dinner, he picks me up, he opens all the doors. But I like that.”

She nods and puts down the plate of triangular pieces of toast in between us on the table. “You know what they say, gentleman on the streets -”

“Freak in the sheets,” I finish, smirking.

“Absolutely.” She winks at me and I instantly realize I’m accepting her as a friend.

“How about you and Justin?” I ask out of politeness, but in fact have no desire to be involved in their picturesque relationship.

She nods. “We’re good. Very good, in fact. He definitely backs up the gentleman in the streets, freak in the sheets theory.” She adds, grinning and showing me perfectly straight teeth.

The temptation to cover my ears and sing la la la begins to grow as Natasha takes a small bite out of her toast. “Oh really,” I say, with minimal expression. Please, don’t start talking about how Justin is in bed. As if I need a reminder that she’s a participant in all the moans I hear from their room.

She nods again. “Oh yeah. I always thought all that stuff about him was just hyped up media crap, but trust me when I say that boy knows what he’s doing.”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. This is definitely, definitely something I shouldn’t be listening to. “Well, he would,” I mumble, my brain desperately searching for things to say. “He’s been doing it since he was what, fifteen?”

She rolls her eyes. “You know, the sad thing is, I think it was fourteen.” She laughs. “No wonder he thinks he’s so hot, he’s had almost a decade of people agreeing with him.”

I “Mmm” in response.

“It’s strange, though. He has all this different sides in bed. Sometimes, he’s all for the romance, with candles and soft music and flowers,” she explains as I nod and wonder how many steps it would take to leave the room. “But then all of a sudden he’ll do a complete 360 and we’ll be at it right here on the kitchen table!”

Oh dear God, save me. I immediately jump away from the table, almost knocking my chair over as graphic and sweaty images of those two engaged in a particular activity suddenly plague my mind. I hate the idea of being in the same place somebody has had sex in, it just seems icky, but when that somebody is Justin, and his partner in crime is sitting right in front of me, it makes my ears ring with, ‘ew’.

She laughs and pats the table. “Don’t worry, not on this kitchen table.”

I offer her a weak smile and cautiously slide back into my seat. I have to change the subject; revelations of Justin’s sexual habits not only forms some sort of friendship between us, it also makes me want to shove her cigarette down her impossibly slim throat.

“I wonder what it’s like.”

She turns to me with a surprised expression. “What, sex?”

I roll my eyes. “No, I mean for Justin. Waking up in the morning and knowing there’s hundreds of people out there who want you.” Me included, of course.

She laughs and nods, stubbing her cigarette out. “I know.”

Actually Natasha, you don’t know. You’re so disgustingly beautiful I feel like a train collision in comparison. I bet she has men falling over their feet to get to her, whereas I’m lucky to get one date. Bitch.

“Anyway, I’d better go get dressed,” I say, slowly rising from the table.

“Okay,” she chirps, “I‘m gonna go and check on those boys,” she says, reaching out and giving me a slight hug, which I awkwardly try and return.

“See ya,” I mumble, before rushing to my room and slamming the door behind me.

If I was somebody else, reviewing the situation I was in, I would definitely classify myself as screwed. I like Natasha, who is my prime enemy at the moment. I walk over to my bedside table and pick up the already wilting rose Sean gave me last night. I lazily pick off the dark red petals one by one, and the “he loves me, he loves me not” mantra soon turned into, “I like her, I like her not, I like her, I like her not.”

Aw shit, I can see where this is going.

The last petal falls on, “I like her”.

“How did you manage to fall into the lake?” Sean asks, laughing; the cries from the park slowly become more distant as we stroll further away from the noisy, green playing field.

I shrug and a light smile creeps onto my lips. “I don’t know. One minute I was displaying my amazing talent of not being able to kick a ball in the right direction, the next I was up to my neck in murky water.”

“How long did it take to get out?”

“Too long. They had to get the troop leader to yank me out,” I admit, blushing slightly. “They must have thought I was such an idiot.”

His deep laugh rings in my ears as he gives my hand a light squeeze. “Well, I think you’re perfect.”

My blush deepens as I look down at my sandaled feet, which are lazily walking along the dusty footpath. “Your turn,” I reply. “Even amazing you must have some embarrassing camp incidents.”

He stops walking and turns to face me, putting his free hand into mine, so we form a little circle away from the world. “Of course. I’m not more amazing than you are, perhaps even less.”

How perfect is this man? “You’re just saying that,” I mumble, turning my head away slightly in an attempt to hide the growing look of happiness on my face.

He chuckles and leans in to kiss me, his lips moving expertly against my own.

“Believe me now?” he says smugly.

I shrug and let go of one of his hands to continue walking. “We’re so cheesy,” I comment, our joined hands swinging back and forth.

He laughs. “I know.”

This is our first so-called, “day date”. Instead of going out to some restaurant or art gallery in the evening and discussing politics and current affairs, we simply took a stroll in the park and along some winding path, sharing embarrassing memories as the sun blared above us.

To me, this is a little milestone in our mere one-month relationship. Looking at us, and our intertwined hands, anyone can see we are a comfortable couple. We’re the type of couple who no longer have to particularly impress each other and can be fairly relaxed in each other’s presence, but we’re not crooning, ‘I love you, my darling’, every two minutes.

Of course, I’m never fully relaxed; I’m always careful to keep my stomach in, to make sure my hair doesn’t get too windswept (or, in other words, tangled) and to make sure I don’t trip up in my stupid, open-toed sandals that I only wear to go with this ridiculously summery skirt, which has flowers emblazoned in every available space. Part of me knows this awfully cheesy, B-rated romantic movie scene that Sean and I seem to be in is a slight misrepresentation of who I am. Since when did I wear floral clothes? Since when did I smile constantly? Since when did non-pessimistic thoughts such as how summer is quickly approaching matter to me?

I know what it is. It’s the soft side of me. The side that put up all those movie posters of tales of love conquering all in my bedroom, the side that bought the special, DVD edition of Pretty Woman, the side that can spend hours crying because I know I’ll never be good enough for Justin. When I’m with Sean, it’s as though no one can see the ‘real me’. I can hide the fact I’m naturally cynical and sarcastic, or that I’m the only person who can see a puppy and not feel anything at all. People would just assume I was a young, slightly chubby woman who was in a sunny relationship with a gorgeous, straight-from-a-catalogue guy. I don’t know why, but I like being able to pretend I am for a while.

I absentmindedly kick a small stone before realizing it will leave a little grubby mark on my toes. “Wanna go home?” I ask, trying to rub the patch of dirt off on the back of my other leg as I hold onto his arm for support. “I’ve got a rough draft on the introduction for the abortion feature.”

He turns to face me, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his pants. “Um…why don’t you come back to mine?”

“Because it’s on my computer, in my house,” I reply, frowning slightly. “What’s wrong with my place?”

“Nothing,” he hastily replies, shaking his head. “I just wouldn’t want to annoy Justin or anything...” he trails off.

My frown deepens as I ignore my dirt foot and put both feet on the ground. “What do you mean?” I ask.

He shrugs and looks at looks off to the right, not directly at me. “I just get the feeling he doesn’t really like me hanging around there.”

“He’s never said anything,” I say, shrugging and trying to get eye contact with him. “But why would he? You two barely know each other, and you’re never even at my house.”

He nods and looks down at the ground, kicking his shoes into the dirt. “I know, but I just get cold vibes from him.”

“When?” I ask, frowning with confusion.

As far as I know, the only interaction between Justin and Sean is when Sean picks me up, and their communication is the typically male basics. “How are you?” “Yeah, fine. You?” “Good”. Nothing more than that, unlike Trace and Sean, who are complete opposites and yet seem to get on incredibly well.

“When I pick you up and stuff. He acts like an overprotective father or something.”

I giggle. It’s always nice to hear an alternative description of the forever cool Justin Timberlake. “Well, I don’t see why,” I say, matter-of-factly. “I mean, you’ve not even….” I pause, warmth rising to my cheeks. “Slept over,” I finish eventually, my voice dropping to an embarrassed mumble. There just isn’t another way of saying, ‘We’ve not even had sex yet, so what’s the big deal?’

He catches my eye and grins wickedly for a second. “Exactly. But nevertheless,” he shrugs, his grin fading. “He seems a little pissed every time I’m there.”

I shrug and put my arms around his neck, dropping a quick kiss on his lips as a form of reassurance. Normally, I wouldn’t do that, but no one is around to see. “Don’t worry about it. You two just don’t know each other.”

His warm hands slip around my hips and pull me closer to him. “I suppose so. But what do I have in common with some pop star?”

“That’s exactly what I thought when I first met him,” I say, my eyes grazing over his features. “But he’s just such a great guy, you’ll be friends in no time. I promise.”

He nods and leans in, placing his head on my shoulder. I smile when I feel his lips softly press against my neck. I quickly look around to make sure no one can see us, before running my hand up his neck into the mass of black hair. “Sean…” I begin in a warning tone, despite not wanting him to stop.

“Cat…” he counters, his lips making their way up to my jaw. “Oh, and by the way, when do I get to sleep over?” he deep voice whispers directly into my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

My cheeks burn a deep red and I pull away from him. “Um…Come on, let’s go,” I say quickly, tucking an annoying strand of hair behind my ear.

He grins and lightly taps my ass, much to my surprise. “You know you want me.”

I roll my eyes at him and send him a quick smile, but inside, I feel as though I’m betraying him. I certainly do want you, Sean, but I want someone else too.

---------------------------------------------------------

“So, how long is Natasha staying in California?”

“Dunno.” Why is she laughing at everything he says? I’m sure Sean is a hilarious guy, but surely he can’t be that funny?

“I didn’t know that’s where she was originally from.”

“Mm, yeah, amazing.” Why is his hand lying so comfortably halfway up her thigh? I swear, if it moves one inch up her skirt, I’ll cut it off.

“I guess I should have known from the stunning blonde hair.”

“Yeah.” Why is he twisting a lock of her hair around his finger? Doesn’t he realize that could seriously hurt her if he…you know…tugged too hard?

“Is that its natural color? Because she does have really dark brown eyes.”

“Yeah, think so.” Why does she have to be so close to him on the couch? There’s about five meters of unused leather wanting to fulfill its use.

“Justin!” Trace snaps sharply.

“What?” I respond in an agitated tone, turning my head to look at him. I’m not very pleased that Trace is whining when I’m trying to keep an eye on Cat and Sean.

“Would you just get over it?” he whispers angrily, casting a look over to where they sit, all cozily curled up against each other on the couch.

“Get over what?” I ask, my gaze straying back to the two figures on the sofa.

He groans. “You’re still doing it!”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I shrug nonchalantly,

Trace rolls his eyes. “Man, I don’t know what is up with you, but you need to just leave Sean alone.”

“I’ve not done anything to him!” I defend in hushed tones, so they don’t hear us.

“You’re watching those two like they’re a goddamn bomb!” he exclaims furiously.

Excuse me, but could Trace be anymore dramatic? I am not ‘watching them like they’re a bomb’; I’m just observing how well they go together, if I think they’re a good match, etc, like any good friend would. I don’t know what the big deal is.

I almost choked on my lemonade when Cat sauntered in, hand in hand with Sean, announcing they had work to do and were going to be on her laptop for the rest of the afternoon. What was so wrong with Sean going home and Cat doing the work on her own? But I kept my opinions to myself and I even offered Sean a drink, which I thought was very hospitable and mature of me. I was just so busy thanking God they had decided to stay downstairs where I could keep an eye on them. Goodness knows what could have happened if they’d worked in her room and he had gotten her alone and vulnerable.

I have to admit; I didn’t warm to Sean at first. In fact, every time he came round I would stare at him with my arms crossed, waiting for one wrong move which would give me liability to give him a smack. But that time never came, and as far as I can see he’s been nothing but respectful and kind to Cat. Kiss ass.

In fact, I don’t even think they’ve slept together yet, which is a-okay in my books. Sean has never stayed the night here, and I’ve never seen Cat creep in at eight in the morning with a smile on her face. I can see Sean wants to sleep with her, he’s always whispering things to her and touching her leg, which means I get great joy in laughing at the thought she’s not succumbed to his ‘southern charm’ as Natasha put it. Natasha met Sean very briefly when he was picking up Cat once, but was singing his praises for the rest of the evening. He’s not that good-looking, and I would not call his accent charming. I would call it stoned trailer trash boy.

No, no, what I can clearly see, which Sean obviously doesn’t, is that Cat just isn’t as into the relationship as he is. I can gather sleeping around is not something she does, but they’ve been seeing each other constantly, be it at work or on one of their dates, for over a month now. She clearly just doesn’t seem to want to commit to the relationship and as much as that brings a tear to my eye, I can’t wait until the day I get to comfort Cat when she says she feels bad for dumping his ass.

What I don’t like about their relationship, or at least one of the things, is that Cat seems different when she’s with him. She takes a load of care about her appearance, and has started wearing these really pretty, feminine clothes with, I dunno, flowers and shit on them. And her hair, too. It’s become really long and she always wears it down, and I know it’s just so Sean can wrap little bits of it around his finger when they’re talking. What a woman.

“Justin, are you even listening to me?” Trace snaps.

“Yes.” No. How was I supposed to know he had been talking as I contemplated the demise of Cat and Sean?

Trace sighs. “Look, Cat really likes this guy and so do I. You don’t even know him, but you spend your whole time thinking about reasons for Cat to dump him, or worrying they’re gonna finally have sex.”

“I do not,” I scoff unconvincingly. I hate how Trace knows me so well.

“Whatever,” mutters Trace, rolling his eyes. “I can understand you feel a responsibility to protect Cat, but you’re taking it too far. Stop watching him and waiting for the time when he screws up, so you can pounce on him.”

“I am not doing that!” I protest weakly, my voice faltering slightly.

“Just be aware of Cat’s feelings, please? And remember, it’s her choice to be in a relationship, and there’s nothing we can do but be grateful she’s chosen a guy like Sean to be in one with. Christ, Justin, do you know the type of guys she could be dating?”

“Chill, Trace, they’re not married,” I mutter grumpily, crossing my arms and casting a glance in their direction. “They could break up any day now.”

“Exactly, so stop with the dagger eyes and generally pissed off expression you always get when he’s around,” says Trace, smirking slightly. “Just get to know him a little before you start claiming you saw him on America’s Most Wanted, okay?”

“Whatever,” I mumble, sinking into my seat and picking up a magazine that I can look over the top of to see Cat and Sean.

Trace frowns. “Why are you acting like this? This can’t just be protectiveness.” He takes a second to look at me. “Is there anything going on you haven’t told me about?”

I shake my head but remain silent.

He sighs. “Cat’s your friend, and as long as she’s happy, you should be happy for her.”

I groan and run a hand over my face. “Yeah, you’re right.”

He smirks. “Well, what would you expect?”

I roll my eyes at him but smile. Cocky bastard. “So I should just get to know him, right?”

He nods. “Once you see he treats her like some sort of queen, you’ll love him.”

Well, that’s taking it a bit far. But perhaps if I knew him a little better, his presence may not be such a pain in my ass.

I rise from the table and walk over to where they sit. Together. “Hey guys.”

They look up from the laptop balanced on Cat’s knees. “Oh, hey Justin,” says Cat; still smiling at the joke her and Sean were sharing before I interrupted them.

I shove my hands in my pockets and try not to look at the hand still on her leg. “I was just wondering whether you guys were hungry? Me and Trace were thinking of going out for dinner.”

Cat shrugs and nods. “Yeah, I could eat.”

I turn to Sean and try to look happy. “Want to come with us, Sean?” I ask in a chirpy tone that makes Cat raise her eyebrows.

I don’t miss the look of surprise that passes over his face. “Oh, um, sure. That would be nice.”

“Great. We’ll leave in fifteen minutes.” I smile brightly at them and turn away, the cheesy grin I have on my face dropping the second they can’t see me.

How am I going to last through this dinner?

--------------------------------------------------

This is a disaster.

And I mean, a real disaster. This is as bad as Justin’s legendary ‘wardrobe malfunction’ a few months ago, or several reruns of ‘Blossom’ on Nickelodeon, or the heart wrenching Crossroads. It was supposed to be great. It was supposed to be a sociable dinner between friends and a perfect chance for some of my closet friends to get to know Sean a little better, and vice versa. But it’s not. It’s becoming an awkward dinner between a few acquaintances.

Justin and Sean are just not getting on. Every time one of them has an opinion on something, the other will disagree. When Justin started talking about some award show, Sean rolled his eyes at regular intervals. When Sean started talking about how he was thinking about doing a PhD, Justin couldn’t have looked more bored. For the first time, I can sort of see what Sean meant when he said Justin was cold with him. And I can also see Sean is reciprocating the feeling.

I learnt fairly early in our friendship that Justin was not always a pleasant drunk. Sometimes he’s hilarious and full of jokes, and everything is fine. But other times, every bad quality of his is heightened and he becomes an unbearable asshole.

Such as now.

“This must be the only place on earth where I don’t need a bodyguard. I think they’ve somewhat gotten used to my presence now, so I don’t get hassle from the press of fans or anything.” He looks over at some young waitress and winks at her, sending her into a fit of giggles. Proud of his achievement, he takes another swig of beer.

Justin can be egotistical at the best of times, but at the moment he’s being so excruciatingly full of himself, it’s making me want to reach across the table and clamp a hand over his mouth in an attempt to shut him up.

“And they said to me I was abandoning the group, which I so WASN’T!” he exclaims loudly, causing me to send apologetic glances towards the other diners. “And Joey said…wait, you know which one is Joey, right?” he asks, slurring his words and pointing his index finger at me.

I shake my head.

“He’s the big guy, looks kinda Italian. Anyway, he said that I was being selfish, because I was taking a break when I could have done another album.”

I nod and look into my glass, twirling my straw around it a few times as Justin continues to blabber on, oblivious to the rest of the table’s silence. I can see Trace is bored out of his mind, he keeps on glancing towards the exit and I’m sure what Justin’s saying has been heard by him before. He has no interest in the conversation at all. But if it had been any other day, I actually would have been interested in Justin’s worries. We never talk about his career and I know very little about what he did as a solo star, let alone what he did when he was in that group. But I hate listening to drunken people and their brainless rants when I’m more or less sober —their stupidity irritates me.

As for Sean, I can see he’s just about to reach his limit. Sean is quite outspoken, he almost borders on arrogant, and if you’re annoying him, you’ll know it. He’ll not hold back when he has an opinion on something and says what everyone else is secretly thinking. I’ll never forget the day he told our boss that he thought he was an idiot because our boss tried to get us to write this gossip column and Sean would rather die than involve himself in tabloid writing.

The conversation holds no interest to him—he’s the last person you’ll find immersing themselves in pop culture and has even less clue than I do about the celebrity names Justin is throwing across the table. I’m sure he wants to tell Justin to shut the hell up and come back down to earth, and if he wasn’t such a close friend of mine, he probably would. But, out of politeness, he’s listening and nodding his head and refilling his wine glass and biting his tongue. I’m almost worried he’s had too much to drink, but I can understand it takes a certain amount of liquor to stomach Justin’s ramblings.

“And I said look man, I’ve been working straight out for the past eight years, 2004 is a year I’m just gonna take off, okay? I mean, I will do another album with them eventually, but I haven’t had the two years off that they have,” continues Justin, swinging his glass around animatedly. He’s going to spill it his drink pretty soon, I can tell.

“But how can you expect them to believe that?”

Oh shit. I bury my head in my hands the second I hear the hostile southern tone. Now that Sean has started, he won’t stop until he has thoroughly labored his point.

“What do you mean?” says Justin; a note of surprise in his voice at Sean’s breaking of the silence.

“Well, by the sound of it, you just kept on making all these promises which, so far, have proved to be empty.”

I bring my head out of my hands to send a Sean a stern look. He isn’t in a position to pass such harsh judgments on Justin when he barely knows him, or the situation that Justin has spent the last twenty minutes describing.

“Sean, don’t--”

“I wasn’t making empty promises,” Justin retorted angrily, his eyes fixing on Sean and narrowing. “I was just doing what was best for my career.”

“But what about their careers?” replies Sean coolly. The only thing showing any emotion was his eyes, which were blazing at Justin. “They were put on the backburner for your solo career.”

Justin’s mouth dropped open as did mine and Trace’s, who was suddenly paying more attention to the conversation. I didn’t like what I was hearing from Sean. Sure, it had some truth in it, but he had no right to question Justin’s decisions.

“Sean, stop it,” I say harshly, frowning at him.

A look of hurt washes over his face and I suddenly want to smack myself over the head. I shouldn’t be protecting Justin; I should be protecting my boyfriend. And when I think about it, they’re both in the wrong, so why am I immediately rushing to Justin’s defense rather than Sean’s?

“Look, we’ve all had a little too much to drink, so why don’t we just call it a night?” I offer, putting a hand on Sean’s leg to show I’m still on his side.

“Sounds great,” says Trace hurriedly, and he motions to the waiter for the check.

“No, we need to talk this through,” mutters Justin darkly, still looking at Sean.

Sean narrows his eyes. “Fine.”

I sink lower into my seat. This is bordering on ridiculous. I half expect them to have a duel outside.

“Those guys are my friends, first and foremost, and we support everything any of us do,” Justin whispers dangerously, leaning over the table slightly. “I wanted to take a year off, and I was upset because they didn’t seem to understand that.”

Sean pauses and I can see him formulating a response in his head. “But why don’t you understand that it’s not all about you?”

Justin’s eyes widen with surprise. “What?”

“It’s not all about you. How many people are there in your band?” Sean asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Five, including me,” replies Justin, his fist clenching.

“You make up 1/5 of that band, but so what? There are still four other people that are being let down by the decision of one person. Why can’t you just see it from their perspective?” says Sean, through gritted teeth.

“I deserve time off!” Justin exclaims, the volume of his voice raising a sufficient amount to attract even more attention.

“And your so called ‘friends’ deserve their careers!” replies Sean in an equally loud voice.

“That is enough!” I shout, causing both of their heads to turn and face me, their expression surprised. “Justin, Sean is just voicing his opinion, you need to accept he is entitled to one. Sean, stop provoking Justin. We don’t know the details of it, and in the end it’s Justin’s decision.” I pause for breath, the anger rising in me. “But what it boils down to is both of you are behaving like children!”

They open their mouths to say something, but I snatch my purse and walk out of the restaurant, ignoring the confused glances I receive. Something is wrong with Justin and Sean, but at the moment I just don’t want to deal with it.

I walk into the parking lot and groan, realizing we all came in one of Justin’s cars and I can’t leave without the others. I aimlessly turn around in a circle, searching for some way of getting away. I can’t go home with Justin there, and I’m not going to Sean’s house. I’m just so mad at the pair of them for being so childish and not making an effort, for me at least, to get along.

I hear footsteps behind me and wearily turn around to their owner. “Oh, hi Trace.”

He’s smiling slightly. “Hey Cutie.”

I sigh and pinch the skin in between my eyes. “Urgh! How can they be so babyish?!” I exclaim, kicking the ground with frustration.

He walks towards me, his hands in the pockets of his jeans and slowly nodding his head. “I know. They’re still at it now, arguing over who was to blame for upsetting you.”

I find his grin infectious and end up smiling at Trace. He quickly envelops me in a hug and rests his chin on the top of my head.

“They didn’t mean to get so worked up, Cat.”

“I know,” I mumble into his shoulder. “But I don’t understand how you and Sean can get along just great, but him and Justin are just a disaster.”

Trace shrugs. “It must be my animal magnetism.”

I laugh and pull away from him. “What is wrong with them though? I realize they’re really different, but usually that doesn’t matter.”

“I dunno, Cutie. I just think there’s a lot of jealousy there.”

“Jealous?” I question. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs again. “Well, you know. Justin suddenly doesn’t get to see you as much because you’re with Sean and you’re not as available as you were before.”

I frown. “You mean I’ve been spending too much time with Sean?”

“Not at all,” he shakes his head. “I just mean Justin has realized he’s not the only guy in your life right now. Chances are you’d rather spend time with your boyfriend than your friend, so Justin thinks he has to compete for your attention.”

“I guess he could feel that way,” I shrug uncertainly. “Has he actually told you that?”

Trace snorts and waves his hand. “Nah, Justin’s way too proud to admit something like that.”

“But Sean was just as bad as Justin,” I say, ignoring the fact I’m still defending Justin.

“Oh come on, Cat. Sean is clearly jealous of Justin,” states Trace, matter-of-factly.

I frown. “What? Why on earth would Sean be jealous of Justin?”

“Because Justin is your friend. Whenever you’re not with Sean, you’re with Justin, having a great time. And plus, Justin hasn’t been the nicest of guys to Sean.”

I nod. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Look, don’t worry about it. Things will work out fine,” he reassures me, reaching out to rub my arm. “Why don’t I drive you home and then come back to pick up the troublesome twosome later?”

I laugh. “You’re weird, Trace.”

He nods and starts heading towards our car. “I know.”

I sling an arm around his shoulder. “But you’re a great friend.”

“Thanks,” he says, blushing slightly and opening my door for me.

“How many times have you been my guru and comforted me?” I ask, stopping in the car door and looking at him.

“Just call me Dr Phil,” he jokes.

“You know Trace, if you were two inches taller, I’d probably try and sleep with you,” I say, winking at him.

He throws back his head and laughs. “Shut up, and get in the care, Cutie.”

I grin at him and slide into the seat, forgetting about the ‘troublesome twosome’ who are still fighting it out in the restaurant.

Reminder to self: Never intoxicate the body with ludicrous amounts of beer, it isn’t worth it in the morning.

The sun has chosen today of all days to be particularly bright, and its piercing its way through my curtains and onto my bed, where I lie, still in last night’s clothes. Raising my wrist, I see it’s already two in the afternoon. Either somebody has spent the last sixteen hours smashing my head through glass, or I have a horrific hangover. Not to be presumptuous, but I’ll go for the latter.

Last night was horrible, just horrible. Well, what I remember of it, that is. I wasn’t planning to get trashed, it just sort of…happened. One minute I was staring at Sean and Cat’s intimate displays of affection, swats on the arm, suggestive glances being shared…you know the story, the next, I was looking into the bottom of my fifth bottle. The beers started coming in fast supply to our table, I started to spout a bunch of crap about…well, I don’t even know, and then the argument broke out.

I know I was being a dick last night. God, at one point I think I was even talking about how sit ups were annoying, but so worth it, and if memory serves, I even offered to show them ‘how effective they really were’ by raising my shirt. What was I thinking?

In my defense, Sean was no bed of roses last night either. He wasn’t as sober as he should’ve been on a date, and started to cram all these accusations down my throat. Why does he have to have an opinion on everything? Can’t he ever just hear something, shrug and forget about it? Evident by last night, no. The guy is such a pompous jackass, and that is by the standards of a spoilt pop star. It was almost gratifying to finally give him a piece of my mind last night.

But no matter how satisfying it was to relieve myself of my hatred for Sean, I’ll never forget the look on Cat’s face when she saw how we were behaving. It was mostly her angry face, which is coincidently quite funny, where she narrows her eyes and pouts like some diva not getting her way. But I didn’t miss the slight tremble to her glossy lips and the tears forming in her eyes, just before she furiously spun around and left the restaurant.

It made me feel like shit on the spot. How could I do that to her? She’s practically one of my best friends, why didn’t I at least try to get on with Sean, before drinking myself into an arrogant oblivion? I know why, it’s because I’m a terrible friend. I will forever be the yardstick to which other unsupportive and horrible friends will be measured to see whether they are just as unsupportive and horrible as I am. If I ever release an autobiography, I would probably have to call it, Confessions of an Asshole.

I ignore the throbbing in my temple and jump off the bed, ready to march into Cat’s room and do some serious groveling. I pound on her door, mentally thinking up excuses for my behavior. Cat, I was temporarily deranged last night because I have this thing where once a month I turn into an alcoholic psycho. Jesus, makes me sound like some kind of werewolf. No, no, that won’t do. Cat, I didn’t want to get drunk last night, but I felt I had to so Sean wouldn’t be the only one at the table who was an arrogant asshole. Hmm, maybe now isn’t the time to insult him.

Cat, the easiest thing to do last night was get completely drunk, because it somewhat smothered the aching feeling of jealousy I feel every time I see you and that man together.

No.

I continue to pound on the door, ready to break it down if I have to. I know chicks are really into that whole ignoring thing, but I’m not in the mood to deal with shit like that at the moment.

“Cat!” I call, hammering my fist against the wood a few more times. “Cat! Open up!”

“She’s not in there, dumbass,” says a voice behind me.

I turn around to see the cocky shit that is Trace leaning against the wall, eating a sandwich. “Well, where is she?”

He grins and pretends to zip his mouth closed. “Can’t say. Big secret.”

“Trace, quit trying to be cute,” I retort with a roll of my eyes. Hey, I’m hung over. I’m allowed to be short tempered.

He shrugs. “Sorry, man. She left early this morning because she knew you two would come crawling back to her,” he says, grinning. “But she was still really pissed and didn’t want to see either of you, so she sought sanctuary elsewhere.”

“What?” I scrunch up my eyes to show my confusion. “She went to church?”

“Does that sound like something Cat would do?” Trace snorts.

I grin. “Exactly. So where is she?”

“I’m not allowed to tell you, dude. Her exact words were, ‘if either asshole tries to get near me, tell them to go and screw themselves’.”

“And she says I need to grow up,” I mutter, rolling my eyes at the phrase, ‘screw themselves’.

Trace’s look suddenly turns stern. “Justin, don’t even try it. What you did last night was completely unacceptable.”

“Sean did it too!” I exclaim indignantly, stomping my foot in a very elementary school-ish way. I ignore the half of my brain which says Cat has a point.

“Yeah, but you were being such a dick, you had it coming,” he says simply.

“Thanks Trace, I know I can always count on you for loyalty,” I sulk.

“You know you can. I’m always on your side, J,” he says sincerely, his eyes softening with disappointment. “But this time, even I can’t make excuses for you.”

His words drive straight through my chest. “I know,” I whisper, looking down into my hands.

He sighs. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll sort it out.”

I nod, still looking into my hands, which are twisting themselves together. “Do you think Cat’s really angry?” I ask timidly.

“Yes.”

I let go of my hands and lean against the wall. “Great, just fantastic,” I mutter sarcastically.

He claps my shoulder with his hand. “Don’t worry, she’ll forgive you. I think she just needs a day away from us guys.”

I cock my head to the side to look at him. “So you’re not going to tell me where she went?“

“Nope,” he says simply, taking the final bite of his sandwich. “But she’ll be back tonight.”

“I’m not surprised she hasn’t tried to move out,” I mumble.

“So am I,” he replies bluntly, making me feel that little more like crap.

“I’m going to go look for her,” I announce, moving towards my room to take shower and remove the clothes that reek of cigarette smoke and sweat.

It’s a risky plan, but if I go and look for Cat and do some serious pleading, there is the slimmest chance she’ll be flattered and forgive me. Of course, there is a chance she’ll slap me in the face and tell me exactly where to go, but that is a risk I am more than willing to take. I just can’t bear the thought that somewhere out there, she’s upset because of me. I don’t want to be the person who makes her sad, I want to be the person she goes to when some other asshole has done something to her. I want to be the one who comforts her. I want to be the one to say that everything will be okay. I want to be the one who wraps her up in a huge hug and doesn’t let go.

Suddenly, the ring of the doorbell causes me to jump away from the wall. “Maybe that’s her!” I exclaim, hopping down the stairs two at a time and skidding across the floor a la Tom Cruise style to reach the door.

I swing the door open, a broad grin on my face, ready to welcome her home and offer to watch some Friends.

My smile drops instantly. Not him.

“Justin,” he says curtly, nodding his head at me.

“Sean,” I reply, equally as curt, eyeing over his disheveled look. He’s obviously as hungover as I am. His usually zesty, thick black hair is slightly matted and he’s not carrying himself with quite the same cocky manner. How the mighty have fallen.

He sighs. “Look, before I do anything else, I’m sorry about last night. I was out of line.”

“So was I,” I reply, realizing I’m not looking my hottest either. It takes one hell of a sex beast to pull off bloodshot eyes and pale skin. “I don’t know what got into me.” Actually, I do. It was the combination of my hatred for you and some rather intoxicating Coronas.

He shrugs. “We were both drunk and acted like assholes.”

Speak for yourself, prick. “Exactly,” I reply, forcing my lips into some sort of sheepish smile as I mentally build up an elaborate plan of telling him to piss off and leave Cat alone, before slamming the door in his painfully handsome face.

“So, is Cat in?” he asks, looking slightly over my shoulder.

My jaw clenches. “No, she’s not.”

His brow crinkles. “Oh…where is she?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, tiredly running a hand over my face as the sunlight starts to attack my eyes. “She upped and left this morning before I woke up. Apparently she doesn’t want either of us to bother her.”

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, hanging his head for a second. “So you don’t know where she went?”

Didn’t I just say that? I bite the smart ass, sarcastic comment begging to leap off my lips. “No,” I say as sweetly as I can.

He drops his heads into his hands and for a second, my hard-ass demeanor fades and I begin to feel sorry for the bastard.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” I reassure him, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “She’ll have forgotten about it when she gets back.”

He looks up at me, those green eyes holding a painful expression. “I know. I just really…care about her, I guess. I hate knowing I upset her,” He sighs and shakes his head slightly, as though he’s being crushed by the disappointment in himself.

Guilt pours through me as I see him battling with his emotions. I didn’t realize an argument between the two of them would effect him so badly.

“Sean, don’t you worry about things one bit,” I say earnestly, trying to ignore the pain running through my heart as I hand over my plan to him. “Why don’t you go look for her?”

“But you said she didn’t want to be disturbed.”

I shrug. “I think she’d appreciate it. You know how women are, they say no but they mean yes, yada yada ya.”

He smirks. “Very true.” His smile drops. “But I wouldn’t even know where to begin looking for her.”

I do. There’s only one place a pissed off female would go, and that’s to another female. It’s a guess, but she’s probably over at Diane’s right now, bitching about men and their egos.

But why would I want to tell Sean that? Why would I want him to take credit for my idea? Why would I want him to be the one who she thinks is the greatest guy in the world for going out of his way to apologize? I want to be the greatest guy in the world to her.

But as I look at Sean, with his undeniable good looks and eyes that are just so goddamn twinkly, even when he has a hangover, I know he’s already pulled ahead of me in the race. How can I compete with him? He’s everything Cat could ever want; he’s good-looking, incredibly clever, working in the same field as she is…the list goes on and on. I‘m just a guy she met just over five months ago in the grocery store. I’m a good friend, sure, but Sean is her match made in heaven . As long as he’s in her life, I’ll never be the greatest guy.

And it’s killing me.

“Go to Diane’s,” I whisper softly, an aching feeling passing through my chest as I advise him against my will. “If she says she doesn’t want to see you, keep persisting, she won’t refuse you long.”

Sean’s eyes widen. “Thanks man!” he exclaims, his mournful look vanishing and placed by one of excitement. “I really appreciate it.”

I nod. “And you might wanna buy her chocolates or something before you go,” I add.

He nods animatedly. “Okay, thanks a lot Justin.”

He spins on his heel and rushes out to his car, nervously slamming his keys into the ignition, as though he just can’t wait to apologize to her. I think he loves her.

And I think I do too.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------


“If I were a lesbian, things would just be so much easier,” I mumble through a mouthful of nachos.

Diane snorts and refills our pretzel bowl. “I know. Men are so inconsiderate to the feelings of others.”

“Exactly!” I exclaim, ignoring the nagging feeling which tells me Diane is only saying what I want to hear. “No matter how much I hate Natasha, I would never, never pick an argument like that with her.”

Diane nods. “I know. Men are assholes,” she says simply, shrugging. “And there’s nothing we can do to change it.”

“We could always lock them all up and merely extract sperm when we need it,” I offer, dipping a nacho into the salsa.

Diane laughs. “We’ve got it all figured out, haven’t we?”

I shrug and grin, quickly scooping my hair into a messy, and presumably unattractive, bun. “You know, they’re actually kind of similar.”

“How?” she asks.

“They’re both incredibly arrogant,” I mutter darkly, rolling my eyes. “They both think they’re the shit, and they both act like children.”

“Honey,” says Diane sympathetically. “That’s not Sean and Justin, that’s all men.”

“Too true,” I mumble dejectedly, surveying the comfort food Diane magically produced in front of me. “I’m not overreacting, am I?”

She shakes her head. “They could have at least tried to get on. For your sake, if not theirs.”

I lean back and rub my eyes, before looking back at the table. “We’re running low on chocolate,” I say simply.

Diane laughs. “Want me to head down to the store and get some more?”

I nod. “I would go myself, but I don’t plan on moving at all today.”

She grins and picks up her coat. “Okay, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Just as she’s about to turn the knob on the door, there’s a sharp rap on the wood. We look at each other questioningly.

“Joseph?” I mouth.

She shakes her head. “Mother’s house,” she mouths back, rolling her eyes.

I giggle, before realization hits me. What if it’s Justin or Sean? Trace was given strict orders not to tell them where I was, and I know he wouldn’t back out on his word. “I’m not here,” I whisper, before quickly slipping into the peach bathroom and pressing my ear against the door.

“Oh!” I hear her exclaim, feigning surprise. “Hi.”

“Hey,” replies a smooth voice which can only belong to one person. “How are you, Diane?”

“I’m good, Sean. Yourself?”

“Not so good.”

Serves him right, the argumentative bastard. What is he even doing here? How did I know where I was?

“I’m gonna cut to the chase here, Di. Is Cat hiding behind the sofa?”

Diane laughs. “No. Check under the comforter.”

He laughs and I can hear footsteps. Did she let him in? What the hell happened to sisterhood?

Groaning, I open the door and step out of the bathroom, seeing Sean before me in with a smile on his face and flowers in his hand. “Hey,” I mumble.

“Hi,” he says softly.

Ignoring what are obviously the remains of a hangover, I glance at his appearance. He doesn’t look as clean as he usually does, in jeans and a green t-shirt, exposing some of his muscular arm. His cheeks have the slightest stubble on them, accompanied by dark eyes, staring hopefully at me. He looks sort of...ruggedly sexy. Bastard.

He holds out the flowers to me. “A feeble peace offering,” he grins sheepishly.

I smile back despite myself and accept them. “Thank you.”

He sighs and digs his hands into his pockets, something I’ve often seen Justin do. “I can’t apologize enough.”

I look down into the mass of petals and remain silent.

“I just started to say stuff without even thinking. I know I was being judgmental, I know I shouldn’t have done it,” he says wearily, rubbing his eyes. “And I know I’m really, really sorry. It won’t happen again.”

I glance up at him. “I hope it doesn’t.”

He draws a cross over his heart. “Promise.”

I feel my wall crumbing already as he slowly inches his way towards me. Before I know it, his face is inches from mine, his lips waiting for some sort of permission before they meet mine.

Placing my hand on the back of his head, I slowly pull him towards me, fusing our mouths together. I wrap my arms around his neck and feel his hands slip into their usual place around my waist as I shuffle as close to him as I can. Damn, I'm easy.

“Let’s go home,” I whisper against his lips.

He nods, before suddenly turning to Diane, who is smirking in the corner.

“Are you two quite finished?” she asks, her grin never leaving her face.

I blush and pull away from him. How did I manage to forget we had a spectator? “I’d better head back now. Thanks for everything.”

She nods and pulls me into a hug. “I’ll see you later, chicky.”

Her and Sean exchange a brief goodbye before Sean and I step into his car. “Where to, baby?” he asks, grinning.

I quickly check the time to see it‘s approaching six, much to my surprise. “Let’s go back to my place. Trace will be wondering why I’ve been away so long.”

Sean nods and swerves around to head towards my house. Within minutes, we arrive at the mansion Justin once branded, ‘kinda small’, on my first visit.

I almost groan. How does he always manage to sneak back into my thoughts?

“Here we are,” Sean announces, bounding across to my side of the car to open my door for me.

We walk up the little path to the front door. “Are you going to come in?” I ask over my shoulder as I put the key in the lock.

Suddenly, I feel his breath against my neck. “If you want me to,” he whispers.

I blush but keep my mouth shut, instead taking his hand and leading him inside.

"Hey, lovebirds," greets Trace.

I giggle. "Hey."

“I take it you two have made up,” says Trace, closing the door to the games room behind him.

I grin. “Yeah, we have.” I look behind him. “Where’s Justin?”

He shrugs. “He went out a few hours ago. Trying to think of a way to make it up to you,” he says, rolling his eyes.

I laugh. “Well, he’s forgiven, I’ve decided.”

“He’ll be happy to hear that,” says Trace, his gaze dropping to me and Sean’s firm grasp on each other. “Anyway, I’m gonna go and meet up with some old high school buddies. You guys interested in coming?”

I shrug and shake my head. “No thanks. Have a good time, though.”

“Thanks,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “How do I look, by the way?”

“Fantastic!” I exclaim enthusiastically, fluttering my eyelashes.

Trace laughs and gives me a quick hug before turning to Sean. “Good to see you guys back on track.”

“Thanks, man,” Sean replies, and they share one of those ‘man hugs’, where they’re too embarrassed to fully touch each other. Very amusing.

After saying goodbye to Trace, I settle down on the couch with Sean to watch some awful film that we end up ripping to pieces. Halfway through it, my eyes begin to droop. It’s strange how about seven hours of man-hating can drain a girl. Curling up against Sean, I allow sleep to take over me.

When I wake up, I feel Sean’s warm chest pressing into my back and a protective arm around my waist. Smiling, I check to see he is still sleeping before cautiously trying to remove his arm from me without waking him.

Suddenly, his grip tightens and I’m pulled back down into the depths of the couch. Giggling, I turn to see a grin adorning his face but with his eyes still closed and his long eyelashes ticking his cheeks, making him the picture of innocence.

“Sean, don’t even pretend you’re asleep.”

He bites his lip to stop from laughing but doesn’t reply.

“Sean,” I being in a warning tone, trying to keep the laughter down myself. “Open those green emeralds of yours or I’ll tell everyone you’re afraid of masking tape.”

He laughs and finally opens his eyes. “It’s going to be the cause of the demise of America.” He sits up, peering at me inquisitively. “And did you just call my eyes green emeralds?”

I giggle. “I did.”

Just as he’s about to throw some wise ass comment towards me, his eyes travel to the clock lying on the table beside us. “Shit! It’s already eleven.”

I glance at my watch. “Oh yeah. I wonder whether Justin is home yet.” Peering out of the window, I don’t see a car parked outside of the garage and the worry starts to build in the pit of my stomach. My mind begins to fabricate a tale of how he was involved in an awful crash and ended up in hospital, on life support.

Trace suddenly appears in the doorway, casting a look at our tangled bodies on the couch and raising an eyebrow. “I see you guys have woken up.”

“Where’s Justin?” I ask immediately, my futile attempt to hide my panic failing miserably.

“He just called to say he’s got a flat tire. He’s gonna be back around midnight or something.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Want me to wait up for him?”

Trace shakes his head. “No, I’ll do it. You can just head up to bed, if you want.”

I nod and turn to Sean. “I’d better go too,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

“Or,” I begin hesitantly, playing with a thread from a cushion. “You could stay here tonight,” I murmur almost inaudibly.

From the corner of my eye, I can see a smile creep onto his face. “If that’s what you want,” he says.

How did I know I wasn’t going to get through this conversation without blushing? “Only if you wanna,” I mutter, averting my gaze to the ceiling.

I feel a trail of kisses being gently planted on my shoulder and smile slightly. Of course I want him to stay. He’s gorgeous, although I’ve never seen his body without clothes, I’m expecting nothing less than spectacular, and hey, I haven’t had sex in a year at least.

But to be honest, sex isn’t really my thing. I don’t dislike it, but it was never the jaw dropping experience everyone made it out to be. I have no doubt it’s my fault. I’m a thoroughly unadventurous girl who would rather hang herself than indulge in even a little light ‘dirty talk’, because the concept just seems too hilarious for words. Do I look like the type of person who is going to say, 'Ooh yeah baby, put that hunk of meat inside of me'? And don’t even get me started on the whole naked thing. Voluntarily exposing my body for another human being’s amusement? Not fun.

But we’ve been in this relationship for a while now. I feel relatively comfortable with him. Of course, the light will stay off and I’ll probably not enjoy it because I’ll get so nervous, but I do care about him, and I want him to know it.

I hold my hand out to Sean and wordlessly led him up the stairs to my bedroom. Shutting the door behind him, his eyes trail over my body, immediately making me feel self-conscious. Without warning, his lips suddenly attack mine, causing me to stagger back slightly in surprise.

I can feel his hands creeping up my shirt and skirting over the skin on my stomach, before slipping around to the small of my back and pressing me against him. He starts to walk us back, his destination clearly my bed. My feet almost trip over themselves as I walk backwards, but his firm grip on my back lets me know he won’t let me fall.

He gently lays me down on the red sheets and stands over me, his face lit only by the small lamp on my bedside table. The golden glow across his features suddenly makes me want him, but I can’t help the nervous, fluttery feeling in my stomach. What if I’m not good enough for him? What if he doesn’t want to once he’s sees me without my clothes shielding all my unattractive parts? The idea alone is enough to make me want to stop.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispers softly.

My breath catches in my throat as I stare at him. I don’t think I’ve ever been called beautiful. Even in the dark ages when I was dating Matthew, or any other of my ‘great’ boyfriend choices, I was always just pretty, or fine, but now, I’m beautiful. In his eyes, at least.

He swoops down on me, kissing me softly as he unbuttons my shirt and leaves my lips to bless the newly exposed skin. I close my eyes and start to concentrate on the growing anticipation in my stomach. For the first time in my months, I don't feel nervous, or insecure, or not good enough. I don't think about Justin, Natasha, how different I'm sure Natasha's body is from mine...none of that matters, because someone thinks I'm beautiful.

It only occurred to me later, when I was wrapped up in Sean’s strong arms after a receiving pleasure I didn’t know was possible to feel, that it was the first time in months Justin hadn’t once entered my thoughts.

-----------------------------------------------------

Fucking mechanics. They just haven’t got a clue, have they?

Fuckers.

Standing, looking like a complete dick as people honked at me, as I waited for the fucking mechanic to come and fix the car, it occurred to me this is possibly the worst day of my life.

I hate feeling confused. I don’t know how I feel about Cat. I don’t know how she feels about me. I just know I really have to talk to her.

I quickly unlock the door and enter the house, knowing she was home thanks to Trace, and praying she was still awake. The only light I can see is from the kitchen, and I can hear the slight buzz of a TV.

Trace is sitting on the table, eating a pie and laughing at what appears to be Will and Grace.

“They’re just like you and Cat, you know that?”

“Which would make you Jack,” I snort, entering the kitchen and placing my bag carefully on the table.

“How’s the car?” asks Trace, turning down the volume on the television.

I roll my eyes. “I would have been quicker just fixing it myself. Mechanics are idiots.”

“Of course they are,” he says simply, hopping off the table and placing his bowl in the sink. “What’s in the bag?”

I look at the brown bag sitting on the table and smile. “A present for Cat. Something to say I’m sorry.”

“She said you were forgiven.”

I shrug. “Well, it’s just a nice gesture then.”

“What is it?” he asks, peering into the bag.

“Well, I spent so long wondering what Cat would actually like as a gift, I realized the shops were closing and I still didn’t have anything. So, I thought of what she’d hate,” I say, grinning. “It was much easier, actually.”

He smiles and pulls out the stuffed animal. “A toy cat?”

“Of course.”

He laughs and turns over the toy in his hands. “That’s cute. She’ll like that.”

I nod. “I’m gonna go up and give it to her now, if she’s still awake.”

“I wouldn’t do that…” begins Trace.

I pause. “Why not? I really have to talk to her about something.” I don’t even know what I’m going to say, but I know I have to say it.

“No, I really don’t think you should go into her room.”

I frown. “Why not?”

“Because she’s not alone. Sean stayed over.”

I drop the toy as a sharp pain sears it’s way through my chest. No, not now. Not when I’ve realized how much I care for her, how much I want to be with her…

How much I love her.

I lazily scoop around the soggy pieces of Cap n Crunch around my bowl, my mind too electric with thoughts to eat anything.

I think I should sue the person who said Things always look better in the morning. They don’t. All the morning brings is a hundred new worries that you didn’t have time to think about the night before. Natasha didn’t enter my mind once last night when I was busy self-confessing my love for Cat. She’s been away in California all week for her brother’s birthday, I hardly even remembered she existed until this morning. As if I needed another thing to remind me what a mess I’m in.

Then of course there’s that lovely little fact that Sean is still upstairs twisted in Cat’s sheets, reveling in the morning after glow. Let’s not forget that Cat’s by his side, which makes my situation that little bit better.

I bury my head in my hands. When did I get into this mess? Why do I suddenly feel as though I love Cat and would do anything for her? It’s just not fair. The first few months of our friendship I thought of her as this great girl who I could always count on to cheer me up or make me laugh with her pessimistic sarcasm. It never once crossed my mind what it would be like to hold her hand, or fiddle with her hair, or any of the other crap Sean always insists on doing. But now it’s all I can think about.

I can’t even come up with a legitimate reason as to why I like her so much. She’s no different from any other girl out there, but all of a sudden she seems to be the epitome of what any guy could want in a woman. Okay, so perhaps she won’t be winning any beauty pageants anytime soon, but she is pretty. And her figure is no different to any other girl’s out there. She’s got rounded edges, but every time I hug her all I can think about is how great it is to feel kinda squishy, warm, soft skin, instead of rock hard muscle.

Personality wise, she’s not the girl I would normally be attracted to. I would say she’s a girl I would count as a friend, but that theory has recently come back to bite me in the ass, so I’m not even going to bother. She’s has a twisted sense of humor that makes some people raise their eyebrows and tut, but makes others, like myself, laugh themselves silly. She’s has mood swings every two seconds, which either piss me off or entertain me greatly, because when she tries to be angry at me, she fails and ends up grinning. She’s terribly pessimistic and is convinced something is going to go wrong and her whole world will come crashing down around her. No matter how much she denies, she’s a silly romantic at heart. She blushes at the very mention of flattery. She’s annoying insecure and can fret over the tiniest thing, but in some ways that just encourages me to compliment her and let her know how great she really is. She’s got just as many faults as the rest of us, so what is it that makes me want her so much?

All her faults make her the person who she is, and I love the person she is.

If Cat was hearing my thoughts right now, she would be rolling her eyes and calling me a woman. The thought alone makes me grin. We would be perfect together. I’m just cheesy enough to make her shake her head and sigh, she’s just witty enough to make me grin and keep me on my toes.

Why didn’t I see all of this before we both got involved in semi-serious relationships?

I’m an idiot. In a big way.

“Justin, you look as though you’re about to kill yourself,” a teasing tone breaks into my thoughts.

I snap my head up and look up to see Cat, all dressed in her little black office clothes, except for her bare feet. The moment my eyes land on her body, my thoughts are suddenly invaded by images of Sean and her. Touching each other, giggling, the works. I look at her blankly, barely seeing through all the pictures in my head.

My eyes quickly return to my slushy cereal. “Oh…you know, it’s a Monday, what can I say?”

I sense her shuffle around slightly, before hearing the splash of coffee hitting the bottom of a cup. Raising my eyes ever so slightly, I see her slide into the chair opposite me

“Sure, but you don’t have to drag your ass to work,” she groans, bending her knees and resting her pantyhosed feet on the chair beside her. “What do you and Trace actually do whilst I’m working my butt off at that slave-house?”

I shrug and look into my bowl. “Stuff. So, um…hey, how come you’re not drinking hot chocolate?” I blurt out, my eyes resting on her cup.

“I need caffeine this morning,” she says grimly, leaning down to pick off a piece of lint from her skirt.

“Not get much sleep last night?” I ask, before my hand flies to my mouth. Of course she didn’t sleep that much last night, she was with…having….ugh. I didn’t mean it like that though, I just figured I’d be polite and ask if anything was wrong. My face turns a dark crimson as I reflect on my disability of even forming casual conversation with this woman. You’re a pro, Timberlake.

She laughs. “Well, no, not exactly.”

She doesn’t seem embarrassed about it, in fact she seems utterly relaxed and sophisticated compared to me. The nervous jigging of my right leg is a giveaway as I fiddle with my spoon and maintain eye contact with the surface of the table.

“So, where is Sean?” I ask quietly.

“Just left,” she explains briefly. “He had to go home and get changed before he goes to work.”

I nod, clamping my jaw shut to retain my hundreds of questions positively dying to be asked. The bouncing on my leg increases. I can’t look at her, I just can’t bear it. Every time my eyes rest on her freckled skin, all I can think about is what her and Sean were doing last night.

“So…um…are you okay?” I ask, cursing myself as soon as the words left my mouth. Oh Justin, you stupid man! What kind of question is that? It’s not like she was some virgin who found herself in the middle of an orgy.

She smirks slightly. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”

My eyes finally lift to meet hers after finishing my intricate design on the table. “What do you mean?”

“Justin, you haven’t looked this uncomfortable since I explained the menstrual cycle to you,” she says, raising an eyebrow, a teasing grin in place.

I can’t help but feel the corners of my mouth twitch upwards. “Yeah, don’t do that again.”

She smiles, before sipping her coffee. “So, what’s wrong?”

Her piercing eyes make me feel naked under her gaze, as though I’m expecting her to suddenly stand up and shake her finger at me, saying, “You love me, don’t you?”

But she doesn’t. Instead, she just continues to stare at me calmly, expecting me to have a real good reason for looking as though I’m going to shoot up the place.

“I--” My voice suddenly cracks without my permission, and for one horrible moment I feel the stinging in my eyes, as though I’m about to cry. But I can’t, nor can I proclaim my new found love for her, despite it seeming the right thing to do.

“Oh God, Justin. What is it?” she asks, her eyes filling with worry and a comforting hand sliding across the table to squeeze mine.

“I…I…I think I’m going to break up with Natasha,” I finally whisper quietly, a note of defeat in my voice.

Her eyes widen. “What? But she’s perfect,” she says, almost bitterly, picking up her coffee to take a sip.

“I know. I think she’s just…too…perfect. If that makes sense,” I shrug.

She nods and puts down her coffee cup. “I know what you mean. I get that feeling with Sean sometimes.”

My eyes snap up. “You doubt your relationship?”

“Well, no, not exactly.” She leans back slightly at my sudden accusation. “But sometimes I just wonder if there should be more, I don’t know…spontaneity.”

I nod in understanding. It’s less than the “I secretly hate his ass” that I wanted to hear, but it’ll do.

“I mean, we’ve never even argued, or disagreed. Things can’t stay this perfect for long.” She pauses, before shrugging. “Or maybe we’ve just been taught to be pessimistic.”

“Sometimes people just aren’t meant to be together, no matter how perfect they may seem for each other,” I mumble, staring at my hands.

She nods. “So are you seriously thinking about finishing things between you two?”

I nod. “I just don’t see it going anywhere, so what’s the point in wasting her time?” I shrug.

“Okay,” accepts Cat after a pause, despite the disbelief clearly written on her face. “If that’s what you think is best.” She’s silent for a moment, her gaze dropping to my forgotten breakfast. “There’s nothing else bothering you, is there?”

Look at her, you fucking pussy. Just raise your eyes and do it. “No, nothing else,” I whisper, our eyes meeting.

“Good. Look Justin, I know I’ve been kind of busy with Sean and work lately, but you know I’m always here for you when you need it,” she says sincerely, cocking her head to the side to study my tired appearance.

“I know you are,” I mutter, my eyes freshening with tears. “So,” I suddenly say briskly. “How are things with Sean? Good?”

She nods and grins. “Great, thanks. I’m glad you two got over that little argument the other day.”

“Yeah,” I mumble unenthusiastically. “Um…did you guys make up quickly?” Oh, well done Justin. Another star question from Timberlake. They clearly made up pretty fast, otherwise she wouldn’t be seating in front of me looking quite so radiantly happy.

She smiles. “Yeah. He knows some tricks,” she says, winking at me.

I painfully return her smile, before my face suddenly fills with horror. “He didn’t force you or anything last night, did he? You wanted to, right?”

She blushes and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “No, of course not. I wanted to,” she says quietly, her cheeks turning a further shade of red. She’s shy. It’s cute.

No, Justin. Stop it. She’s clearly happy with Sean, and even though it makes every fiber in my body scream in anguish, I can’t ruin that for her. As much as it kills me, I think this is as close as me and Cat will ever be.

I hate love. Especially when it’s one-sided.
------------------------------------------------

I can’t help but narrow my eyes at Justin. After assuring him Sean didn’t rape me, he’s just drifted off into his thoughts again, for what must be the fifth time in our conversation. There’s clearly something on his mind other than Natasha, but I can’t push him to tell me, as much as I want to.

I’d feel a lot more comfortable if he would at least look at me. I can understand he’s upset but I’m starting to feel guilty from the way he keeps on staring into his cereal, his eyes only meeting my briefly, before quickly returning to the table top. He looks as though his world has just come crashing down on him.

“Shit,” I suddenly mutter, my eyes landing on the clock above the refrigerator. “I gotta go to work.”

Justin nods and traces a pattern on the table with his finger. I send him a sympathetic gaze which he never sees, before slowly sliding out of my seat. I don’t want to leave him like this, but I have no choice.

“If you need me, just call my cell or my work. The number’s over there,” I state, casually jerking my thumb in the direction of the large piles of paper no one ever touches in the corner of the kitchen.

“Okay,” he whispers.

Justin, I’m going to have to ask you to stop speaking like that, it only intensifies the urge I have to wrap my arms around you until you feel better.

I scoop his face up in my hands and turn his head to me. “Everything’s going to be okay, you know that, right?”

His eyes meet mine and he holds my gaze for a few seconds longer than I’m comfortable with. I don‘t like people staring at me, it always raises the question as to what they’re staring at. Is he looking at the light smattering of freckles on my nose? Has he noticed one eyebrow is a fraction higher than the other? It’s horrible being under scrutiny, especially when he’s denied me eye contact all day.

But my insecurities wash away as I see an element of sadness I’ve never noticed, hidden in his eyes. Is he really that cut up about Natasha? I can’t deny my heart leapt when he said he was thinking about splitting up with her, despite hoping the events of last night would wash away any loving feelings I harbor for him. But I would much rather he was happy with her, instead of the emptiness which his gaze now holds.

“I know it will. Thanks Cat,” he whispers, his dark blue eyes boring into my own.

Suddenly, his arms clasp around my waist tightly, jerking my body towards him. His head presses against the pillowy landing of my stomach, and I subconsciously wonder why he didn’t give me time to hold my breath in. He almost looks like a child, resting against my stomach with his eyes tightly squeezed shut, as though he wants to block out the world. I gently run my fingers through his hair, trying to comfort him any way I can without actually giving in to my inner impulses and just kissing him senseless. His hands start to grapple at my back slightly, grasping at my shirt, as though he wants me closer to him than I already am. Kissing him, ha, that’s a funny thought. I wonder how he would react if I did. I’m thinking, dramatic pushes, looks of surprise…it would be like something out of some daytime soap opera. But it would be worth it, even if my lips just met his soft mouth for one second…

Stop it, right now. You’ve got a boyfriend, who by the way, you just slept with, and he’s upset about his girlfriend. The time to think perverted thoughts is certainly not now, especially when he’s in such an emotional, heartbroken state. God Cat, you’re the kind of person who thinks about whether you’re in the will at a funeral.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” I softly coo, twirling a curl around my finger, but hoping he doesn’t notice I’m assaulting his hair like this.

“Thank you,” he sniffles, rubbing his head against me.

God, why am I finding that completely adorable? When do I ever find things ‘adorable’?

“I’d better quit acting like a dog now,” he says, laughing slightly as he pulls away, rubbing his eyes.

“I don’t mind being your owner,” I reply, grinning and leaning down to drop a quick kiss on his cheek. To my surprise, he doesn’t recoil. In fact, a slight blush enters his cheek.

“Have a good day at work,” he says, smiling weakly at me.

“Thanks,” I call over my shoulder as I pick up my purse.

I briskly walk into the hall, mentally going through a checklist of what I need for work.

“Hey Cutie, where’s the fire?” says Trace, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and stretching.

“Late for work,” I mumble, looking in the hall closet for my shoes. “Oh, Trace,” I whisper, popping my head out of the dark mess for a second. “Before you go in there, Justin’s kind of upset. Make sure he doesn’t spend all day moping around, okay?”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Him and Natasha, I think. He’s just really down, so be nice to him.”

“I’m always nice to him!” he exclaims happily, holding out his arms and grinning. “But I’ll be extra special-y kind today.”

“Thank you,” I reply, grinning, before preparing myself to stick my head back inside the closet.

“Oh, and Cat?”

“Yeah?” I respond, putting my hands on my knees.

“Can you ask Sean how he gets his moans to have a southern twang to them?” he says, grinning at me and wiggling

A deep, embarrassed blush creeps to my cheeks and I cough. “Shut up Trace, and go and comfort Justin,” I reply, pointing to the kitchen.

He sticks out his tongue before entering the kitchen, leaving me with flushed cheeks and a stupid grin on my face. Slipping my shoes on, I happily stroll out of the house, knowing Justin will be fine with Trace, and knowing I get to spend the next eight hours staring happily at Sean, as he winks at me and sends me emails whilst I’m working.

How I love all my boys.

--------------------------------------------------------------

I have to do this. I just have to. If I didn’t it would be like I was lying to her, and with all the lying I’m doing to cover up how I feel for Cat, I just don’t want another thing on my list.

Most men would think I was stupid. Here I am, trying to figure out ways of telling the perfect girl that I just can’t see her any more. But within ten minutes of seeing her, I knew things just weren’t the same. Every time her skin comes into contact with mine, guilt surges through me. Every time she says something, my mind drifts off to where Cat is, who she’s with, and what she’s doing. Every time she does anything, I compare to how Cat would do it. I feel like I’m betraying Natasha, because I’d much rather Cat was sitting opposite me, having lunch with me.

I don’t particularly want to break things off, but how can I continue a relationship when I have stronger feelings for someone else? I’d be in the relationship for comfort alone, and I can’t build a relationship on that. I would just be using her as a distraction from Cat, and she’s too nice of a girl to do that to. She certainly doesn’t deserve that.

“And then one of the kids just ran, butt naked, I should add, through the house and onto the street!”

I sigh and stare into my plate of pasta. How did things so quickly spiral out of control? How did non existent feelings suddenly burst into one big explosion of love?

Oh, who am I kidding. These feelings have been simmering under the surface for a long time now.

“Isn’t that strange, though? How can ten year olds know chat up lines? I’m telling you, it was the last place I expected to get hit on!”

Should I wait a few days? I should wait a few days. I mean, she just came back from her trip, all tanned and gorgeous and happy, eagerly talking about her little brother’s tenth birthday party. I can’t just crush her happy demeanor with an, ‘FYI, you’re dumped’.

“Justin, are you alright?” asks Natasha, her chocolate brown eyes staring at me with concern. “You’re really quiet.”

“Fine, fine,” I say, shaking myself slightly. She’s a great girl, I hate myself for having to do this. And how can I possibly explain this to her? Our relationship has been going perfectly fine until this. It’ll be such a slap in the face.

“Natasha,” I begin after a sigh. Just say it, Justin. “I really need to talk to you.”

She frowns. “Okay. What’s wrong?”

I sigh. “Look Natasha, you’re a great girl…”

“Justin, don’t,” she says gently. “Just tell me what you have to.”

I feel my heart tighten. Words Justin, you need words. “I’m sorry, but we can’t see each other any more.”

She remains emotionless, her brown eyes staring blankly at me, waiting for me to finish.

“I hate to say this, but it’s not you, it’s me. I’m just…” I sigh, and run a hand over my face. “I’m really all over the place at the moment.” Great, now she’ll think I’m a homicidal maniac. “I can’t be in a relationship right now.” How come my honesty is sounding like some line out of Baywatch?

After a few minutes of silence as I silently pray she‘ll take it well, she finally nods. “If that’s what you want.”

Shame pours through me. “It’s not that I necessarily want it, I just…Natasha, I’m so sorry. I know things were going well between us…”

“No, I understand. Things just wouldn’t work out.”

“And I don’t want to lead you on,” I add. I am such a terrible person. God will smite me.

She nods again. “No, no, I understand,” she repeats. “I guess I’m glad you told me now than further down the line.”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. Hysterics are easy to deal with, but her eerily calm and matter-of-fact attitude is unnerving for some reason. “I really am sorry.”

She shrugs. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, anything.”

“Is there someone else?”

My jaw clenches. What am I supposed to say? No? Yes? Kinda? Nobody knows how I feel about Cat. Even Trace, who has spent the last few days trying to figure out why I’m in such a funk. He probably will eventually, when he sees how I act like some lost puppy whenever she’s around nowadays. But he hasn’t had the chance, as she’s spent the last few nights at Sean’s. God, I’m so jealous of that guy. How could I let a girl like her slip through my fingers like that? It was just a matter of time before someone else snapped her up and ---

“Justin!”

My mind suddenly jerks back down to earth. “Yeah?”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” she murmurs, taking a sip of some wine.

I groan and place my head in my hands. “I’m such a jerk. I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head and picks up her purse, fishing out some money. “For how long, may I ask?”

“Four days,” I mutter unhappily.

She laughs and places a few bills on the table. “Are you guys dating?”

“No!” I hastily exclaim. “Nothing’s happened or anything. I didn’t cheat on you. At least, not like that…” I trail off from my ramblings, realizing I did sort of cheat on her. Emotionally, at least.

“Is it anyone I know?” she asks calmly, leaning on the table as though we’re just two friends casually talking over lunch.

I shrug. “Don’t worry about that. Nothing’s going to come from it.”

“Do you want something to come from it?”

Isn’t this a weird conversation to be having with your very recently ex-ed girlfriend? “I don’t know,” I mumble.

“Justin, I’m not trying to make you feel awkward or ashamed of yourself,” she laughs. “You just look as though you’re going through a rough patch. I’m here to help.”

“But I just broke up with you for my own selfish reasons!” I exclaim. “How can you not hate me?”

She shrugs. “Rather you did that than lied to me,” she replies rationally. “So, it’s unreciprocated, I take it.”

I nod miserably. It sure is.

“It’s Cat, isn’t it?”

My head snaps up sharply, eyes widened. What did she just say?

“Wh-what makes you say that?” I stutter pathetically, leaning on the table in an attempt to look cool and calm.

She raises an eyebrow. “Justin, I’m no fool. Every time she enters a room, you smile. Whenever her name comes up in conversation, you’re always the one who said it. When you talk to her, your eyes soften. It’s been obvious to me for some time now. I think I realized before you did.” She laughs, but it never meets her eyes, and I hate to see tears forming in them.

I groan and squeeze me eyes shut. I know how it feels to be second best, and it‘s awful. “I’m so sorry, Natasha. I wish you didn’t have to see that.”

“It’s okay,” she says, shrugging. “I never expected this to be a long term relationship or anything.”

“But I never meant to make you feel that way.”

She sighs. “I know you didn’t. You’re a great guy, Justin.”

I feel my cheeks burn. “Thank you.”

“And take my advice,” she reaches across the table and clasps my hand in hers. “Don’t let Cat get away, okay? Sean isn’t what she needs, you are.”

My heart leaps at her words. “What?”

“Sean just isn’t for her. He’s a fling, a momentary glitch, a passing stranger.”

I bow my head. “Cat doesn’t seem to think so. She really likes him.”

“And she really loves you.” My eyes widen. “Don’t be stupid about this, Justin. You’ll regret it if you let her go,” she says, before pushing her chair out and leaving the restaurant, tossing me a wave over her shoulder.

I remain seated, my mouth hanging open from shock. What is Natasha talking about? Cat, liking…me? No, that’s not what she said, she said loving me. Natasha can clearly see things before others, so does that mean Cat has some sort of feelings for me? Is there hope for me yet? Is there the slimmest of chances Cat might actually feel a quarter of what I feel for her?

But what if she doesn’t. What if this is just Natasha’s revenge on me, for me rubbing her nose in my love for Cat. I just don’t know. I don’t think she’s ever acted like she’s even had the slightest of crushes on me, but I didn’t think I would ever feel this way about her. I’m beginning to think my thinking is just not up to scratch.

I just know I couldn’t stand rejection.

“The book says, heat for twenty minutes, until it turns a golden brown color,” Trace recites from the cookery book Cat threw at us a few weeks ago, telling us to, ‘pull our heads out of our asses and learn how to cook something other than toast’.

“I did exactly what it said!” I exclaim, waving a towel at the smoking chicken.

“Really?” says Trace, lowering the book and surveying the smoldering mess in front of us. “And at which point did it say, ‘Wait until the chicken reaches burning point until removal’?”

“Shut up, dude! You were supposed to be watching it too!” I defend, frowning at my diminutive pal.

He rolls his eyes. “Cat’s right, we are idiots.”

Shrugging, I can’t help but agree with him as I prod the chicken, a puff of steam escaping it as I do so. “Maybe we could scrape off the top…” I suggest hesitantly, eyeing the layer of charcoal covering the chicken.

“Or maybe we could call for pizza,” replies Trace, placing a hand on his hip and staring at the poor poultry.

“Smartest thing you’ve ever said, man,” I say, turning my back on the chicken, which is starting to make me feel guilty, and throwing the phone to him.

Suddenly, the thunderous slam of the door causes us both to look up in surprise. Heels clatter angrily across the marble floor of the hall, before the door of the kitchen is swung open to reveal Cat, dressed in her ordinary white blouse and navy blue skirt, and looking less than happy.

“Hey Cat,” I say cautiously, raising my eyebrows questioningly at Trace, who shrugs.

“Hi,” she mumbles, throwing her purse onto the table and stomping over to the refrigerator. She angrily pulls out some orange juice and slams a glass on the table, pouring it out and ignoring the sploshes that miss the glass and land on the table.

“Have a good day at work?” Trace asks hesitantly.

She gulps down her drink and narrows her eyes at him. “Perfectly awful, thank you.”

“What happened?” I ask, although I know to tread carefully. She’s been working late all this week and her tiredness has made her snappy, which provides entertainment for me, but also makes me worry about what I say might annoy her. Let me tell you, you don’t want to piss that woman off. She once spent five minutes telling Trace exactly what she would do to him if he ever stole the remote control again. Let’s just say it involved a hammer and some nails.

She sighs, and her anger slips away to be replaced by a torn, tired expression. “Nothing,” she mutters, before snatching up her purse and running upstairs, her head in her hands.

I raise an eyebrow at Trace. “Should you go up? Or will I?”

“I’ll do it,” he replies, placing the phone on the counter and heading out of the kitchen.

Nodding, I turn back to the chicken. How the hell am I supposed to get rid of this? Cut it up and sell it has coal?

By the time I’ve cleaned up the kitchen and disposed of the lump of rock, Trace has already returned to the kitchen, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

“What did she say?” I ask, wiping my hands on a towel.

Trace shrugs. “I think her and Sean were just at each other’s throats. She’s really tired, so she’s extra emotional and thought he was getting at her or something, I don’t know,” he shrugs.

I slam the towel down on the counter, anger already boiling through my veins. “He was getting at her? How? What did he do? Did he say something to upset her? Was he making her feel bad?”

Trace frowns at me in confusion. “I don’t know, man. She just said they had a little argument and that she hated men.”

I wave my hand. Same old, same old. “But did Sean say anything specific?”

I’ll kill him. If that little cowboy said one thing that made her feel bad, I’ll march straight over to his house and tear him to shreds. How dare he, how dare he make her unhappy? I would never do that if I was her boyfriend. If I was her boyfriend, I’d make sure she felt like she could reach the stars, that she was perfect, that she was the most amazing woman in the world who could do just about anything. Sean could never do that. Wanna know why? Because he’s an asshole.

“I don’t think so,” Trace shrugs. “You know how woman are, J. You say one thing and they think you’re calling them fat.”

“But he shouldn’t be making her upset!”

“It’s nothing much man, she’s just a little sensitive right now,” Trace explains, giving me his, ‘Why are you making such a big deal of this?’ face. “It’s not like she’s about to commit suicide.”

“Is she crying?”

“Sniffling,” he says, in an offhandish way which makes me want to slap him.

“I’m going to go up and see her,” I announce, pushing myself away from the counter and heading for the door.

“No, Justin, don’t.”

“Why not?” I ask, turning round to Trace, who has started to pick at the grapes.

“I think she needs a little time to calm down. Just give it a few minutes, she probably wants to be alone right now,” he says through a mouthful of fruit.

Nodding, I sit myself down on the chair, ignoring every impulse to race upstairs and haul Cat in for a hug. I hate the thought of her upset. It’s only times like that I see how young and vulnerable she is. By the way she acts, Trace and I always assume she’s just one of us, and has seen all the things we have. But when I think about it, she’s twenty one, just barely an adult, and she’s probably not experienced half the things we have.

Of course, she’ll never let us know that. She’s so…tough. Or at least, that’s what she wants all of us to think. But I know her. I know that underneath all that sarcasm and wit, there’s just a little girl from Ohio who’s gotten burned in the past and is trying to make her way through the world.

Christ, I’m doing it again. Talking in a way that would make Cat slap me over the back of the head with a Jackie Collins book and tell me it’s time I started taking testosterone pills.

“What could we do to cheer her up?” I ask, bouncing up from the chair and scanning the kitchen, as though the answer lies in the worktops.

He shrugs and tosses a grape in the air, trying to catch it with his mouth, but missing. “Dunno,” he shrugs. “Get her some chocolate?”

I shake my head and scratch my chin. “No, that’s too impersonal.”

Suddenly, my eyes land on the cookery book.

I turn to Trace and raise an eyebrow. “O Short One?”

“Yep?” he replies, bending down to pick up his fifth missed grape.

“I think we should tackle the ultimate…” I begin, staring at the taunting novel in front of us.

“What?” he asks, following my gaze and looking at the book. “Make her Chicken Alfredo?”

Rolling my eyes, I march over to the book and begin to spin through the pages. “No, something nice. Something…chocolatey.”

“She’d like that,” he says, coming up behind me and reading over my shoulder. “Do we have ingredients though? I don’t even think we have eggs.”

“We do for this,” I announce proudly, opening the book at a page I know will obtain maximum results in cheering Cat up. “All we need is flour…and shit.”

“Isn’t that a little ambitious?” he says, raising an eyebrow as he looks over the recipe. “Come on, man. We can’t even make sandwiches.”

“Don’t worry,” I reply soothingly. “I’ve seen my mom did it hundred of times before.”

Reaching down, I search through the cupboard until I find a pink apron…not cool, I’ll admit, but there is no other option. I tie it around my waist and adjust it, before picking up the look Trace is giving me.

“What?”

“You’re wearing pink,” he says bluntly, his eyes narrowing with horror.

I glance down. “I know.”

“And you’re making baked goods.”

I look over at the book. “I know.”

He slowly steps away from me. “Mind if I don’t join in on your little gay day?”

My eyes stop mid-roll. He does have a point. “It’s for Cat, okay?”

H raises an eyebrow at me.

“Fine, I’ll get rid of the apron.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Life is shit. Men are shit. Work is shit.

My life is shit. My man is shit. And my work…let’s not even go there.

I realize it’s not normal to sit in the same position for thirty minutes, particularly when that position is a very uncomfortable one: sitting against the very hard wall with my knees brought up to my chin as I wallow in self pity.

The worst thing is Sean didn’t even really do anything wrong, I just blew up at him for no reason and stomped away from the office like some little spoilt brat at camp. It wasn’t completely his fault. We were both tired and not in the best of moods to work together. But really, was it necessary for him to be such an asshole?

Or, equally, was it necessary for me to be such a bitch?

Crap. I hate feeling guilty. Perhaps I should call Sean, make it up to him somehow. I doubt he even wants to talk to me after the slew of insults I threw at him before I stormed out of the office. I didn’t mean to be such a verbal bomb, but it all just came rushing out in one long line of, ‘You asshole, don’t talk to me, who do you think you are’ etc etc.

I hate how people say without suffering there would be no happiness. How can that be? Sadness doesn’t make the happier times better, it just makes the bad times worse. Wouldn’t it be nice if I could just press a button and all of life’s difficulties and traumas were just wiped away? It would be so great. I could forget about Sean, work, Justin, the weight I am still yet to lose, two articles that are yet to be written, that my mom is angry at me for not calling, I’m convinced one thigh is bigger than the other…

Isn’t it scary how quickly I can make a list of things wrong in my life? And…wait a second, was I just talking about a button? God, I’m so tired, I’ve become delirious.

A gentle knock on my door makes me look up and lengthen my legs, a cramp already starting to spread.

Justin’s head pokes round my door and takes in what must be quite a pathetic sight: me, slouching against the wall. I don’t even want to think about what my stomach looks like.

“Hi,” he says softly.

“Hey,” I whisper.

“I just came in to check you were okay,” he says, coming in and delicately shutting the door behind him. “And to give you a little comfort food.” He holds out a plate of chocolate chip cookies, cut into shapes to spell, ‘Cat’. Justin can’t cook to save his life, so I don’t even want to think about how difficult that was for him.

“Justin,” my face softens and melts into a smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He beams proudly. “I made them all by myself.”

“Did Trace help?” I ask, taking the plate from him and examining the cookies.

“Nope,” he says, sliding down the wall to sit next to me. “He said I was just encouraging all those gay rumors, so he went out to rent a video for you.”

“Ah,” I coo, chuckling slightly. “You’re the sweetest. Thank you.” Feeling bold, I reach over and cup his cheek, gently bringing it to my lips.

He blushes slightly. “No problem.” He’s quiet for a second, before picking up the C of the Cat and holding it out to me. “Here, try a bit.”

I gingerly lean forward and snap a bit off with my teeth, well aware that it might all crumble and I’d just look like an idiot in front of Justin Timberlake, who is feeding me. Whoa, that’s a weird thing to be able to say. Justin Timberlake is feeding me.

“They’re really good!” I exclaim, chewing the ever-so-slightly doughy cookie. “I always thought you were a helpless cook.”

“Oh I am,” he says simply. “But I tried extra hard for you.” He sends me a knee-quivering grin before he turns sheepish. “But the first batch were a little burnt.”

“I wondered what that smell was,” I reply, laughing.

He laughs, before shuffling closer to me. “So, how you holdin’ up, sweetums?”

“Just fine, peaches,” I retort, raising an eyebrow at him. “Nah, I’m okay,” I say seriously, pulling down my skirt. “I’ve just had a bad week.”

“I know,” he says sympathetically. “What happened today?”

I shrug. “Not much. I’m just overreacting, really, it’s silly.”

“If it’s bothering you, then it’s not silly. What happened?”

Sighing, I flick my hair over my shoulder and look at the ceiling. “Just Sean. Ugh, he was being such an asshole!”

“Did you break up with him?” he asks, so quickly that it makes me frown with confusion.

“No,” I reply slowly. “We were just on each other’s nerves.”

“Oh…” he nods, before accepting the cookie I give to him. “So what happened?” he asks between chews.

I stop chewing for a second to contemplate my words. “You know how Sean can be a little arrogant and ‘I know everything’ at times?”

“Yes,” he replies immediately, with not a hint of indecisiveness.

I grin. “Of course you do. How could I forget the restaurant?”

He blushes. “And then…” he urges me to continue.

“Oh, so we were just working late on this feature, like we have been all week because it’s going to print in two days and it’s both of our asses on the line if it’s not perfect…” Justin nods. “And it just felt like every suggestion I made was shot down by him and he was just being…ugh!” I exclaim, running a hand through my hair agitatedly.

“Did he say anything nasty to you?”

I laugh. “You sound like some principal getting to the bottom of bullying case.” He shrugs and grins. “And no, it wasn’t that he was actually being horrible, I just found him a little…overbearing.”

Justin nods and sighs. He runs a hand over his head and looks at the floor for a second, as though he‘s choosing his words very carefully. “Look Cat,” he says after a moment, “I know I haven’t always been the biggest Sean fan, but the guy does care about you. I know he wouldn’t do anything to upset you.”

“Do you really think so?” I ask, somewhat shocked by the gentle tone he uses. He sounds sort of…upset. As though it’s no something he wants to say, but he’s saying it anyway.

He nods, his eyes still glued to the floor as he fingers trace circles on the rug. “You guys make a great couple,” he murmurs quietly, as though it’s paining him to say it.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he replies quietly, suddenly looking up at me, his blue eyes boring into my own. “I guess I’m envious of you guys.”

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Envious? Are you kidding?”

“No,” he says simply. “I think you guys are going to be together for a long time.”

Why does he look so upset? You would think he’d just had his puppy run over by the forlorn expression on his face.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” I say, shifting my weight slightly. “He’ll probably dump me in a week, thinking I’m some crazy psycho who overreacts at the tiniest things. Which I am,” I hastily add, a dark cloud of a mood settling over me once again.

“He won’t dump you,” Justin quickly reciprocates. “Seriously, Cat. You should see the way he looks at you,” he says softly.

“Really?” I ask, turning my head to him with my lower lip jutted out.

He laughs and nods. “He’s hooked, baby.”

I shrug. “I still think he’s going to dump me,” I say, my voice covered with depression.

“Cheer up Cat!” Justin suddenly exclaims, pushing my shoulder slightly. “Don’t worry about something that’s not even happened yet!”

I shrug. I think worrying is all I ever do.

“How can people read women’s magazines?” he asks suddenly, suavely changing the subject and picking up a discarded copy of Cosmo, which was lying on the floor next to us.

I chuckle, kicking my heels off to relieve my feet to subside the pain spreading from my toes. “I don’t know. I don’t usually buy them, but they offer relationship advice, which I’m beginning to think I need more than I thought,” I mumble, rolling my eyes and sniffing slightly as I snuggle up to him to read over his shoulder.

“Seriously, you can’t turn the page without seeing something about tampons, men, or sex,” he says, astounded, as he flicks through the pages, his eyes widening at an entire section devoted to birth control.

Laughing, I link my arm through his. “I know. It’s kinda sad.”

“Where’s the Sports Page?” he asks innocently.

A burst of laughter escapes my lips, and I instantly feel better. “They don’t have a sports page, dear,” I begin kindly, resting my head on his shoulder. “Unless you count the sexual adventures page.”

“Ooh, where’s that?” he says, grinning like a child on Christmas as he continues to look through the contents.

Laughing again, I rest my head against the wall and stretch my legs out in front of me. “How do you always manage to cheer me up, Justin Timberlake?” I mumble, more to myself than anything as I look down at my feet.

He closes the magazine and turns to me. “Because I’m your friend, and it’s my job to.”

“And you do it so well,” I reply, turning my head to smile at him.

He’s so beautiful, without even trying to be. His soft, downy hair, which he just got cut but is already beginning to curl. His blue eyes, making him seem like the picture of innocence even though I know he’s not. His body, hidden underneath his clothes, holds definition that can make grown women quiver. Oh, who am I kidding. It makes everyone, including staunch feminists such as myself, quiver.

His soft lips form a small smile. “Well, you deserve the best, Cat.”

Shaking my head, my gaze drops to my lap. “I don’t,” I whisper.

“Yes you do,” he says quietly, his hand snaking it’s way onto my thigh as a form of reassurance.

My eyes land on it, feeling the warmth from his fingers seeping through the cotton of my work skirt. One simple touch from him makes my whole body come alive, and suddenly the only thing I can feel is his hand. I glance up at him, his sapphire blue eyes holding friendly concern, making me just want to throw myself in his arms and beg him to love me like I love him.

But I can’t.

“Thanks for being here,” I whisper as his gaze pierces through me. “I know you’re going through your own stuff right now, with Natasha and everything, and I know I haven’t been half the friend I should have--”

“Don’t be silly,” he interrupts, frowning. “You couldn’t be a bad friend if you tried.”

Chuckling, I look into my lap, my eyes occasionally flying to the right to make sure his hand hasn’t moved. “Who would have thought that one little encounter at the grocery store would lead to all this?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, smiling slightly.

“You know this January, at New Year? I thought I was all set for another crap, mediocre year in my crap, mediocre life. But I’ve just had the best time,” I says sincerely, cursing myself for the emotions rushing through me, threatening to come out as happy tears. “We’re into what, June now? And I can’t imagine my life without you or Trace, helping me through my crazy emotions.”

He laughs. “And all it took was a little help from Condom Boy.”

Snorting, I nod. “I thank God for him every day,” I admit, as Justin giggles. “You know if we get married, that’s the story we’d tell our kids.”

Shit. Did I just openly admit I day dreamed me and Justin’s future, with thousand of Timberlakes running around as we tell them the hilarious story of how we got together? Crap, I really should learn to keep my fantasies to myself.

To my surprise, he seems unfazed. “Yeah, and how we danced to Grease in the kitchen.”

“And had depressing talks on the balcony.”

“And cheered each other up with half cooked cookies when we were upset,” he says, pointing towards the now empty plate.

I laugh and pat his chest, (and no, of course it’s not a chance to cop a feel at his abs). “They weren’t that bad. At least you tried.”

“Did they cheer you up?”

I nod ferociously. “Very much so.”

“Good,” he murmurs, tossing an arm around my shoulder and pulling my towards him. “We’ve had a great friendship to far, haven’t we Cat?”

I rest my head against his shoulder. “We sure have.”

“Friends forever, huh?”

Friends. Forever. Tears beginning to sting my eyes and I hastily shut them, willing them to go away and just leave me alone. How did I manage to not cry for months before he came along, but within weeks of meeting him I turned into a human water dispenser. One stupid little word shouldn’t effect me, but it does. It really does.

I’m just so tired. Tired of feeling torn between Justin and Sean, tired of worrying one of them is going to find out, tired of realizing it’s only a matter of time before I’m forced to choose. Friendship with Justin? Or relationship with Sean? I don’t know is the only answer I can come up with.

I’m beginning to hate the concept of friends.

“Justin, we are cleaning this up.”

“Caaat,” I whine, frowning in annoyance and stomping my foot. “Do we have to?”

“Yes,” she answers simply, bending down to pick up a box. “This place is absolutely covered in crap.”

“It is not,” I defend, placing my hands on my hips and surveying the boxes of junk scattered around the floor of my loft. “I need all this stuff.”

She takes the lid of the box she’s holding and takes out a book. “The Pocahontas Sticker Book.” She turns to me with an eyebrow raised. “Oh yeah Justin, essential. And did I mention masculine?”

Rolling my eyes, I snatch the book off her. “That’s not mine.”

She doesn’t reply, but keeps her eyebrow raised, before bending down to sift through the rest of the contents of the box. “Justin, this stuff is crap. Just pure, crap.”

“It is not!” I defend. “Here, look, this is important,” I point out, crouching down beside her and taking out a magazine with a picture of myself and the rest of Nsync on the front cover.

“Madchen Schwatz. What the hell?” she asks, frowning at the magazine.

“This,” I begin to explain, sitting down properly as she kneels and shuffles closer to me, to read over my shoulder. “Is the first magazine I was ever in.”

“Did you even know what it said?” she asks, eyeing over the various German slogans plastered across the front page.

Grinning, I turn to her and shake my head. “But seeing pictures of myself gave me enough to look at.”

“Oh yeah, you’re quite the babe,” she mutters sarcastically, her eyes landing on the very bleached picture of yours truly.

Rolling up the magazine, I lightly hit her on the head with it. “Hey, it was the fashion at the time.”

She smiles. “I can’t really talk. I was no High School beauty either.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, looking over the picture of the guys and myself with a hint of nostalgia.

“I was just a little fat girl with glasses,” she says, laughing, brushing the dirt off her pant leg. “Not much has changed, as you can see.”

Rolling my eyes, I look up from the magazine. “Cat, you are not fat. And you don’t even wear glasses.”

“I’m chubby and it’s called the miracle of contact lenses.”

“Cat, you’re gorgeous, okay?” I say decisively, making it clear I want to hear no more on the subject.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her blush and tuck her hair behind her ear. “Really?”

“Yes,” I answer truthfully, as silent pleas start to form in my head.

I didn’t see it at first, and for that I’m sorry. I can’t believe I was once again clouded by what was on the outside, rather than actually looking beneath the surface to see how perfect you are. But I do now Cat, dear God I do, and I hate myself for not realizing the second I met you how wonderful you are. I love you.

Oblivious to the silent war raging in my head, she gets off her knees and crosses her legs, linking one arm through mine and resting her head on my shoulder as she looks at the magazine.

I try my hardest to ignore the sudden intimacy and lack of distance between us by concentrating on the pictures. I’m slowly beginning to notice that whenever Cat touches me, intentionally or not, my senses are suddenly shocked into life and my whole body reacts. I’m so scared that one day she’ll notice the way that one hug from her will make me stutter, or that when she links her arms with me, my voice starts to go shaky, or that whenever she jokingly slips her hand into mine, I stare at our conjoined fingers, and think how well our hands fit together.

I can’t think of anything worse than her one day noticing. I’m beginning to grow used to this whole unrequited love thing. I stare at her and avert my gaze whenever she looks back. I play nice with Sean but as soon as he turns his back it takes all my might not to slap him on the upside of his head. I’ve even learnt how to pretend to everyone my feelings to Cat are purely platonic, and that the crazy meaning of ‘love’ never crossed my mind. I have them all fooled.

Except myself.

“Let’s see,” she says, reaching out and tracing the words on the cover. “Girl Gossip…you allowed the world to see you for the first time in a magazine called Girl Gossip?” She bites her lip, and I can tell she’s holding in a laugh. “How cool,” she mutters under her breath, giggling slightly.

“It is a good title,” I point out, making her laugh. “I didn’t know you spoke German.”

“You don’t know a lot of things,” she mumbles, before grabbing the magazine from me and shuffling away until she’s opposite me, breaking out contact. Her fingers quickly skim through the pages until she sees our article.

I frown, surprised by her sudden change in attitude, before grinning. “So sinister, Miss Saunders.”

She shrugs and doesn’t return my smile, staring at little harder than necessary at the page and blinking rapidly. “Ah, it says you’re the baby of the group,” she says, managing a smile, wiping away the torn look that had been in her eyes a second ago.

“That I am,” I say, tilting my head to the side as she chews at her bottom lip, something I’ve noticed she does when she’s thinking hard, while she tries to translate the article.

“Hey, I didn’t know your middle name was Randall.”

“You don’t know a lot of things,” I say, grinning at her as I repeat her earlier sentence.

She rolls her eyes at me before smirking. “And you, Justin Randall Timberlake, are scared of spiders,” she adds, a smile creeping onto her face. She lowers the magazine and raises an eyebrow. “Is that true, ‘Bounce’?”

“Lemme read that,” I mutter, snatching the magazine from her and looking at the page. Of course, it doesn’t mean anything to me, but I have no doubt it’s filled with the same fluff those teen magazines usually are.

“Who came up with the name Bounce?” she asks curiously.

“Chris.”

“Who’s Chris?”

“You really don’t know much about my career, do you?”

She shakes her head. “Nope. I was more into angry chick music and regular old slit your wrists stuff when I was a teenager.”

“Me too,” I add jokingly.

She giggles and shrugs. “I mean, half the time I don’t even think of you as this superstar, you’re just my lazy bum of a friend who never works at all.”

“Oh, thanks,” I laugh. “It’s always nice to hear me, the great Justin Timberlake, be bumped down a few notches to lazy bum.”

She laughs. “Gotta keep that ego in check. So, who is Chris?”

I point to the dread-locked one with a hint of a smile. “What the hell is on his head?” she says bluntly, staring at the black and white dreadlocks covering the face of my band mate.

I throw my head back to laugh. “He used to love those braids.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Mmm, I can clearly see why…”

Smiling at her, I recline until I’m lying down and rest my head on her lap. I don’t miss the look of confusion that passes over her features, but she doesn’t stop me as I relax on top of her thighs.

“Why is the car so god damn foggy?” she says quickly, trying to hide her surprise at my sudden invasion of her space.

I take a glance at the picture, which has me in a steamed up car putting on what I clearly thought was a sexy face. “Oh, yeah. Well, you know how when you have sex in a car, it gets really steamy?”

“No,” she says, looking down at me with a mixture of disgust and confusion on her face. “I don’t often engage in tacky activities such as sex in cars.”

I blush slightly. I wish I could say the same thing. “Well, anyway, it’s sort of supposed to look like that.”

“In a magazine for teenaged girls?” she says in astonishment.

I laugh. “Teenage girls are surprisingly dirty.”

“Yeah, no thanks to you,” she says, shaking her head as she closes the magazine. She gives me a quick smile to show me she’s not being serious, before quickly ruffling my hair. “Come on, Randall, lets get this place cleaned up.”

Lifting my head off her lap, my groaning already begins to pour out. “But I don’t want to!” Her silence tells me she cares about as much as she does bonus tracks on the No Strings Attached album. “How come Trace doesn’t have to help?”

“Because I saw you first,” she replies simply, struggling to shift a box towards the corner. “And stop whining. It’s not attractive.”

Begrudgingly, I help her move it. I hate being a gentleman.

“Justin, it isn’t even that much. All we have to do is rearrange these boxes and try to have some order up here.” She puts her hands on her hips and scrutinizes the room. “God, it’s just a pigsty!”

“You sound like my mother,” I mumble as I reluctantly kick at a box of Christmas decorations.

“Well, according to the prestigious Girl Gossip, she’s the most important person in your life, so I’ll take that as a compliment,” she says smugly, sticking her tongue out at me.

“How much of that did you translate?” I mumble huffily, aware that I was once again the grumpy ten-year old who didn’t want to clean his room.

“Enough of it to know you spent your teen years talking like a premenstrual woman asked to talk about her feelings,” she retorts quickly, bending down to pick up some stray photo albums.

“Hey, that kind of talking got me laid, okay?” I defend, holding my arms up in defense.

“Ugh, Justin, I don’t wanna know,” comes her fairly distant voice from the other end of the loft as she bends down to pick up some photo albums.

“I was the only kid my age to be having regular sex when I was fifteen…”

“Do you want me to come over there and kill you?”

Grinning, I don’t stop. “It all started with my first girlfriend Danyelle. She was gorgeous, great body, great kisser…perfect. Anyway, the first time we had sex, I was really worried I wasn’t going to last and that--”

Suddenly, my ramblings are met with the clamping of Cat’s hand over my mouth. Her cheeks have gone a deep rosy red, whether it’s from the moving of the boxes or from her embarrassment I don’t know, and her eyes have narrowed.

She’s pissed. It’s hilarious.

The only reason I’m so persistent in sharing my sexual history is because it makes her so uncomfortable. For what I assume is a relatively experienced twenty one year old, she has a very immature, ‘this is too embarrassing to talk about’ attitude to sex. That’s why I always talk about. That’s why she’s taken to calling me Timberbitch. That’s why I love her.

Grinning behind her hand, I poke my tongue and lick the soft skin on the palm of her hand. Needless to say, she retracts is quickly, a look of revulsion on her face.

“Justin, what the hell was that for?” she squeals, rubbing me on the chest to get rid of what I think we once called ‘cooties’.

“It was your fault for having your hand over my mouth,” I say, shrugging and grinning foolishly.

“Yeah, remind me to never do that again,” she mutters, examining the underside of her hand.

“Chill Cat, it was just a little tongue action.” She begins to turn away from me to continue cleaning up, before the wicked grin on my face causes her to look back. “Speaking of tongue action…my second girlfriend, Hilary, she was even better than Danyelle because she had a mouth that could….”

“Justin, please!” Cat exclaims, torn between amusement and disgust.

“Guess what my nickname was for her.”

“Daddy’s Bitch,” she says sarcastically.

“Nope. Hoover.”

Cat groans and covers her ears, looking so adorably cute and childish it takes all my strength not to reach out and hug her. “Justin, I don’t. Want. To know. Got it?”

Laughing, I swing an arm around her shoulder and pull her towards me, in a strange sort of side hug. “Oh Catsy my darling, you’re so deliciously cute.”

She pulls away from me, squinting at me suspiciously. “Are you high?”

“Nope, just reveling in your immaturity.”

“My immaturity!” she exclaims, her eyes widening with indignation and her hands immediately going to her hips. “This coming from the man who finds joy in making me want to tear my own ears off.” She pauses and I see her struggle to keep the smile off her face. “So, how am I immature?” she asks after a bored sigh, as though she doesn’t want to have this conversation with me.

“You can’t talk about sex,” I reply with a shrug of my shoulders.

She rolls her eyes. “Justin, that’s not about being immature, that’s about my human nature being naturally repulsed by your vivid stories,” she points out.

I tap my chin thoughtfully. “Mmm, no, I don’t think that’s it….I think you’re…”

She crosses her arms and sighs. “Come on Justin, enthrall me with your cross examination.”

Slowly walking towards her, I bend my head until it’s level with hers. Her breathing quickens slightly, and an almost scared look enters her eyes, and for a second I wonder if she can read my thoughts and knows I want to kiss her. We’re close, forehead to forehead, nose to nose….almost lips to lips.

If I moved forward just one inch, I could kiss her. I could have what I most wanted in the world. I could have her.

A sudden silence fills the room, the joking air between us immediately sucked out and replaced with a thick stillness. I don’t want to move, because I know this is the closest I’ll probably ever get to her. Just for a moment, I want to pretend. I pretend there’s no Sean. I pretend the guilt of Natasha doesn’t still lie with me. I pretend we’re in one of my unrealistic fantasies where she looks up at me with adoring eyes, filled with love and promising a lifetime together with me, before I swoop down and capture her lips with my own. I pretend we’re two lovers, stuck in a bubble with only each other, our entire entities full with love and passion for the other person. Not two friends stuck in a dusty attic, throwing playful insults at each other.

“Yes, Justin?” The world I was in slowly melts away, and I back to reality. Back in the loft, back to being unhappy, and back to being Normal Justin, the friend and roomie of Cat Saunders.

“Uh oh, you’ve spaced out. Let me guess, you’ve suddenly remembered a fantastic story about you and some hoe in a parking lot?” she says blandly, waiting for me to come back down to earth and tell her whatever I was going to say.

Trying my hardest to wipe away the feelings that are still churning up my stomach, I grin at her. “Like you’ve never had sex in a parking lot.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Amazingly Justin, I haven’t,” she mutters.

“See? That’s exactly what I mean.” My voice drops to a whisper. “You, Miss Saunders, are sexually repressed.”

“How am I sexually repressed?” she scoffs, rolling her eyes and pushing me away, breaking the close proximity we were sharing.

“You can’t talk about sex. Even as a joke, it makes you uncomfortable.”

“So? A lot of people don’t like to talk about sex. Are they all sexually repressed?”

“Yes.”

Another roll of the eyes. “Justin, just because we don’t all have sex with twenty different people a week and then write a song about it, does not conclude that we are repressed.”

“But if I told you I wanted to have sex with you right now, I bet you wouldn’t,” I say bluntly.

I know it’s exactly the kind of weird, forward thing to say that gets people arrested, but I can’t stop myself. It’s wrong to test her like this. It’s wrong to assume there might be some deeply hidden feelings inside of her for me. I don't even know what I want her to say. Yes, I would sleep with you? No I wouldn't? Either way, she's still with Sean and there's no signs of us crossing that bastard friend boundary.

But I have to do it. I have to know.

Shock brushes over her face before a blush spreads across her cheeks and her eyes drop to the floor. “Of course I wouldn’t,” she mumbles.

“Exactly. You wouldn’t like to have sex in such an unorthodox place as an attic--”

“No way!" she exclaims, looking around her. "Have you seen it up here? It’s filthy!”

Ignoring her, I continue. “You wouldn’t want to do it if it didn’t lead to a relationship--”

“That’s about self respect, not sexual repression,” she defends.

“And you simply wouldn’t want to have sex with me,” I finish.

Her face is suddenly sobered of jokeyness. "No, I wouldn't."

"Why not?" I instinctively demand, knowing this was exactly the type of behavior that was going to get me found out.

"Because it would be very difficult for me."

What? What the hell does that mean? Am I that repulsive?

"Even if it would lead to a serious relationship? And you weren't seeing Sean?" No answer. "Would you ever have a relationship with me?"

Her face remains set in the same stony expression. She has no response.

“Well, would you?” I ask calmly, my heart beating wildly against my chest as I wait for her answer.

“I don’t think you should ask me that,” she says steadily, without a trace of laughter in her voice or her face.

She turns on her heel, and walks out of the attic, leaving on my own. Cold, lonely, and confused.

As always.

“Is this bacon cooked?” asks Trace, cautiously prodding the bacon simmering in the frying pan.

I shrug and scoop a spoonful of cereal into my mouth. To be honest, the state of Trace’s breakfast is the last thing on my mind. All I care about is Cat, who, as far as I know, is still in her bedroom, which she retreated to yesterday. Trace invited her down for dinner but she said she felt sick and only crept downstairs to get the phone from Trace, because Sean the Shithead had called. I hate technology. It is an evil thing.

I look up from my cereal. “I’m not sure. Probably.”

“You can’t die from eating undercooked bacon, can you?”

That was the last time I saw her, but that doesn’t mean I’ve not been thinking about her. Fuck, the girl’s been the only thing on my mind for about twenty hours now. Mentally going over our conversation, sentence by sentence, trying to decode the stupid little cryptic answer she gave me.

“I think this is okay. I mean, it’s a pinky color, so that’s good, right?”

“I don’t think you should ask me that.”

What does that mean? I’ve been tossing it around in my head for ages, as though it were Shakespeare’s infamous ‘To be or Not to be’.

Does it mean she was just sick of our conversation and my constant pestering of her? Does it mean she’s was offended when I called her repressed and immature?

I won’t listen the little shred of hope inside of me that’s whispering, ‘It’s because she likes you’.

I won’t listen to it, I just won’t. What’s the point in getting my feelings stomped all over when she laughs in my face and asks me why on earth I would think that? It’s wouldn’t be fair to me or my broken little heart to have do deal with that.

Last night, as I lay in bed counting the cracks in my ceiling, I tried to pinpoint exactly when my feelings got so strong, so quickly. When I couldn’t stop thinking about her, when I couldn’t help but stare at her whenever I thought she wasn’t looking back, when I started to go crazy with jealousy every time I saw Sean’s grubby little hand on her waist. I was always protective of her, but there was genuinely a time when I just thought she was a great friend. How naïve I was.

I thought I was so clever, didn’t I? I just swooped on in there, made friends with her, thought she was nothing because she has a fair amount of meat on her bones and a lack of blonde bleach in her hair. But no, things didn’t stay like that. I don’t even know whether I would have ever invited her over to watch some goddamn Friends if I had known I would end up feeling like this.

It’s agony. True, heart-wrenching agony. The kind that I thought only existed in songs or books or movies. Every time I see her, a sharp pang of longing pierces through my body, so strong I feel as though I can’t breathe. And I’ll watch her, joking with Trace, or working on her laptop, her cute little glasses slipping onto the edge of her nose as she rolls her eyes and pushes them back, and I think, Why didn’t I see this before?

Oh God, why do I even bother dwelling on the why’s? Even if she wasn’t with Sean, whose to say she would want to be with me anyway? I’ll always be Justin, the cocky, rich roommate who gazes at her like some goddamn puppy and has casual relationships here and there.

And to me, she’ll always be Cat. Everything I want, and everything I can’t have.

--------------------------------------------

I’ve always had an excuse for everything. Anything you threw at me, I could always come up with something to say back.

“Catherine! Why haven’t you done the homework?”

“Sorry ma’am, but I had to go and visit my grandmother at the weekend and didn’t have the time to do it.”

“Catherine! What are you eating? I thought you were on a diet?”

“I’ve just spent the last half hour in the gym.”

“Catherine! What is this I’m hearing about you arguing with other girls in the playground?”

“They started it, not me mom.”

See? Anything was excusable. Nothing could throw me off. I was the Queen of Cool, the Mistress of Getting Away With Things, the Ruler of Reasons. Until yesterday.

“Would you ever have a relationship with me?”

I was torn. Torn between what was right and what was wrong. Torn between whether I should bend down on my knees and declare my undying love for him, or to shrug nonchalantly and call him too camp for my tastes.

It would be right to be honest, and just tell Justin the feelings that have been not-so-gently simmering these past five months. To tell him I feel as though I’m being torn in two, between him and Sean. I know Justin holds no feelings for me whatsoever, and that I’m wasting my time with him when I could be furthering my relationship with Sean…

But, as is often the case, the wrong won. I couldn’t tell him that. Why would I subject myself to his stunned gaze when I admitted I loved him? Or feel the bitter stab of rejection as he stuttered out he just didn’t feel that way about me, and then the realization that I just wasn’t good enough for him? I took the wrong road, and mumbled out some incomprehensible answer and rushed from the loft, like the coward I am.

The tender skin underneath my eyes is raw and red, no thanks to the fact I angrily brushed away my tears before they could roll pathetically down my cheeks. I wouldn’t let myself cry, I just wouldn’t. He probably didn’t even mean anything by it, it was probably just a stupid, offhand question that happened to come to mind when I was there, but I was still reduced to hot, hurt tears yesterday, as though it was the most awful thing he could have asked me.

I know I’m a drama queen. I know I make the biggest things out of nothing. I know Justin probably doesn’t even remember anything about yesterday, except that his roommate is a psycho bitch who insists you clean the loft and then runs away half way through the job. Jesus, thinks are so fucked up.

My hand cautiously lands on the doorknob leading to the kitchen. Stop being a bitch Cat, and just open it. It’s only Justin and Trace, you’re best friends.

But what am I going to say?

The sickening smell of fried food wafts over me as I open the door to the kitchen. Wrinkling my nose in disgust, I turn my head the left slightly, only to see Justin staring straight at me.

“Hey,” he says quietly, putting his spoon back into his bowl.

“H-hi,” I stutter, closing the door and leaning onto the handle for support.

“Mornin’ darling,” says Trace happily, putting his plate down on the table. “How’s it swinging with you this fine Sunday morning?”

“That bacon’s not cooked,” I reply automatically, my eyes landing on the pink meat on his plate that for Christ’s Sake might still be alive. “And I’m good, thanks.”

Trace throws his hands in the air and groans. “See? I told you!”

Justin shrugs, and stares into his bowl, his shoulders slumped, apparently indifferent to this revelation. Turning to me, Trace rolls his eyes.

“I asked Mr Moody over there whether it was cooked and he said yes, so I took it out.” He crouches down the table and stares at the bacon. “Don’t worry, my lovelies, you’re lives were not in vain. I can give you to the doggies.”

Laughing, I slowly move away from the door and cautiously pull out a seat for myself. “It serves you right for asking Justin a cooking question.”

“At least I answer questions properly,” he snaps darkly, his blue eyes boring into mine, making his feelings and who they’re directed to crystal clear.

He’s angry with me. But why?

“Technically Justin, that’s not true,” interrupts Trace cheerfully, oblivious to the steady gaze between Justin and I. “Remember when that English guy asked whether you had slept with anyone since Britney and you said….”

He suddenly trails off, apparently sensing the awkwardness between Justin and I. People say you can always tell how a person is feeling through their eyes.

That can’t be true. Justin almost looks…hurt. As though what I said upset him or something. But how did I do that? Why would he be upset? I was the one that made a fool out of myself and gave some crap answer to a question he probably thought was textbook, but is actually the axis to my entire world. I should be in hysterics and cursing the world, but he should be just hunky dory.

Trace glances between us, although neither of us return his look in the intense eye battle we’re in. I refuse to break the eye contact, for fear of bursting into tears when I do.

“What’s going on?” Trace asks slowly.

Neither of us reply.

“Guys, what’s happened?” he repeats.

Finally, I tear my eyes from Justin’s. “Nothing, Trace.” I manage to force my lips into a smile. “We just had a little misunderstanding, that’s all.”

“Did we?” says Justin.

God, his voice sounds so sexy. All low, and dark, is that the voice he uses to seduce people? Because it sure as hell works…

No, Cat. Stop it. “Yeah,” I reply bright. Too brightly, for me especially. “Justin was just being…Justin, and asking me all these weird questions, and I sort of stomped off in a huff.”

Tears are threatening to form in my eyes, but I won’t let them. I have to pretend I’m fine, otherwise Trace and Justin will know I’m lying through my teeth. Trying my hardest to act as though my life is full of buttercups and fairies, I push all thoughts out of my mind.

Turning my head back to Justin, I smile weakly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be so PMSey.”

“Was that all it was? The questions annoyed you?”

I nod vehemently. “Yeah, what else would it be?” I ask boldly.

He stares at me for a moment. His eyes cloud over for a second, before they brighten suddenly.

“Nothing,” he says, his dark mood wiped away instantly, and replaced with his happier self.

“Great, so we’re okay?”

He nods and smiles. “We’re always okay, Cat.”

I knew it. I knew he didn’t really care. I knew he didn’t have any masked feelings for me, no matter how much I tried to wish he did. I knew that stupid question meant more to me than it ever will to him.

“Great,” I reply, slapping my hand on the table and standing up. “Well boys, I’m gonna head upstairs and get changed. Trace, don’t you dare eat that bacon.” Grinning happily at them, I leave the kitchen, my smile trembling with each step I take.

It’s only when I get to the privacy of my room, to I allow the tears to fall, one after the other.

-------------------------------

Shuffling on the hard bench before the piano, my fingers hover over the ivory keys, tempted to touch one of them, but being scared years of not playing will show and I’ll ruin the beauty of the silent instrument.

I’ve seen Justin play the piano. It’s almost hypnotizing, the way his fingers dance over the keys and his mellifluous voice pours out of his perfect mouth. It’s beautiful.

There’s none of that crap with me. I played the piano for years when I was younger, and did acquire some sort of talent for it, but as soon as someone watched me I was a disaster. Slipping fingers, missing notes…I really didn’t do the instrument justice. Justin’s great when it comes to nauseating, eye-roll inducing pieces of crap like, “playing transports me to another place and I only feel complete when my fingertips were touching those keys.” I, however, did it because I thought I had to and never really took it seriously in the first place.

Of course, when I moved to Tennessee, there was no way I could afford a piano or find the space for it, and by the time I could I had lost interest in playing anyway. If I dared to touch the thing sitting in front of me, it’ll be the first time I’ve played in four years.

Clearing my throat anxiously, I tentatively press my thumb against one of the white keys, the clear sound startling me slightly. Slowly, I spread both hands across the piano and lightly press the keys, playing something vaguely reminiscent of a few chords.

“Cat!”

My head snaps up, the voice sharply pulling me from my thoughts. I immediately snatch my fingers away from the piano.

“Yeah?” I say, in a nonchalant way as the heat rises to my cheeks.

“What are you doing?” Justin asks, curiously gazing between me and the piano.

“Nothing.”

“Do you play?” he asks in a disbelieved voice, sliding onto the bench beside me, heat radiating from his body onto mine.

I shrug and softly place a hand over the keys. “I used to.”

“Which means you still do,” he says, grinning and nudging me slightly. “You can’t just stop playing the piano.”

“Yes you can,” I retort defiantly, self-consciously rubbing my eyes, as though I’m expecting to find the tear stains from a few hours ago still scarring my cheeks.

He rolls his eyes at me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shrug. “It never came up.”

“You’re full of surprises, Cat,” he laughs, his eyes twinkling at me. “One day it’s German, the next it’s secret musical talents.”

Chuckling, I stare at the keys. “I’m not sure about the talent part, but okay.”

“Anyway, I came in here to check things with us are cool,” he says, his voice adopting a serious edge.

“I said they were, didn’t I?” I snap, before immediately regretting my harsh tone. “Sorry, I’m just really tired.”

He nods. “Cat, I know it seems like I ask you this all the time, but…are you okay? It just seems like nowadays, I dunno…” he trails off, and I see the apprehension flash in his eyes before he continues. “You just seem really sensitive, you know?” I can tell he’s choosing his words carefully, as though he’s frightened he’ll trigger me at any moment. It’s making me want to kiss him for being so caring. “Every time I look at you I get the feeling you’re really unhappy or something, and that makes me unhappy.”

Feeling my eyes already glaze over with tears at his compassion, I glance down and shake my head. “I’m sorry, Justin. Things have just been so over the place at the moment. Work, Sean…all those kind of things are just taking a lot out of me.”

A comforting hand runs over my back. “Are you sure that’s it?”

“Yeah,” I assure him, forcing a smile. “Once things are calmed down, I’ll be fine. I am fine, I just need a little time to adjust to all the new things in my life.”

He nods and continues his soothing gestures. “As long as you’re sure. Whatever it is Cat, you can tell me.”

I turn to him, smiling brightly. “Nothing’s wrong, silly. I’m okay.” Oh God, Justin, I’m not okay. I don’t know how much longer I can bear being torn between you and what is good for me, otherwise known as Sean.

He frowns slightly, as though he knows I’m not telling the truth, before wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me in for a hug. “Me and Trace…we make you happy, right?” he mumbles into my hair. “I mean, I know we’re not as kind, or thoughtful, or supportive as we should be, but--”

I pull away form him. “Justin, don’t be ridiculous. You and Trace are the best friends I could ask for, despite the fact you both think Carmen Electra is a walking goddess,” I add, hoping to lighten the mood of the conversation before I burst into tears.

Chuckling, he shrugs cockily. “She is.”

Shaking my head, I turn back to the piano, a smile playing on my lips.

“So, what are you going to play, Mozart?”

“Nothing, idiot,” I reply cheekily, earning myself a pinch in the side. “Nah, I don’t remember any of my old songs. Why don’t you play me something?”

“Because that’s boring. Here, try do this,” his fingers splay across the keyboard and press down on the keys, playing a chord.

I copy his movement, my hands shaking slightly under his gaze, before pressing down. The clear, strong sounds, just an octave higher but otherwise identical to the one Justin just played, almost surprises me.

“Good!”

I grin helplessly. “Thanks.”

“Now do this.”

Again, I repeat what he played.

“Great Cat, you’re doing really well.”

My grin broadens as I continue to copy what he played. It isn’t exactly rocket science, all I’m doing is imitating his fingers. But the warm smiles he keeps on throwing at me are enough for me to feel like the most talented person in the world.

“You know what you just played?” he says, beaming happily.

“What?” I ask curiously.

“The opening notes to Senorita.”

My face remains blank. “Um…great.”

He rolls his eyes. “Senorita, you know…my song?” He throws his head back and closes his eyes, launching into a dramatic version of some song I vaguely recognize from the radio. “Senorita! I feel for yooooou! You deal with thangs, that you don’t have to…”

Laughing, I pinch him in the side. “Alright, alright. I can’t believe I just played your song, I am exhilarated, bla bla... ” I say in a bored tone, jokingly rolling my eyes at him.

“You should be,” he grins. “Wanna learn the whole thing?”

I shrug. “Sure. As long as you don’t mind if I laugh at some of the lyrics.”

“Whatever, closet fan,” he says, poking me in the side.

“You wish, Justin,” I retort, rolling my eyes at him.

And we’re off. Everything that’s happened in the last twenty four hours is forgotten as we just relax into each other’s company. It’s moments like this I savor. The ones where we just act like two people hanging out, flirting with each other, touching each other, not feeling awkward or embarrassed to do so. Sometimes I wish I could just forget everything I feel for him and just settle for being his friend, because I know I could do a lot worse.

“Cat, it’s not hard. Just go up like this,” he demonstrates once again, his long fingers gliding over the keys.

“Okay, this time, I got it.”

Sounds good, sounds good…shit! Wrong note.

“Come on, you can do this!” he encourages. “It’s just like the start, only quicker.”

“I know,” I exclaim angrily. “This is so frustrating!”

“Just try it once more,” he says softly. “Hey, would it help if I sang?” he nudges me playfully in the side.

“Justin, that would help as much as cutting my fingers off would.”

He laughs and, oddly, puts his arm around my waist. I sit up straighter at the sudden contact, and suddenly my fingers shake uneasily as I attempt to play the notes again. Suddenly, the only thing I can concentrate on is his fingers gently resting on my waist, his knee occasionally brushing against mine, his face so close to mine as he stares at the piano…him. All I can think about is him.

“What’s wrong, Cat?” he says quietly, clearly noticing my inability to function as my fingers play a slew of wrong notes. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

My mouth threatens to drop open in surprise, before I quickly replace it with a smile. “Of course not. Now, is this the bridge or the--”

“Cat,” he cuts me off. “Why don’t you like me touching you?”

A silence falls between us. The same silence that halted our jokey banter yesterday, up in the loft. It’s not comfortable, it’s thick with…I don’t even know what it is. It’s a mixture of awkwardness with unspoken desire. Well, for my part anyway.

I want to break it. I want to swing around and roll my eyes at him, to tell him off for even suggesting that he spread electricity through my body with one simple touch. But I can’t, because that’s exactly what he does.

I’m so sick of lying. Lying to myself, trying to convince me these feelings with pass over if I busy myself with Sean, or work, or Trace. I’m sick of lying to Sean, who doesn’t deserve this at all, but I can’t help but hold on to him and let my feelings for him grow every day. I’m sick of lying to Diane and Trace, who must be sick of my constant yo-yoing about what I should do about Justin, and tell me to admit my feelings for him, despite my claims I’m, ‘over him’.

But most of all, I’m sick of lying to him.

He doesn’t even know. He’s so blissfully unaware that his face has started to haunt my dreams, as well as my every waking thought, so it’s as if I can’t get away from him. He doesn’t know that one simple touch from him fills my entire entity with nervous desire. I wish I could tell him and just get it over with, rather then holding in this poisonous secret to myself and praying he never finds out.

Lying is a terrible thing. Before him, I never lied to anyone about anything. I was nothing special, but at least you could call me honest.

Now, what could you call me? A liar. A girl full of secrets and hidden feelings. I don’t want to be this girl anymore, but there appears to be no other alternative, other than salvaging everything Justin and I have for my stupid emotions.

I love him, so much that it hurts.

“Cat,” he whispers, and I’m startled to see his face mere inches from my own.

“Justin,” I plea, my voice coming out as a strangled cry. “What are you doing?” I ask, grappling at his fingers, which have circled and tightened around my waist. His hold on me is so tight, I can’t even shift along the bench away from him.

He’s so close, I can feel the heat from his body touching mine. I want to tell him to move away, but for some reason I can’t get the words to leave my lips.

“Please…please, just let me do this…even if it’s just once,” he whispers, his eyes scanning my face, as though I have a shred of desirability in me. Which I am certain I don’t, at least not to him.

I frown, his words throwing me into the abyss of confusion. “What?” I manage to strangle out.

And before I can stop him or myself, his lips crash upon my own

There are some things you just never expect to happen. Madonna winning an Oscar, Marilyn Manson quitting the music business and opening a bakery, pigs unexpectedly taking flight outside your window. The only time you can say you know a person, is when they can’t do anything to surprise you anymore. My theory has just come to slap me in the face.

Or, more specifically, kiss me on the lips.

I don’t know Justin, at all.

Shock freezes my entire body the second Justin’s lips land on my own. My thoughts comes to a tire-screeching standstill. My brain refuses to function. The fingers that were half-heartedly trying to pry Justin’s hand and it’s firm grasp on my hips off are suddenly brought to a halt, weaken and fall on top of his hands.

I couldn’t even begin to tell you how long I’ve wanted this. How long I’ve wanted to feel the soft skin of his lips against mine, or to feel as though he truly wanted me. It never even occurs to me to wonder what the consequences of this are, what a vulnerable position I’m putting myself in, how easily I could get hurt by this. All that matters is that he kissed me.

Justin’s lips move slightly against my own, adjusting their position so his lips aren’t just crushed against mine, but are actually in a position to caress my own.

With that one movement, a million and one thoughts come crashing down on me as shame starts to seep through every pore in my body.

What am I doing? I have a boyfriend. It doesn’t matter that Justin initiated the kiss and our lips have been touching for a bare minimum of three seconds, which probably doesn’t even qualify as a ‘peck’. But I have a boyfriend, nothing I can say will justify the fact I haven’t thrown Justin off me and slapped him for touching me.

Especially not the fact that touching me is all that I want him to do.

My thoughts and my body finally work together and I remove my hands from my hips and place them on his chest, using all the will power I have inside of me to shove him away.

“Justin,” I mumble, my lips still attached to his. I give him a firm push, my body shaking for reasons unknown. “Justin!”

His face contorts to one of shock as he is pushed to the other end of the seat. His gaze drops to my hands, which are still on his chest, holding him away from me. Or, me away from him, I don’t know.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, my breath coming out in shaky gasps as I barricade him from coming closer.

“I…I don’t know,” he replies softly, his eyes meeting mine. “I’m sorry.”

“Why did you kiss me?” I ask in hushed tones so we’re not heard. I don’t know why I asked him that. What do I want him to say? Because he felt like it?

Pain flashes through his eyes, making me wish I had used a softer tone of voice, and he bows his head. “I…just wanted to,” he whispers, his voice cracking.

Panic starts to rise in my throat. This is wrong, so wrong. Why is he acting as though I’ve just shattered every hope and dream he has? He’s not allowed to like me, he’s supposed to go for some girl who is everything I’m not. I’m ugly. I’m not skinny. I’m the pathetic girl who lusts after the guy she can never get. I’m nothing. Even the possibility of him liking me is wrong...nonsensical...the last thing anyone would expect.

“Why?” I repeat.

He doesn’t answer me for a long time. He takes his head out of his hands and stares at me, attacking me with self consciousness as I nervously tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and smooth out my top under his cool gaze.

“What do you want me to say?” he says finally. “That I care about you?”

A gasp leaves my lips before I can stop it. What did he say? I’m waiting to wake up in my bed, surrounded by my old movie posters and teddy bears that I try to keep hidden, and for this to be just another Justin-dream I’ve had. I’m waiting for him to suddenly squirt me in the face with a water pistol and burst out laughing, saying it was all a joke. I’m waiting for the tingly feeling his lips have left on mine during their brief visit to die down.

If only he had told me this four months ago. If only I didn’t care about him too. If only I wasn’t with an equally great man. If only, if only, if only…

“I--I don’t understand,” I stammer out.

He shrugs and looks down at the ivory keys of the piano. “There isn’t much to understand.”

“But…you’re breaking all the rules!” I exclaim, surprising him slightly.

“What?”

“You’re not allowed to like me!” I clutch my head with my hands. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. I’m supposed to like you, not the other way round,” I murmur softly into my hands, more to myself than him.

“Cat, what are you trying to say?” asks a soft voice, grasping my face and bringing it up to face his own.

Don’t do it, Cat. Don’t lean in, reach for his face and bring it closer to yours. Don’t succumb to all your inner urges that are screaming at you to pick up on this shred of a chance and to kiss him again. Don’t become a dirty cheater. Don’t, don’t, don’t.

Tears begin to stream down my face, but I make no attempt to brush them away. “I don’t know.”

“Do you have feelings for me, Cat?” he says, his eyes lit with what I can only assume is hope, although I have no idea why.

Terror courses through me as I struggle with his fingers, trying to get them off me. I can’t tell him. Not now, not after spending so long convincing him the opposite. “Justin, let me go.”

“No,” he whispers harshly, his grip tightening. “Tell me what you mean.”

“I--I have to go,” I whisper, my tears continuing to flow over my cheeks, unable to stop.

I pull away from him and rush up the stairs to the sanctuary of my bedroom, where things make sense, where I don’t feel confused, where I can pretend I’m not in this mess.

The angry slam of the front door a second later assures me Justin is gone, and I’m alone again.

------------------------------------------------------

I’m not a spur-of-the-moment guy. Years in the music business has taught me before you do something, it’s important to think whether it will benefit you or not, whether it is worth it, and whether it’s what you really want to do. The few times I’ve actually done something spontaneously, I always had the comfort of foreshadowing in my mind that things would turn out okay. The first time I told Britney that I loved her, the first time I decided to sing in front of people at my cousin’s wedding, the first day of preschool when I went over to Trace and asked if we could play in the sand together. Something in the back of my mind told me that it was okay to be adventurous, that I shouldn’t think about things, but should just put my reservations to the side and to do it.

So that’s why I did it. That’s why I kissed Cat.

Things almost moved in slow motion. I rested my hand on her hip, she tensed, I picked up on it. And then…I don’t know. I had to kiss her, there was no other alternative, it just had to be done. It was as though I was caught up in this little dream world where her complaints fell on deaf ears, and before I knew it my lips were touching hers.

I’ll never forget the way her entire body went rigid when I finally closed the space between us. I’ll never forget those two seconds of bliss as I felt a bond created, I felt complete, even if it was just for a few seconds.

I’ll never forget the cold slap of rejection as her hands landed on my chest and pushed me away.

The way she looked at me, it was unbelievable. As if that was the last thing she had expected me to do, which, I guess, it was. Her eyes were wide with astonishment, her arms were forming a protective wall that I wasn’t allowed into around herself as she held me off, her lips had darkened slightly at the sudden pressure my kiss had caused. I was convinced she was going to pass out from shock.

But then, her words broke through the haziness that my mind felt, and she brought me back down to earth with a crash.

“What are you doing?”

Good question, Cat. What was I doing? Breaking every rule there is in the Friends-Only Book. Moving in on someone who was already in a relationship. Forcing myself upon her, when I didn’t even know whether she wanted me to kiss her. I was doing everything I never thought I would.

She didn’t realize, but every word she said broke my heart a little more. “Why did you kiss me?”, “I don’t understand”. I didn’t feel like explaining it, I just wanted her to admit the secret feelings she too had been harboring for me, if there were any.

But of course, she didn’t. As soon as I thought I might be onto something, she ran out of the room. It’s so fucking typical of Cat, to shut off as soon as you get too close. Christ, if I didn’t love her so much I would have given up on this shit ages ago.

So, I took the mature approach and stomped out of the house, slamming the door behind me, planning to take a ride through the serene streets of Tennessee. I didn't even care that my actions were similiar to that of a teenage girl, and for some reason, I find myself driving to the grocery store, where we first met, about six months ago.

It’s surreal to walk through the aisles, knowing I don’t have her at the other side of the counter to scan my barcodes and makes sarcastic comments. I pick up a copy of The Daily Buzz, that newspaper she works for, and begrudgingly read my way through that abortion thing her and Sean have spent the past few months working on. It occurs to me that if they hadn’t had to write that and been forced to spend so much time together, they probably wouldn’t have hooked up in the first place.

Or maybe I’m just saying that to make myself feel better.

I smile at the person behind the counter and give her an autograph as she hyperventilates and holds up the queue. I wonder what Cat would do if I gave her an autograph. Laugh her ass off and burn it probably.

I should regret what I did, really. I should be scolding myself for making a pass at her when I know full well she’s with Sean, and happy to top it off. But I don’t. Of course, there’s the chance she hates me and is going to pull out feminist bullshit next time I see her, but I doubt it. She’s either meant to be with me or no one at all, I just know it. As I drive around the quiet streets, all I can think about is the faintest glimmer of hope she gave me when I asked her how she felt about me. She just has so many impenetrable walls around her, protecting herself, her heart, her everything.

And I'm the one who's meant to break them down.

----------------------------------------------

I vaguely remember Justin once bitching about the phrase ‘Things always look better in the morning’. He said people only said that to stop people committing suicide during the night.

I’m beginning to think he might be right.

He didn’t come back last night. Trace happily informed me that Justin was staying the night at his mother’s and then proceeded to rip Justin to shreds, the phrase, ‘Momma’s Boy’ becoming a recurring theme. I was tempted to tell him or Diane about what happened between us, but I decided against it. Despite the fact I told Diane every little detail of my numbingly boring life, this was just too personal. It was between me and Justin only.

I hope he isn’t too mad at me.

I stroll into the office, dragging my feet on the linoleum floors because I just feel too confused to pick them up, and finally reach my desk, promptly dropping my things on it.

“Hey sweetheart,” greets Sean, planting a quick kiss on my treacherous lips.

“Hi,” I mumble, my stomach tying in guilty knots the moment he touched me.

“I thought we were going to do something this weekend?” he asks, tapping in his password at the computer, his broad shoulders covered only by the thin, white cotton of his shirt, so I can see the tattoo on his back, which I so lovingly gaze at whenever we’re together.

“Sorry,” I stammer, feeling my tear ducts prepare for another outpour. “I just got so bogged up in…”

“Justin and Trace?” he answers, smirking slightly.

My eyes widen. He knows. “God Sean, I’m--”

“Trace called to say he’s found an online bacon community that he thinks you should join.”

What? “What are you talking about?” I ask confusedly, my elaborate apology crumbling at the mention of an online bacon community.

Sean spins around and clasps my hips, pulling me nearer to him. “He just called and left a message. Oh, and he’s sorry that he missed you this morning.”

I shrug and feel my sensitive nerves calm down a bit. I should have known Sean wouldn't have a clue. He doesn't feel the least bit threatened by Justin or Trace. I once remember he mentioning how they just weren't my type, to which I had shrugged and half-heartedly agreed with. It's true Sean is more similiar to my ex boyfriends than Justin or Trace, but that is hardly a compliment.

“I love that little guy,” says Sean, smiling and shaking his head at Trace’s weirdness.

“Mm,” I respond, pulling away and sitting down at my computer. I don’t want him to touch me, I just don’t. Especially when I realize he is merely retracing the path of Justin's warm hands from yesterday. “So, what did you do this weekend?”

“Missed you,” he mumbles, sliding his chair over to my desk and kissing my neck from behind.

“Sean,” I mutter, putting a hand to his face and cupping his cheek. “We’re supposed to be working.”

“Supposed to being the operative words,” he murmurs, leaving a trail of kisses from my neck down my shoulder, gently tugging at my shirt to touch the bare skin of my shoulder.

“Sean,” I repeat, my voice gaining a note of authority. “Stop it.”

In the reflection of my computer screen, he frowns. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I snap.

“Are you sure?” he persists. “Have you had an argument with Justin or Trace or something?”

“This has nothing to do with them. I just don’t feel like putting on a show for the rest of the office, that’s all,” I huff, brushing my hair behind my shoulder.

“Ouch,” he whispers, sliding away from me back to his side of the cubicle.

I put my head in my hands, “Shit,” I mutter, before inching my chair next to his. “I’m sorry Sean, I’m just a little stressed, that’s all.”

Is it just me, or am I constantly making excuses for my behavior these last few days?

“It’s okay,” he says happily, turning around and giving me a quick kiss on the cheek, causing guilt to once again stream through my body. “You just seem a little off, that’s all.”

I should tell him. I have to tell him. If I don’t, I’m no better than any other cheating girlfriend out there.

“It’s nothing,” I reply, smiling brightly.

“Good,” he turns back to his computer, oblivious to the pained expression that goes over my face as I realize how amazing this man truly is.

I can’t tell him.

Turning back to my computer, I reluctantly turn it on and start working, my mind a million miles from the article I’m supposed to be writing.

It isn't until the violent vibration of my phone distracts my attention that I actually put all my throughts to the side. I flip it open, ready to press the accept call button, before realizing who it is.

Justin.

Why the hell is he calling me? Does he not realize I’m trying my best to push him out of my mind and forget about the dreamlike events of the past day? I hastily drop my cell and glance around, as though someone is pointing at me, screaming, “We know what you did, you terrible person.”

My wandering eyes repeatedly land on the small cell phone, lying innocently on my desk, with a bright blue message saying, “1 New Voicemail”.

“Cat, I’m gonna go to the deli to pick up our order, okay?”

“Great. Make sure it’s white bread,” I chirp happily as Sean drops a kiss on my head before throwing on his light jacket.

My fingernails tap irritatingly on the desk. My eyes won’t stop darting towards my phone. My left legs begins to jig up and down as my thoughts are plagued by what is message says.

Groaning, I give in to my inner urges and grab the phone, my eyes nervously flying around the room, in case someone’s watching me.

“Cat, it’s Justin.” He sighs. “Look, I know I’m the last person you want to hear from right now, and you’re probably just not picking up your phone because you know it’s me.”

Shit. The boy is smarter than he looks.

“I’m sorry about earlier, I had no right to…”

My head collapses into my hands as I await the, “I just wasn’t thinking” speech that people always give when they make awful mistakes. It’s the thing you say to your one night stand once the beer wears off and you see what they really look like. It’s a regular crock of shit, with overused phrases like, “I’m sorry”, and “I’m just not looking for a relationship now.

And that is exactly what I’m about to hear from Justin. Bracing myself, I rub my closed eyes and wearily hold the phone against my ear, waiting for, ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’

“Oh, fuck this.”

My eyes shoot open in surprise.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Cat. I don’t regret kissing you, God, if I could I’d…anyway, I don’t know how you feel about what happened, but I…shit, I fucking hate talking to machines.”

He stops and sighs angrily, as a smile creeps onto my lips. He’s normally so refined, so smooth, so well rehearsed. I almost forget what he’s saying when I realize he feels like the rest of us mere mortals: Awkward, confused, and self conscious.

“I know you, Cat. I know how you want to act about this. You want to pretend nothing happened, and that things are just peachy between us, when we both know they’re not. We can’t pretend what happened didn’t happen.”

I almost protest. Why not? Why endure awkwardness and nerves when we could easily just say it never happened? I would blissfully sweep everything under the rug and carry on loving Justin without anything in return. I’ve been doing it for the past six months, for heavens sake.

“I know you didn’t really have a say in it and I’m sorry I pushed myself on you, and I know you probably hate me and never want to see me again…”

In the midst of his rambles, my smile fades into a smirk. How wrong he is.

“But the fact is Cat, I lo-…shit, I can’t say this over a machine. Listen, we need to talk about yesterday, face to face.”

My hands begin to tremble. The very idea of being in the same room as Justin, knowing he has feelings of some sort for me, makes my bones shake.

Suddenly, Justin’s voice drops into barely over a whisper, and I press the phone hard against my cheek, drinking in his every word.

“I don’t know what this is Cat, but I know you feel it too.”

You know how some people that have these little funny things that they do under pressure? It makes them look adorable, and you just want to pinch their cheeks for being so cute. Justin, of course, has the adorable habit of licking his lips when he’s nervous, not only increasing my million and one thoughts about him, but making a few X-rated.

But then you get the other people who, when tense, make themselves look like complete idiots by tapping their foot or humming a tune off key, and you just want to slap them. Or, at the very least, tell them how stupid they look whilst they do it.

Guess which category I fall into.

I have this really annoying inclination to twist my hair around my fingers. Don’t ask me what the appeal of frizzing my hair by raveling and unraveling it is, because I honestly couldn’t tell you. It’s just one of those habits that I can’t seem to kick, unless I shaved off all my hair, and that would just be ugly.

Okay, so I’m mentally rambling. Even in my thoughts, I’m avoiding the issue that lies on the opposite side of the heavy oak door stood before me.

Justin.

I wonder how many times I’ve stood motionless outside this door, rapidly twisting my hair around my fingers at lightening speed, chewing my bottom lip, and trying to work up the courage to just open the goddamn door.

Would it be wrong of me to turn around, jump into my car and speed off into the distance? Yes, it would mean I was taking direction from that of a twelve-year-old, but at least I wouldn’t have to go through the awkward agony of confrontation.

Should I go in? Should I face the problem I’ve had for the past six months? Should I listen to the coward in me who is answering yes?

Maybe.

I spin around and start the three-step journey to the path leading to my car. On the second step, I stop, turn around, and mentally scold myself for giving up so easily. Two minutes later, shaking my head, I start to descend again, ready to retreat to the safe haven of my car, not even caring about my less than brave attitude.

“Cat?”

Shit.

I slowly turn on my heel, forcing my lips into a smile. “Hey Justin,” I greet him happily, in a manner similar to that of Martha Stewart on pot.

“Good day at work?”

What? When did his torn up demeanor that he had on the phone fade into undiluted nonchalance? “Um…yeah, thanks. It was okay.”

“Good, good.”

He stares at me for a moment, as though he’s expecting me to say something. I would if I could, but the expression, ‘Cat got your tongue’ doesn’t even come close to the inadequacy I have to form a sentence under his calm gaze.

A slow grin creeps onto his face. “So, how long were you planning on staying out here?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Stop blushing. Stop blushing.

“I just got here,” I say, my brilliant attempt at sounding confident failing miserably.

“Cat, I saw your car arrive about ten minutes ago.”

Shit.

I choose not to respond, and can chalk this up to being my most embarrassing moment in life, bar the time I tripped up in front of my entire school at our comedy night and got the biggest laugh of the whole night.

“So…are you going to come in?”

“I don’t know,” I mumble quietly, wrapping a section of hair around my index finger.

“Okay, then we can just talk out here,” he says, closing the door slightly and brushing the steps of dirt before sitting on them.

I roll my eyes. “Justin, I may be an idiot, but I do understand the concept of reverse psychology.”

He grins. “Are you going to come in, then?”

“Whatever,” I mutter, following inside.

I hear the soft click of the door as it closes behind me, and before I know it, Justin and I are standing, face to face, in the living room.

In silence.

“We’re not very good at talking, are we?” he says jokingly, digging his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“I guess not.”

How can he be so cool, and calm, and reserved? As though this is just a run of the mill occurrence? I’m giving myself gray hairs just standing opposite him, but he still looks like the epitome of tranquillity and relaxation.

I look like some nervous kid who has to go to the dentist.

He clears his throat. “I guess I should go first then…”

“Sure.”

“I–I know I surprised you when I kissed you.”

“No shit.” Nice Cat, very ladylike.

He licks his lips and shrugs, giving me the slightest comfort in the fact that he feels the nerves as much as I do. “I’m going to be honest with you, otherwise we won’t get anywhere.” He takes a shaky breath as I nod in agreement. He can be honest, I’ll just listen. “I don’t regret it,” he says after a silence.

I laugh uneasily, trying to inject an element of humor into the suddenly stifling atmosphere. “Well, thanks.”

His eyes, conveying nothing but stern sombreness, drained of the laughter it held a moment ago, stare at me intently. “Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Regret what happened?”

My eyes drop to the floor. “I don’t know,” I whisper honestly, my voice becoming thick with the rapidly approaching tears. I quickly rub my eyes as they focus on my shoes, angry at myself to be teary eyed this early in our conversation.

Taking a breath, I try to gather myself enough to talk. “Why did you do it?” I timidly ask, staring intently as I dig one toe into the plush carpet of the living room.

He takes a step towards me, closing the large gap between us. “Because I wanted to,” he says quietly, putting a hand on my cheek and tilting my head up to face him.

Feeling my body quiver at his touch, I try to grasp at any composure I once held as the warmth from his hand spreads across my face.

“It’s all I’ve wanted to do for a long time,” he whispers, tilting his head to the side as he stares at me.

My eyes flutter close as he advances towards me and inches his hands onto my hips, confining me to his grip, until there is no space between us at all.

“And I know…” His lips drop a light kiss on my cheek. “That I won’t regret it this time either…”

---------------------------------------------------

Can you imagine us,
Making love...
The way you would feel the first time that we touched

Obeying every fiber in my body that was screaming me to do so, my lips softly graze Cat’s, the same electricity spreading through my body as it had yesterday by the piano.

Can you think of it…
The way I dream of it,
I want you to see like I’m seeing you…
It's a picture of perfection
The vision of you and I

I pull back slightly, my lips burning from the desire of even a slight touch, as a soft sigh escapes her lips. Smiling slightly at her flushed appearance and closed eyes, my lips return to hers, a hint of the desperate urgency in the pit of my stomach showing as I press slightly harder against her.

Your lips upon my lips
(can you just picture this)
Your fingertips on my fingertips
Your skin upon my skin
Would be the sweetest sin
That would be the sweetest sin, yeah

The hand resting on her cheek slowly moves up to her hair, releasing it from the grasp of her clip and tossing it to the side, as her hair falls in waves past her shoulders.

All night I lie awake
’Cause it's too much to take
Dreaming about the love that we could make

Just like she did in my dreams, her hands tentatively slide up into my hair, resting in the small nest of curls forming on my head. She leans her head to the side and shyly accepts my advances to deepen the kiss, our bodies closer than they ever have been.

All day I think of schemes
To get you next to me
I want you so bad that I can barley breathe
It's a sign of my obsession
That I can't stop thinking 'bout

My fingers inch ever so slowly up her shirt, touching the expanse of skin along the small of her back.

Immediately, she panics, quickly trying to pull my hand out of her shirt.

“Justin,” she begins, breaking away from me for the first time in what seems like hours, but is in fact minutes. “I don’t think you should be…” she trails off as I trace a line of butterfly kisses along her neck.

“What?” I murmur against her soft skin, burying my face into her neck. “Don’t be shy of your body, sweetheart.”

“Oh God,” she moans slightly, placing her hand on the back of my head, pushing my lips closer against her neck. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispers.

“I know,” I reply, continuing my soft kisses down her collarbone.

“This isn’t going to change anything. I’ve still got Sean and I can’t just jump out of a relationship to be with you–”

“I know,” I repeat, moving my kisses back up to her jaw, trying to ignore the fact I had seen Sean kiss her here before. “But I don’t want to think about the future, I don’t think about Sean, or what we’re going to do, I just wanna…” I pant slightly, gazing at her as though she was mine to stare at.

Your lips upon my lips
(can you just picture this)
Your fingertips on my fingertips
Your skin upon my skin
Would be the sweetest sin, yeah

Your lips upon my lips
(Can you envision it)
Temptation I could never resist
Your skin upon my skin
Would be the sweetest sin, yeah

Our lips fuse together once again in a frenzy of passion, her hands desperately clutching at my T-shirt, pulling me towards her, and I willingly obliging.

It would feel so good
To be so bad
You don't know how bad
I want that
I would do anything
To feel…

I know this probably won’t amount to anything. Cat just dutifully reminded me that she is in a relationship. Just because I’ve elicited a few moans from her, does not mean I will be the instigator of a break up for them.

For all I know, this could be the last time I ever even touch Cat.

Your lips upon my lips
(can you just picture this)
Your fingertips on my fingertips.
Your skin upon my skin
Would be the sweetest sin, yeah

Your lips upon my lips
(can you envision it)
Your fingertips on my fingertips
Your skin upon my skin
Would be the sweetest sin, yeah

Slowly, the warmth of her plump body leaves me as she pulls away, exuding shame, trying to hide the lust still in her eyes.

“I can’t do this…as much as I want to, I just can’t…” she sobs, pulling her shirt down and stepping away from me, before turning and fleeing from the room.

The front door slams and the screech of tires is heard as she speeds away.

“I love you,” I whisper.

But she can’t hear me.


Lyrics: Jessica Simpson-Sweetest Sin

I don’t remember getting in the car. I don’t remember driving along that familiar dirt track which leads to a short cut. I don’t remember pulling up in his driveway. I don’t even remember ringing his doorbell.

But here I am, waiting for his green eyes to greet me on the other side of the door.

What am I going to say? “Hey Sean, guess what I just spent the last ten minutes doing. Committing adultery and getting hot with Justin Timberlake? Yup, you got it.” Good plan, Cat.

Oh God. Oh God. I can’t believe I did that. What kind of woman am I? Cheaters are disgusting. They’re cowards who don’t have the courage to break it off with their partner. They’re weak, and give into the slightest of temptation. They don’t understand the meaning of ‘trust’ and ‘commitment’, they’re just selfish, selfish people.

And now I’m one of them.

I couldn’t describe it if I tried. A few words were exchanged, before we were thrust into this dreamlike haze. In one quick stride he had crossed the room, gently cupped my cheek with his hand, and allowed his eyes to hold me capture, making me feel electric with want. His hands went on my hips, his lips touched my cheek ever so lightly, and then…oh, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alive.

The subtle scent of his cologne wrapped itself around me, as did his arms, his hands, his lips. I could feel his touch all over my body. Occasionally gentle, sometimes demanding more of me, which I eagerly gave.

It was a soft kiss at first, as though he was testing the waters and seeing whether I was going to throw him off. Being the weak and terrible person that I am, I didn’t, and allowed his lips to capture my own once again…

Every pore in my body felt him. I was intoxicated by him; his touch, his lips, his hands. Even when I tried to pull away from him when I realized his hand was going up my shirt to less than toned skin, he still managed to pull me back with the force of a magnet, until I had closed the gap between us and was pressed up against him again.

But I stopped. I had to. I can’t kiss someone when I know I have a boyfriend out there. A perfectly trusting, unsuspicious boyfriend, who has never done anything to hurt me. All I’ve ever done is treat him like shit.

And now I’m at his front door, with my guilty conscience weighing heavily on my mind, and my hands twisting the disheveled hair that had once been held up in a clip.

But Justin took the clip out and threw it to the side, before slowly running his hands through my hair and then trailing them down my back...

“Cat!” Sean exclaims, his green eyes widening slightly. “What a great surprise! Come on in,” he holds the door open for me and I cautiously step over the threshold into his house, his lips dropping a quick kiss on my lips.

For reasons unknown to myself, I reach up and trace the contours of my tainted lips, still feeling the burning touch from Justin’s. It’s as though I can still feel him, pressed up against me, his hands traveling all over my body and me not having a care in the world.

“What are you doing?” he asks, staring at me.

My head snaps up with a jolt. “Oh…” my hand quickly returns to my side. “Nothing. Sorry.”

He shrugs happily. “No problem. Want anything to drink?” enquires his distant voice, as I perch myself on the couch in his living room and he goes to the kitchen to root through his refrigerator for drinks.

“Um…water, please,” I croak out, my throat suddenly dry from nerves.

He soon returns with a glass of water and hands it to me with a smile. “There you go.”

“Thanks,” I reply, smiling weakly and taking a sip of the water, before placing it on the coffee table.

“So, what do I owe the pleasure of this fine visit?” he says, swinging an arm over my shoulder and grinning.

I shrug uncomfortably and attempt at some sort of a smile. “I just felt like coming over, I guess.” Tell him, just tell him. You’ll feel better when you do.

“Great,” he relieves my shoulders of his arm and props his elbow on the head rest of the couch. “Actually, I was wondering whether you wanted to meet my family this weekend. We’re having this little get-together and they want to hear about the girl I’ve been ranting about all this time.” He finishes his sentence with a smile and taps my knee affectionately.

As if I couldn’t feel worse about myself.

“Well, sure, I’d love to, but--”

“Oh! Before I forget to mention, there’s this photography exhibition down in Memphis in a few weeks. We should probably check it out, perhaps turn it into an article.”

Suddenly, it feels as though the room is spinning around me. I can’t possibly sit here, innocently sipping water as Sean cheerfully discusses fun, couple activities for us, especially when I notice the faint linger of Justin's cologne on my clothes.

“Actually Sean, there’s something I need to talk to you about,” I say, more calmly then I feel, turning to him and clasping my hands together.

“Okay,” he places his glass on the table. “What is it?”

I open my mouth, but the words seem to catch on their way up my throat and linger inside of me, where I’m beginning to think they should stay.

No, I can’t keep this a secret. It’ll make things so much worse.

“Well…” I begin unsuccessfully, quickly grasping my glass and gratefully coating my dry throat. “Look, Sean, I’m going to have to be honest with you here…”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Cat,” he says kindly, gazing at me as though I’m some beautiful diamond in the rough.

Shame once again suffocates me as he looks at me lovingly. Honestly, how could I do this to him? Damn Justin and his infactuating lips.

Noticing my inability to function, he soothingly places a hand on my knee. “Look, if this is about the whole family thing, then you don’t have to. I just thought you might want to, but honestly, there’s no pressure--”

“No, that’s not it Sean!” I snap angrily, his benevolence irritating me because all it does is remind me how I have to break his heart.

“Okay,” he says, somewhat dejectedly, as he removes his hand from my knee.

“No, I’m sorry, I just…” I bury my face in my hands. “God Sean, you’re too good for me.”

“Don’t be silly,” he scoffs, clearly thinking I’m pulling the modest card.

“No, really,” I turn to look at him, feeling the little respect I ever had for myself ebb away. “You don’t understand.”

He rolls his eyes. “Cat, if this is you on one of your little, ‘Oh, I’m so fat and ugly’ trips, then I’m not interested, because you and I both know you’re gor--”

“I kissed Justin.”

The room is suddenly enveloped in silence. His green eyes, which I once so jokingly called emeralds just to annoy him, widen with hurt. Disbelief crosses his features, his mouth opening wordlessly, his frame abruptly coming to a standstill as he stares at me in shock.

Biting my bottom lip, I try my hardest to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t reply, instead continuing to stare at him, his gaze slowly turning into a confused frown.

“I--it just happened. I didn’t mean to…” I trail off, knowing my pathetic attempts to justify what I did are pointless. It was wrong, plain and simple. Nothing I can say will change that.

“What?” he finally gasps out, his once strong, deep voice reduced to a whisper.

“I…kissed him,” I repeat, succumbing to the urge to avoid eye contact and instead stare at my twisted hands. “Or…he kissed me, I don’t know. But it happened.”

He remains silent, but out of the corner of my eye, I see his head sink into his hands.

I rub my eyes, knowing I don’t have the right to cry. He has the right to be upset, to be angry, to lash out at me. But me…I don’t think I even deserve oxygen to breathe on.

“Why?” he whispers, his voice cracking. “Why would you do that to me?”

Because I’m weak. Because he did it. Because I wasn‘t thinking about repercussions, but only the feeling of his lips against mine. “I…I don’t know,” I answer pathetically, my quiet voice slicing through the silent room. “I’m so sorry.”

“Did you sleep with him?” he asks, turning his head to me, showing me his tear-filled eyes for the first time.

“No, of course not,” I exclaim, as though it’s preposterous.

But then I realize it isn’t. I’ve always considered myself moral, and trustworthy, but I’m not. I didn’t think I was capable of doing this to Sean, but I did. Who’s to say if I had stayed in that room for another minute, or two, or less, that I wouldn’t have yielded to temptation and just given up to Justin?

The thought alone makes me ashamed.

“I--I didn’t want to lie to you.”

He lets out a cold laugh. “You know what? I wish you had.”

“I didn’t think you’d be upset,” I reply softly, before realizing I’m in no place to turn accusations on him.

“Is that why you did it? To get my attention?”

“No!” I cry out. “I didn‘t mean it like that.”

“Am I not good to you?” he asks desperately, clutching to my arm and staring at me, with those eyes still full of hurt.

“Oh God Sean, you’re too good to me,” I whisper, a tear trickling down my cheek. “This had nothing to do with you.”

“Then why did you do it?” he retorts, a unexpected harsh edge taking over his voice, masking his hurt. “Come on Cat, he’s not even that good looking.”

I don’t reply, but instead stare into the hands lying in my lap.

“Is it because he’s a pop star?”

I roll my eyes, my tears drying up. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Says the girl who just cheated,” he replies coldly.

I deserved that. “I can’t apologize enough Sean…”

“No, you can’t, because it won’t change anything.” He jumps off the couch, running his hand through his jet black hair as I timidly watch him from my seated position.

“Fuck!” he suddenly shouts, making me jump. “How could this fucking happen?” he questions, shaking his head as he paces the living room. “I’m going to kill him,” he announces.

“Don’t bother,” I reply tiredly, exhaustion crashing down on me. “Leave him out of this.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t there two people in that kiss?”

“Yes, and I was one of them,” I snap, standing up, his intimidating figure towering over me. “Whatever you have to say, you say to me.”

“What does this mean?”

“What?”

“For us,” he replies, turning to look at me. “Clearly, we're not together any more," he spits spitefully.

I close my eyes and run a hand through my hair. "Not at the moment, no," I whisper.

He turns away and curses under his breath, before turning to me angrily. "Cat, you and I both know we would last a hell of a lot longer than you and Justin ever would.”

“What do you mean?” I say.

“Cat,” he sighs, taking my hands in his. “Look, I understand why you would kiss him. He’s rich, he’s famous, he’s every girl’s dream.”

“Don’t patronize me, Sean,” I snap, his condescending tone that he used on Justin in the restaurant hitting a nerve.

He rolls his eyes. “But think about it…he’s lives on a whole other planet, Cat. He cares about his clothes, his music, his parties…you and I don’t care about that shit.”

I shrug helplessly, my hands still encased by his. “I know.”

“We like going to museums, we like writing, we like talking about politics. We make sense, Cat,” he says sincerely, and I know he has a legitimate point. “You and him…don’t. It would last for a few months and then fizzle out.”

My eyes cast downwards. “I know…”

“We’re two of a kind, Cat, we want the same things in life. You have to see that.”

I shift uncomfortably, all his words making perfect sense and yet…not making any sense at all.

“Do you care about me?” he asks quietly, his eyes suddenly filled with a boyish innocence, as though he’s scared I’ll say no.

“Of course I do,” I reply softly. “I do care about you Sean, and my intentions were never to ruin things for us. Things just got…out of control. I’m so sorry.”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay. As long as I make you happy, then it’s okay, we could move on.” He pauses, and sighs. “But I don‘t want to be with someone who doesn‘t want to be with me.”

I bow my head and nod.

"But I don't want to throw this away. I think we could go the whole way, you know.”

“What?”

He smiles shyly. “You and me. We could make it, Cat. Marriage, kids…everything. I could honestly spend the rest of my life with you.”

I gasp at his words, his fingers tightening around mine.

He pauses and breathes heavily, exuding nervousness. "If that's what you want. Is it?"

My heart jumps into my throat. He can’t expect me to answer that now. Marriage...children...they had never been mentioned before now. But, as the nervous anxiety settles in my stomach, I realize the seriousness of my situation. Torn between two equally great men, one of whom I may actually spend the rest of my life with, isn't the same as deciding my prom date. This is my future

“Sean…that’s a lot to ask me…”

“Am I what you want?” he repeats urgently. “If Justin is who you want to be with, then fine, just tell me.”

Taking a breath, I answer him more honestly than I have all night.

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t worry,” Diane repeats, clearly hoping that the echo of these words will somehow lodge them in my brain and ease me nerves.

“Diane, what am I going to say to him, exactly?”

She shrugs. “The truth.”

“The truth? The truth!” I exclaim, widening my eyes in indignation. “The truth is Diane, I am treating these two great guys who could do better than me, like god damn candy bars, by saying, ‘Sorry guys, but I gotta pick one of ya’. That is the truth!”

Diane bites her lip, hiding the smirk she always reserves for my dramatics. “Yeah, that sounds good. Leave out the candy bar bit though, it’s a little theatrical.”

“Ugh!” I groan, slapping a hand to my forehead. “How is this funny, may I ask?”

“It wouldn’t be Cat, but somehow you’re making it hilarious,” she giggles, covering her mouth quickly.

“Well thank you, thank you very much!”

“Cat, come on! Just calm down!”

“Calm down? Calm down!”

“Do you notice that by repeating all my words, you’re really wasting a fair amount of useful oxygen?”

Rolling my eyes, I lean against the closed door, which I am yet to open. “I’m sorry. I’m just nervous.”

“Why? This just Justin,” she shrugs, rubbing my shoulder. “Cat, all you’re going to say to him is ‘Look, I need some time alone to think, so I’m spending a few nights at my good friend Diane’s, okay?’ And then he’s going to go,” she coughs, and tries her best Justin voice. “‘Oh, sure, my secret love, no prob.’ Then, you’re going to come back here and we’ll try and figure this mess out!”

“You make it sound so easy,” I groan, rubbing my eyes. “I’ll probably end up naked on the floor before I can even say hello.”

Diane raises an eyebrow. “Oh really? A persuasive fella, is he?”

“You have no idea,” I mutter, giving her a quick hug for the support she showed me last night. I arrived at her house, a sniveling mess, and recapped my dilemma for her. She was on hand with chocolate and an eager ear, fulfilling all her best friend duties.

I need some time away from both of them, I think. Some time to think, to moan it out with Diane, to just be alone. Of course, after my abrupt exit from Justin’s, I could be in a dumpster for all he knows, so Diane suggested I simply go over there, explain I’m staying at hers, and then come back. What’s that phrase again? Oh yes, I remember now…

Easier said, than done.

“Remember, just keep it simple. Tell him you’re going to be away for a few days, and then leave. Don’t get roped into a conversation or…” she wiggles her eyebrows. “Something naughty.”

Giggling, I open the door. “I’ll try. Oh, and can you call my work and tell them I’m ill? Say I got flu or something,” I add, waving my hand.

“Sure,” she replies, stepping into the doorway as I walk to my car. “Good luck!” she calls out.

Why do I have the feeling I’m going to need it?

----------------------------------------------

One day, five hours, and twenty seven minutes since I last felt Cat’s touch, saw her face, heard her voice. It’s been one day, five hours and twenty seven minutes since I’ve had any contact at all with her, and I have yet to find a plausible reason as to why she would ever come back. If I were her, I would stay away from me like the plague. Oh, wait a second…one day, five hours and twenty eight minutes.

But hey, who’s counting?

Hearing the plod of footsteps above me, I know Trace is awake. He has some weird sixth sense about him, and has spent the last few days visiting various relatives, coincidently missing all the action between myself and Cat. Last night I sat him down, ready to have a real heart-to-heart by confessing all these feelings that have been torturing me the past few months, and what do I find out?

The little bastard knew already.

“Trace, can I talk to you?” I whisper.

He wipes his hands on the kitchen towel. “Sure. What’s up?”

I take a deep breath. “There’s no…easy way for me to say this, but…”

“Come on man, what is it?”

“You know how I said Cat was just staying with Sean tonight?”

“Yeah…”

“Well the reason that she’s not…um…here, is because…

Trace rolls his eyes. “Jesus man, do I gotta beat it out of you?”

“Something happened between me and Cat,” I blurt out hastily, recoiling in anticipation for his reaction.

His expression remains eerily placid. “Oh, really?”

“I…well, we, kissed. For, um, a while.”

“Why?” he asks distractedly, examining the tattoo on his left arm.

Ah, the dreaded question. Taking another inhale of breath, I look him in the eyes. “Because lately, my feelings towards Cat have been…less than platonic.” I close my eyes, bracing myself for Trace’s shock.

He laughs. “It’s about time man, it’s about time.”

I open one eye. “What?”

He tosses the towel onto the counter. “It’s about time. I mean, come on dude, I was going to hit you over the head with the Book of Love if you hadn’t figured it out sooner.”

“What? I mean, what?” I gasp. “How could you possibly have known?”

He taps the side of his head. “More than just a hat rack, my friend.”

So he knew. The little bastard knew, probably even before I did. How unfair is life?

The ding dong of the bell tears me out of my thoughts, and eventually drag myself up to get it, once I realize I’m not going to hear the patter of Trace’s feet coming down the stairs to answer the door.

Running a hand through my hair tiredly, I swing open the door, ready to kill any young girls with uniforms and cookies who might be on the other side. “Can I help you?” I ask in a dull voice, squinting at the sun shining directly in my eyes.

“Well, I don’t know. I presume I do still live here, right?” answers a voice I can tell belongs to a smiling owner.

I duck my head so I can see clearly. “Cat! What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk but I left my house keys here, so I had to ring the doorbell,” she says sheepishly, the sun casting a golden glow over her. She looks like an angel.

“Oh. Well, come on in,” I reply, opening the door for her, just as a gust of wind catches her brown hair slightly, making it ripple.

Stop it Justin. These thoughts must cease immediately.

It’s so strange to think that a mere, what…one day, five hours and thirty one minutes ago, my tongue was down her throat.

I said immediately, didn’t I?

“Um, so yeah, I came to speak with you,” she says, sitting down awkwardly on one of the couches, rubbing her hands together.

She’s as nervous as I am. That’s comforting, in a strange, selfish way.

“Our last talk wasn’t very successful, was it?” I joke, sitting down beside her.

She bristles as my arm lightly touches her. “Well, no, it wasn’t,” she replies, blushing and looking into her lap.

“It was special,” I whisper, knowing I should be ashamed for acting like such a sappy guy, but finding the words roll from my lips nonetheless.

“It was,” she replies quietly, her gaze fixed at her lap. “I just came to say I’m staying with Diane for a few days.”

“Okay,” I nod. “Anything else?” I says tactfully.

“I broke up with Sean,” she announces, before clapping her hand to her mouth, as though she didn’t mean to say that.

My stomach drops. My heart leaps. My insides are an acrobatic mess as her words seem to reverberate around the room. She broke up with green eyes, black hair, perfect body guy? Well, ain’t that a bitch?

A smile creeps onto my face as she turns to me. “Just for now, though. Until I…you know, get my head around everything.”

My smile vanishes. They haven‘t broken up, it‘s just some stupid break. Fantastic. “Sure, I understand.” I pause, looking at the rug before turning my head to her. “Does he know what happened? You know…with us?”

“Yes,” she replies quietly.

“Was he angry?”

“He wasn’t happy,” she says honestly. “But he was as understanding as he could be.”

My eyes roll of their own accord. “Well, he would be,” I grunt sarcastically.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she snaps sharply.

“Nothing.”

“Justin, come on.” She rolls her eyes. “You and I would get by a lot easier if we cut the crap and just said what was on our minds, you know.”

Funnily enough, I can’t disagree. “Okay, you want to know what I honestly think?”

“Yes.”

“I think Sean is a boring, cabbage-with-the-personality-removed, pain in the ass.” She sends me a shocked look, but I continue. “Does the guy ever do anything wrong? No, of course not.” I lower my voice an octave and strengthen my accent. “Hi, I’m Sean, and I just want to say I know everything.”

“Justin, you’re being childish.”

“My idea of fun is sitting around and catching up on current politics, or perhaps have an in depth discussion on the tax system,” I continue, my Sean impression not wavering. “Or hey, lets go crazy, lets try and name all the presidents in order and then discuss their strengths and weaknesses.”

“Justin,” she interrupts again. “Crappy impressions aren’t going to get us anywhere.”

My voice cracks as tears begin to make their way to my eyes. “And all I do is stare at Cat, and hug her, and kiss her, doing everything us couples do. I like to let everyone know that no matter how hard they try, or how much they love her, no one can ever get close to us.”

“What?”

My eyes meet hers in a clash of blue. She stares at me enquiringly, wanting to know whether she fully understood what I just said, as I return her gaze with utter defeat.

“I’m sick of playing these games, Cat,” I whisper, returning to my normal voice. “I can’t pretend any longer Cat…I love you. I have for a long time.”

She gasps as her hand flies to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. “Why did you say that?”

“Because it’s true,” I whimper, suddenly clutching her hands. “Look Cat, I know I haven’t got the intelligence, and I know our future has a much more rocky road than you and Sean’s ever would, but if you could just take a chance on us--”

“Justin, you don’t love me! Don’t be so ridiculous!” she cries, frowning at me, expecting me to take it back.

“Why not?”

“Because…I’m me. I’m the girl who’s destined to marry some balding bank worker or perhaps die a spinster with a wicked sense of humor,” she rambles helplessly, waving her hands about. “I’m not the girl who dates a hot pop star! It’s, it’s…absurd!”

“No one said love was easy,” I reply rationally, smiling at her weakly.

“No one said love existed between us,” she spits angrily, her words diving straight through my heart.

At my torn expression, her toughness backs down. “Do you know how hard this is for me, Justin?” she says, her tone softening as tears roll miserably down her face. “For once in my life, I finally find someone who’s willing to be with me, and then you have to come and screw it all up with a stupid crush!”

“You can belittle my feelings all you want Cat, it doesn’t change the fact that I love you!” I reply harshly.

“Stop saying that!” she retorts, covering her ears. “You’re lying, you’re just lying,” she sobs helplessly, cradling her head in her hands as she gently rocks back and forth, repeating those words to herself.

Immediately regretting the severity of my voice, I kneel down in front of her, gently pulling away her hand from her ears. I hold her hand in my own as she stares up at me, tear stains marring her cheeks as her hair falls before her face.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I whisper, tucking a strand behind her ear. “But I have to be honest with you. I do love you, and I’ll do whatever I can to make you see that.”

“I want to believe you, but I know if I do, I’d never forgive myself if it wasn’t true.” She sighs softly. “I’m so scared.”

“But it is true,” I urge, squeezing her hands gently. “I know you’re scared sweetie, and I am too. But we can’t let a silly thing like fear get in the way of this. There‘s too much here to give up on.”

She bows her head. “I know, but I have Sean and--”

“I know,” I cut her off. “And I understand you two are happy together, but do you really love him?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Do you love me?” I ask, my voice remaining surprisingly steady, despite the butterflies anxiously flapping around my stomach as I await an answer.

She removes one hand from mine to rub her eye. “Yes,” she whispers, her answer finally coming after what felt like eternity.

“Then why are you with him?” I persist. “You’re making things so much harder than they need to be, Cat.”

“Justin, you don’t understand!” she exclaims. “What if we broke up? What if Sean is my only chance of having a happy future?”

“How can you have a happy future with him? You’d always be looking over your shoulder for something else, always wondering what your life could have been.”

“But he’s safe,” she mutters. “With him, I know where I stand. With you…we’re all over the place. We lead completely separate lives, Justin. The life you lead holds everything I hate about this world. It’s glitzy, it’s superficial, it’s all about money or looks of fame. But Sean and I…we’re similar. We like the same things, we have the same goals. We would have a longer relationship than you or I ever could.”

“How can you be so sure?” I retort. “Cat, I can see where you’re drawing all these conclusions from and okay, some of them are true. If you carried on seeing Sean, you two would probably get married in a few years, settle down, have a few kids, and that would be your life. Is that what you want?”

“Eventually,” she murmurs, shrugging.

“Me too,” I reply. “But right now? You’re twenty one, Cat, no forty two. Everyone thinks about marriage somewhere down the line, but right now…” I trail off, taking a breath. “If you were with me…it would be exciting, it would be new. Sure, it would be risky, but what isn’t?”

“Sean.”

I pause and sigh. “You’re right, he isn’t. He’s perfect, he’s everything you could want…he’s predictable.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” she defends quietly.

“Perhaps not,” I shrug. “And it’s your choice if you want to know exactly how your life is going to turn out.”

“Justin, it’s not that easy,” she says angrily, shaking my hands from hers. “You can paint Sean out to be the baddie as much as you like, the fact still remains he’s more likely to stick by me than you ever will be.”

“That’s not true,” I retort quickly.

“Yes it is,” she interrupts. “What would happen when you release your next album? What if you meet some gorgeous model at one of your stupid parties and we ended up breaking up because you just couldn’t stop yourself?”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“You can say that now, Justin. But in six months, you may have changed your mind and I’ll be left alone, having made the worst mistake of my life.”

I hold back a reply. As much as I want to scream that that would never happen, I can’t. I’m not going to lie, I have cheated before, with the scenario being exactly the one Cat just described. But they were different, they weren’t people I thought about marrying, or even living with. They were just passing girls.

I want to say this to her, to promise her I would never hurt her like that. But I can’t. I know I wouldn’t do that, but I’ve done it before.

“Cat…” I trail off, unable to find the words I so desperately need to explain to her. “Cat, we’re Ross and Rachel.”

She pauses and glances up at me, an eyebrow raised. “Excuse me?”

Grappling at any words I can, I try to explain myself. “Well, you know how in the end, they got together?” If I wasn’t so enthralled in her, I would be trying to tone down the desperation in my voice.

She smiles lightly and nods. We had watched the last episode together, huddled up on the couch as Cat gasped her way through the hour. When Ross and Rachel finally got together in the end, she rushed out of the room and locked the bathroom door until her crying had subsided because true love prevailed yada yada ya. I had teased her endlessly for it, calling her a secret girly girl and asking her whether she thought they would break up the week later. She had taken it all very seriously, but it was okay. I had always found her Friends obsession cute.

“Well…we’re kind of like them. We can’t see where we’ll be in a year, six months, or even tomorrow. But we know we love each other, and that’s all that really matters.”

She nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. “You’re right.”

“What the fuck is going on?”

The serene moment is broken by the harsh, southern voice I have come to hate, floating in from the doorway of the room. Our heads break the stare we were holding and jerk to the direction of the voice, to see Sean standing before us, frowning at the scene that meets his eye.

I quickly stand up, removing my hands that had settled on Cat’s knees. “Sean.”

“When you weren’t at work I knew there was only one place you could be,” he says angrily, looking between Cat and I.

She stand up. “Sean, we’re just talking.”

“Yeah, looks like it.”

Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, asshole.

“Don’t talk to her like that,” I say defensively, my voice beginning to rise as I step between them.

“I treat her with more respect than you, Justin.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He pushes me to the side and grabs Cat, his large hands digging in the soft flesh of her arms. “Cat, tell me what’s going on.”

She whimpers slightly, raising such anger within me I surprise myself. I smack his hands off her and once again step between them, feeling the fury boil course through my body as Cat rubs her arms behind me.

“Don’t you ever touch her again!”

“What’s going on!”

“It doesn’t matter what we were doing. She’s not with you anymore, she can do what she wants,” I taunt, not being able to squash the immature side of me that is happily showing off in my words.

“And who’s fault is that?” he says spitefully, glaring at me.

“I’m sorry,” I shrug. “But what happened, happened.”

“I didn’t think Justin ‘Oh poor me, I’ve had my heart broken three times’ Timberlake would have stooped to such low levels that he stole other people’s girlfriends,” he shouts angrily.

“Excuse me, I am not something which can be owned and stolen!” Cat demands.

We both ignore her, far too caught up in our battle to listen to her. “We have something far more important than what you and her ever had!”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Timberlake!” he retorts mockingly. “Just because you haven’t gotten laid in a few months, doesn’t give you license to call one of your pursuits ‘something special’.”

“I love her!” I exclaim angrily. How dare he think I would think of her as cheaply as that? He’s only proving he’s not as smart as I thought he was.

“It is so typical of you to throw that out there in hope it will get you somewhere!” Sean replies scathingly. “Believe it or not, Justin, saying I love you doesn’t automatically make it true!”

“You are such an asshole!” I cry. “I always knew you were no good!”

“I’m better than some little boy who tries to break up other people’s relationships!” he claims, taking a step towards me.

I copy his action, determined not to be intimidated. “If you were a real man, you’d just let her go!”

“Could you two just stop?” Cat asks timidly.

“She doesn’t love you!”

“Oh yes she does,” I snort. “And I’m glad, because I don’t think I could bear seeing you two stay together. I couldn’t watch her gradually have the life sucked out of her until she was almost as boring as you!”

“And if she was with you, she’d be dumped for some anorexic child within a week!”

“Don’t you dare pass judgments on me! You don’t even know me!”

---------------------------------------------------

I remember seeing something like this when I was twelve, at school. Jessica Birkley stole Shannon Majeski’s doll and said Shannon had copied her because she had it first. Shannon denied it and said Jessica was just jealous, and then eventually, the two girls were engaged in a ferocious fight. Hair was pulled, nails dug into skin…it was hilarious. The entire school was watching, half amused, half shocked at the immaturity of the girls. We were twelve, we didn’t play with dolls anymore, we carried around pictures of New Kids on the Block, and even when Lucy Philos got into their fan club, we didn’t fight about it. We looked down on Jessica and Shannon for being so stupid that they couldn’t even resolve their differences over a candy bar, and didn’t talk to them again.

I’m having a little reminder of the Jessica/Shannon feud right now.

Empty insults are being thrown back and forth. Just when I think one of them has said something utterly ridiculous, which couldn’t possibly sound any worse, the other astounds me with their ability to go worse than worse.

Standing between them, it’s making me question why I would even pick either of them. They’re being so…childish, for goodness sake! They’re acting as though I’m some toy their mommas have made them share. I’m not Cat, I’m just a toy.

Feeling the anger rise in me, the temptation to smack them both senseless becomes more appealing as the subject of who I love more arises. Just as I raise my hand to smack Justin, who is nearest, I feel a soft grasp on my arm.

“They won’t even know you’re gone,” Trace whispers into my ear, before pulling me out of the opposite door, leading to the stairs.

We quietly head up the stairs, the cries and shouts of Justin and Sean becoming more distant as we arrive in my room.

Slamming the door behind me, I let out a deep breath. “Assholes!”

Trace laughs and plops down on the bed. “True.”

“I mean, ugh. This is the restaurant all over again!”

“Yup.”

Sighing, I collapse on my bed beside him, wiping away any teary remains on my face. “Why are they like that?”

“That’s not them in there,” he say grimly. He shrugs. “Cat, you have to understand, those two guys are crazy about you. They can barely see straight, they so badly want to be with you.” He shrugs again. “They’re desperate, and desperation makes people act in funny ways.”

I draw a pattern on my sheets, contemplating what Trace had just said. “I don’t know what to do, Trace,” I whisper softly.

“I know.”

Sighing, I gently lied down beside him. “I mean, with Justin, I have all the excitement and fun and I’m getting what I’ve wanted for a long time. But with Sean…I have a future, you know?” I pause to look up, and he nods. “Perhaps it is too early to be thinking like that, but it’s true. Justin and I could break up in a week, but Sean’s reliable. I don’t have to think about it, or worry about it. We just go smoothly. But is that what I really want? I smooth relationship?” Sighing, I grasp a pillow and smother my face into it. “And then we’re back to Justin,” I mumble.

“I can’t tell you what to do,” he says softly.

“Are you sure?” I reply jokingly.

He laughs and takes the pillow away. “Yes. It’s entirely your choice.”

“I wish it wasn’t,” I mutter bitterly.

“I know,” he says sympathetically. “You should be happy you’ve got two such good-looking guys arguing over you.”

“I should be, but I’m not,” I murmur.

“You have no clue, do you?” he says softly, leaning down so his face is next to mine.

“No.” I groan and sit up, staring around at all the posters on my wall. “Every time I come to one conclusion, something else stands in it’s way. I’ll think Sean, yes, definitely Sean. Then I’ll think no, Justin, of course Justin. Then I’ll go back to Sean for a moment, but then I’ll think hey, what about--”

“I get the picture,” Trace interrupts, grinning as he holds up his hand. “You’re confused, a lot of people are.”

“How am I going to make a decision?” I ask quietly.

He sits up, frowning, deep in thought. “I guess you have to go with your instincts. Forget the pros and cons, forget what’s right and what’s wrong. Just go with what you want. Or what you feel is best.”

“But that’s the problem,” I groan. “I want one, but I know the other is for the best.”

He lies down, propping up his head with his elbows. “Then I guess you have to pick which is more important.”

Justin, or Sean. What I want, or what I need. Right and wrong. It’s as though there’s a pair of scales in my head, and no sooner as one side gone up, the other will balance it out, so I never get a definite answer. Everything is equal.

And my decision will be the one to tip the scales.

I could be happy with either one of them, really. I enjoy spending time with Sean, as I do with Justin. I find both of them attractive. They both treat me well. It‘s as though there are two rights, and I‘m the wrong. Why did they pick me? I’m still not beautiful. I still think my thighs have reached killer whale weights. My hair still frizzes voluntarily.

Why me?

There are so many questions to ask myself. Do I really love Justin? Or is that just what I’ve believed all these months? What if it’s just a purely physical attraction? What if, as a boyfriend, I just don’t like him at all? What if Sean is actually the love of my life and I’ve not given him a chance? Sean is perfect, but is that what I want?

“Tell them I left, okay?” I say, standing up and smoothing out my top. “And they’ll be full of apologies…again…so you may as well tell them I forgive them too.”

Trace grins. “Do you know who it’s going to be?” he asks jokingly.

I pause. “I have a faint idea, yes.”

His eyes widen in surprise. “Really?”

I nod. “Yes, I think so.”

“But-but two seconds ago, you were clueless!”

I shrug. “I know. But I can’t spend my life wavering between them. I have to make a decision, it’s not fair on them.”

“Are you sure?”

I look at my hands, trying to imagine them in the place of his. “Almost.”

“Well, who is it?” Trace exclaims, the urgency to know killing him.

I smile. “Not who you’d expect.”

My fingers drum on the leather of the steering wheel as I stare at the house in front of me.

This is it. This is what these pass crazy months have been leading up to.

Making a decision.

It was like an epiphany. A sudden, unexpected shock of realization. A swift understanding of what I had to do. An abrupt insight to what I had perceived as a complex problem, but the answer was really staring me in the face all along, I just hadn’t chosen to see it.

It had to be him. It just had to be. There were no if, ands, or buts. All I could think of was his name, how he made me feel, what a great future we could have together. All the reasons I could think of not to be with him became…excuses. They were weak justifications that I had fabricated to try and run away from the one thing I’ve always wanted.

I want to be married one day. I want to wake up every morning beside someone I know will love me for who I am, and who isn’t going to judge me because I don’t wear a size two, or have such a cynical outlook on life, or have hair which has no objections to frizzing at regular intervals.

I had always questioned whether this man existed. My experience of men left little to be desired, and I had no problem with the cruel reality that I may never find anyone who was that perfect. All that made for each other crap…it wasn’t true, right? It was something Walt Disney had conjured up to complete all his fairytale endings. It was something only incessantly jovial characters believed in, because it made the long slog of life seem somehow worthwhile. It was something I never believed it, because it simply wasn’t true.

I hate it when I’m wrong.

Don’t run away with the assumption that I’m some happy, go-lucky, ‘My, isn’t life wonderful?’ girl after this. Oh no, I’m still Cat. I still think Valentine’s Day was invented by the candy companies and would not protest to the abolition of that shitty day. I still read unwaveringly feminist books that will stop at no measures to ensure men are taken off their pedestal, and most of the time I find myself agreeing with their theories. Although I want to get married, there is absolutely no question in the aforementioned event taking place any time soon. I was brought up on the strict ideology of ‘Career first, then men and love’, and I plan to stick to that.

I want to become an adult, instead of just a twenty one year old trying her best to appear capable in this bizarre world. I want to have my own career, where I’m motivated and successful. I want to be able to support myself financially and never wish to fall into the trap of depending on someone else for money, and then wake up to find myself one day with nothing.

And I know he’ll support me in whatever I choose to do. He can be an cocky asshole, this we all know, but when the demeanor he presents to the world is stripped away…he’s a good man. I’ve doubted this before, but I know him. He won’t stomp all over my heart, or leave me stranded like Matthew did. He won’t tease me when I say something stupid. He’ll try his hardest to make me happy and is sure to be my needs before his own.

Of course, how can I be so sure? Honestly, I can’t. It’s easy to live life by the rulebook, and to limit myself to what I can see working out and what I can’t. I know with him, I’ll be happy, even if it’s not forever.

It wasn’t easy telling the other man that I just didn’t have faith in our relationship. The heartbroken look in his eyes made me feel as though I had torn his world in two, but I know it’s for the best. I was almost tempted to point out exactly how easy it would be for him to get another girlfriend, or how many women literally throw themselves at him just to get his attention, but I didn’t. Instead, I just slipped out, leaving behind the key had so lovingly had made for me. He’ll move on, and so will I.

My feet easily walk up the crunchy gravel path, feeling almost lighter in an odd way, without the crushing weight of “What should I do?” on my shoulders.

Slipping inside, I quietly walk into the kitchen, the house silent except for my footsteps. His hunched over appearance greets me as I push the door open. His long fingers, dug deep into his hair, seem to be clutching at his scalp slightly, and I hear the soft whimper of sobs.

“Hey,” I say softly, but he jumps nonetheless.

“Cat?” His eyes widen, before he stumbles out of his chair to his feet, wiping his tears. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Here I am.”

He pauses, before nervous rambling entices him and he opens his mouth, probably without thinking about what’s going to come out of it. “God, I’m so sorry about what happened today between me and--”

I hold up my hand to silence him. “It doesn’t matter.”

His rambles cease and he stares at me, swallowing nervously as my eyes scan the face of the person I love. “I know I was out of line, but--”

Laughing, I take a step towards him. “Honestly, it doesn’t matter.”

He frowns at me as I step closer still, slowly but surely sealing off the space between us. “Are you sure?”

I nod. “Anything that has happened between us…it’s not important. All that matters now is you, and me.”

He takes an apprehensive breath in, looking at me suspiciously. “I thought you’d be with….him.” He trails off, the very name of his competition apparently too much for him to bear.

Nervous anticipation fills my stomach as I stand in front of him, my vulnerability exposed to him, unable to find the words to tell the truth, and unable to lie.

“But I’m not,” I whisper, tears crystallizing in my eyes as they run over his features. That hair, that nose, that mouth. Everything about him is perfect.

“No, you’re not,” he replies softly, taking a timid step towards me, leaving our bodies mere inches from each other in the silent room.

I take in a shaky breath as a tear rolls down my cheek. “I’m sorry. There’s just so much to say, but I don’t know how to…” I admit helplessly, any shred of sarcasm or attitude melting away with my tears.

“That’s okay,” he comforts, placing a hand on my face to wipe away the emotions with the soft pad of his thumb. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you,” I blurt out. “I’ve just been so confused, and this is all so new to me…”

“It’s okay,” he soothes, running his hand over my hair to ease my gentle sobs. “We can just forget about it.”

“You deserve so much better than me,” I mumble into his chest, as his arm envelop me and gently stroke my back.

He laughs slightly. “Sweetheart, if you knew just how remarkable you are, you wouldn’t say that.”

My tears flow more rapidly as I cling to his t-shirt desperately, so scared that if I let go, I’ll lose him.

I couldn’t bear to lose him. Not now.

Pulling away from him, I gently cup his face in my hands. “This is it, okay? We have one chance to make things work.”

His arms encircled my waist, holding my close to him. “I promise, you won’t regret your decision.”

Sighing, I lean into his chest again, the familiar scent of his cologne enchanting my senses. “I know.”

We remain tangled in our embrace, before my tears dry and I pull away from him again. His dark eyes bore into mine, silently asking for permission to fully seal the gap between us, to close the chapter on this part of our relationship, and to start a whole new one.

Nodding, I feel his arms pull me closer to him, until every part of our bodies are touching, except our lips.

His forehead leans against mine, his hot breath tickling my lips, before our lips fuse together in a whirl of passion, my entire being wrapped up in the gentle movements of his lips.

We stay like that for what seems like years, before our bond is gently broken and our lips separate, only our gasping breaths breaking the silence of the room.

“I love you,” he whispers.

Feeling a euphoric happiness encase my body, mind and soul, I put my head against his chest, hearing the soft beating of his heart through the rising and falling of his chest.

“I love you too, Justin.”

Epilogue

December 31st 2004

“That is such a crock of shit.”

“It is not.”

“Oh, I assure you, it is.”

“It’s the truth baby, don’t try and deny it.”

The drastic roll of Cat’s eyes silenced Justin, as he sat opposite her, trying desperately to keep the smirk off his face. “Listen, honeybunch, the only reason you won is because you made up an entirely new word.”

“Excuse me, grossen is a word.”

Cat slapped her hand to her forehead in frustration. “It is not! You were just trying to be a smartass by taking the triple word score!”

He shrugged and grinned. “That may be true.”

She groaned and stood up, walking to the kitchen to rinse out their glasses. “You’re a cheater, Timberlake!”

“You’re attracted to me, Saunders!”

“You wish,” she retorted, slapping him in the chest before refilling the bowl of nuts and snatching a few pretzels.

“Not what you said last night,” he teased, grasping her hips and pulling her onto his lap.

“No, it’s not. Last night I believe I said, Justin, if you ever wear that JT necklace piece of crap, then we are breaking up.”

“How can you not like that?!” he protested, slipping his arms around her waist.

“Quite easily,” she replied simply.

“You know you love me,” he said, tightening his arms in a hug.

She remained silent, brushing the salt off her hands as Justin dropped a few persuasive kisses on her shoulder.

“Come on, just admit it. I won’t tell anyone,” he whispered into her ear, making her giggle.

“Okay, I guess you win,” she said, rolling her eyes dramatically.

“Then say it,” he teased, biting gently at her earlobe.

“That tickles!” she protested, swatting his face away. “Okay, I, Catherine Grace Saunders, love you, Justin Randall Timberlake.”

“It’s our little secret,” he said, grinning at her before placing a quick kiss on her lips.

She tapped his leg affectionately before jumping off the couch. “I’m just going to call Sean, okay?”

His eyes darkened. “Why?”

“Because he’s my friend and I’m going to wish him a happy new year.”

Groaning, Justin lengthened out on the couch. “Must you?”

“Yes,” she replied from the hallway, dialing the numbers in. “He’s still my friend, no matter how much you hate him.”

“Despise him,” Justin muttered, eagerly listening out to Cat’s half of the conversation as he contemplated picking up the other phone and doing some serious eavesdropping. Just to make sure, of course.

The door opened to reveal a grinning Trace, holding a large bottle of champagne. “To celebrate the new year,” he said happily, placing it down on the table.

Justin nodded and shushed him, still listening to Cat well-wish Sean. Trace rolled his eyes and smacked Justin on the upside of his head.

“Stop being a girl, she’s crazy about you and only you.”

“Do you reckon?” replied Justin, grinning cockily.

“Remember, that is subject to change, Timberlake,” said Cat, re-entering the room, trying her hardest to retain her disapproving scowl.

“So, how long until 2005?” asked Justin, changing the subject as Cat stuck her tongue out at him.

“Um…about four minutes,” answered Trace, pulling back his sleeve to check his watch.

“You know, you guys can go to that party if you want…” began Cat.

“No,” Justin cut her off. “I want to spend New Years with you.”

“But all I plan to do is sit on my ass and be depressed.”

“Then I’ll do it with you,” Justin replied simply.

Rolling her eyes, she turned to Trace. “Honestly, I’m fine on my own. You guys should just go and have a good time.”

He snorted. “Diane said you would say that.”

She shrugged. “I don’t like New Years, and I don’t like clubs. But you guys do, so you should just go.”

“Sweetheart, why don’t you like New Years?” asked Justin, innocently as he poked around the various snacks on the table.

“Because it’s merely a time to reflect upon how crap my life is,” she answered automatically, not pausing to think about it.

Justin stood up and encased her hips with his hands. “Is it really that crap? Or are you just saying that so everyone will think you’re still some tough girl?”

She stared at him, before a sheepish grin broke out over her face. “The latter.”

“That’s what I thought,” he whispered, leaning into touch her lips with his.

“Ugh, man. Do you guys ever stop?” groaned Trace, pausing to throw a smile in their direction, before leaving the room to talk to other guests.

Laughing, Cat pulled away from Justin. “Ready for a very cheesy, over sentimental phrase stolen right out of some high school drama?”

“Hit me with it.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy,” she admitted happily, her eyes glowing with contentment as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Justin laughed, and intertwined their fingers. “Me either.”

The sudden loud popping noises from the window caused them both to turn to where the noise was coming from, the explosion of colorful fireworks greeting their eyes.

“Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” she replied, smiling.

“Any regrets?” he asked quietly, staring down at their joined hands.

She raised them to her mouth and planted a kiss on the back of his hand. “Not one.”