Deranged Delusions

14. Stay With Me

Okay so maybe it was wrong of me to claim that Lauren and I are dating. But what else could I do? That Truman guy was annoying the hell out of me and I could tell Lauren was ready to drop kick his ass into the twenty-first century. I had to say something.

But it was so hard for me to keep my hands to myself. I mean she was right there in my arms and I wanted to do nothing more than throw her on the table and kiss her to within an inch of her life. Okay, thoughts out of your head because you don’t need that right now. You have to be on your game tonight, Timberlake, because you’re going to a barn dance and you have no idea what a barn dance is.

How do I get myself into these things? I swear.

But she looked so cute this morning. Oh God I need to stop this right now. How the heck am I going to properly function around her if all I can think about is the cute confused look on her face when I told Truman that we were dating. And I can’t stop the conversation we had on the drive home over and over in my head. Well, it wasn’t a conversation, she pretty much just yelled at me and asked me what I was thinking.

I don’t really think about those things when all I can think about is how hot she is when she gets really mad.

Again. Need. To. Stop.

“Are you almost ready?” her voice calls me from down the hall and my heart leaps a bit like some love sick little puppy. Ugh I hate this. I hate being even more dependent on her than I already am and I want nothing more than to tell her to shut up and leave me alone. But that’s a big contradiction.

“I’m having a little bit of a problem with this outfit,” I say with a little waver in my voice. I mean she wants me to wear these tight ass Wrangler jeans, a plaid button down shirt with a boa tie and…well it looks exactly like the fashion hell no that I wore back on Star Search.

“You know you’re going to have to wear it!” she yells back at me and I sigh dejectedly as I pull on the jeans. How anyone can stand to work in these all day is beyond me. I know the skinny jeans are supposed to be in season for the summer and shit, and I know I’m supposed to be all ‘country’ when it comes to the clothes Trace and I market, but this is ridiculous.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter under my breath. I know she’s going to bust a gut when she sees me in this full western garb and I think I’ll have to smack her upside the head or at least call her Moof a thousand times over tonight.

Ten minutes later and I’m ready to go. I walk down the hall towards her bedroom and stand outside her closed door. I can hear her moving around and my mind starts to wander to what she is, or isn’t wearing. Great, the last thing I need to do is excuse myself so I can go take a cold shower. Think of something totally not appealing.

Yeah, thinking of Truman definitely helps.

I knock on the door and I can hear her disgruntled sigh before the locking mechanism on her door turns and the door slowly opens. Her hair is French braided, a few wisps of hair framing her face and a pair of turquoise earrings are dangling from her ears.

“Hey,” she says with a huge smile on her face. She’s wearing this big, huge bottleneck blue skirt that probably fans out really far when she spins around. A white and blue plaid top is snug on her shoulders and she looks…well, she looks good. “Well I guess I should say ‘howdy,’” she adds with a laugh and I can’t help but smile at the amounts of carefree attitude that she has.

“I’d reckon so, ma’am,” I reply before I hold my arm out to her. She has to oblige seeing as Gretchen and her husband are waiting downstairs and apparently the entire town thinks we’re dating. And I thought Hollywood was bad with the whole spreading of gossip business.

Her arm slinks around mine and I can’t help but think that this is the way it should be. But then I remember that she’s my employee and there is no way in hell it would ever work out. I mean, she can’t stand me and I’m supposed to act like I can’t stand her even though that’s a complete lie now.

“Do you even know what a barn dance is?” Lauren questions me for about the tenth time tonight. Earlier, I never gave her a straight answer but she has to know that I have no clue what the hell I’m doing. I finally relent and shake my head.

“Oh lord,” she says flatly before she shakes her head, “You’re in for a rude awakening let me tell you.” She then goes on to tell me that barn dances take place inside barns and the music is completely live. Sounds like my kind of scene, right? Wrong. Apparently it’s all crazy country music and all people do is square dance and do-si-do and do other crazy things that I don’t know how to do. Box step, yeah I got that down. Hip hop combinations that would make Fatima’s head spin, been doing it since I was fifteen. But square dancing? Do-si-do? I’m completely lost.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath and Lauren nods her head.

“It’s going to be an interesting night. But I think the main reason why is because I’m supposed to have been dating you for almost four years. I’m glad you finally got around to telling me today. Guess that was my birthday present, huh?”

Not if you play your cards right…

“Ya’ll look so cute!” Gretchen croons from the bottom of the stairs as we make our grand entrance. She pulls out an ancient looking camera and takes a quick picture as we descend the steps. Lauren is rolling her eyes in her friend’s direction and I can’t help but smile because I know that sooner rather than later one of us is going to be getting that picture.

“You two don’t look so bad yourselves,” Lauren says as her arm leaves mine and she embraces her friend. I shake her husband’s hand and before I know it we’re out the door and heading for the Jones’ pickup truck.

We know how to roll in style.

The ride over is pretty much in silence but as we get closer to the enormous barn that’s lit up like a late night construction site, the excitement in the truck begins to build. Gretchen is practically jumping up and down in her seat and Peter is tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. Lauren is sitting up straighter and I can see her hands reaching up to feel her hair to make sure it’s in place.

“Don’t worry, you look fine,” I mutter softly in her ear. She jumps away as far as she can, seeing as she’s almost sitting on my lap due to the fact that there is very limited space in this particular truck model, and looks at me with a confused face.

“Thank you?” she musters and I smile in her direction before I rest my arm against the door. I can feel the nervous butterflies in my stomach because I have no clue what the heck I’m going to do once I get into this barn. Probably crash and burn but I’m not going to think about that just yet.

Peter parks the truck and soon we’re heading towards the brightly lit building, the heavy country music is practically flooding my ears and making them bleed before our group even gets inside. I’m too busy focusing on Lauren’s hand in mine that I completely don’t hear her talking to me.

“Did you hear me?” she asks giving me a small nudge with her body. I break out of my reverie and look down at her with a confused glare.

“Huh?”

“I said to not make a fool out of yourself tonight. These people take barn dancing very serious and…” before she can finish a chorus of cheers breaks out and suddenly I realize we’re inside the barn and the place is freaking huge. Like, enormous. I think the entire town has been shoved in here but I’m trying hard not to make eye contact. They all probably know me as Stove Man or something to that effect and I don’t want anybody to be reminded.

At the opposite end of the building is a makeshift stage that houses an eight piece band complete with fiddles and two banjos. The center is cleared out for dancing and the area surrounding the dance floor is dotted with tables and chairs. The place is lit up like a Christmas tree and some of the lights are teetering around in the small breeze that’s traveling through the edifice.

“They’ve out done themselves this year! It looks great,” Gretchen comments towards her husband before the two head on out to the dance floor ready to bust a move, I guess. I look over towards Lauren who looks highly embarrassed thanks to all the looks she’s getting from people I guess she knows and I’m starting to feel bad for her. She doesn’t deserve all these people gawking at her and then turning their backs to gossip about her on her birthday.

“Come on,” I find myself saying and before I know what I’m doing, I’ve got a hold of Lauren’s hand and we’re rushing out onto the floor. She makes a noise of protest but I ignore her. I don’t think she knows how nervous I am, because I am absolutely petrified of making myself looking like more of an ass to these people than I did yesterday.

“So?” Lauren asks me as we stand in the middle of the floor. People are dancing around in fast circles all around us and this is a completely different style of dance than what I’m used to. Where are the booty pops? The girls grinding together to make the guys flip out and buy more drinks at the bar? Where is the bar? I kind of need a drink right now because people are starting to look from the sidelines to see what we’re going to do.

I watch a few of the people around me dance around in continuous circles and I wonder how they don’t fall down from losing their center of balance. Lauren clears her throat and toys with the end of her braid and I’m quickly losing my nerve. If I don’t do something soon, I’m going to end up storming off the floor and I’ll look like a complete pussy to everyone in this entire barn.

With an exasperated sigh, Lauren grabs my left hand and puts it on the small of her waist before she grabs my right hand with her left and places her other hand on my shoulder. I look at her with wide eyes and before I know what we’re doing, we’re flying with the other dancers, spinning and twirling and…holy shit I’m barn dancing! Like I’m dancing in a style that I would have never danced before and I here I am doing it…

“Ow!” Lauren yelps and I blanch for a moment when I realize that I just stomped on her cowboy boot clad foot.

“Oh, sorry!” I say loudly as I stop in the middle of the floor. I start to bend down to inspect her foot but I realize how retarded that must look to other people so I stand straight up and readjust my hat. “Um…yeah, I meant to do that,” I try to say smoothly but it really doesn’t work. Lauren looks at me and laughs loudly before she grabs me by the upper arm and leads me from the floor.

“I think I’m going to need a drink if I’m going back out there with you again,” she states with a suppressed giggle and I couldn’t agree more with her because I think I’m going to need one if I’m going to go back out there again.

But before I can go on my search for the bar, a huge yee-haw rises up to the rafters and a blur is embracing Lauren. I can feel that familiar twang of jealously and protection raise up in my stomach, which is something I get every time I’m not next to Lauren or at the center of her attention. I realize that it’s Truman and he’s yanking my apparent girlfriend to the floor.

“You don’t mind, do yew Justin?” Truman asks me and I almost tell him that I do mind but the last thing I need to do is create a scene which involves kicking Truman’s ass in front of the entire town. Lauren’s a big girl, she can handle herself.

Taking a seat at an empty table, I watch as the pair practically sail across the floor. You can’t deny that they’re the best dancers in the whole barn and it’s just magical watching them. They’re floating as they spin around and twirl and she looks so gorgeous. Her skirt is billowing out around her so it’s almost like she’s floating on a cloud…

Okay, where the hell is the bar? I’m thinking like some kind of madly in love person and I am not madly in love with Lauren. I like her, I think she’s spunky, and she takes care of me, and okay, she’s absolutely beautiful but I do not love her. But I can’t pull myself away. The way the lights are swinging to and fro up in the rafters catch the small beads that are integrated in Lauren’s skirt, something I hadn’t noticed when I first saw her back at the house. The whole atmosphere and the way she looks like she’s in her element right now, it’s intoxicating and entrancing all at the same time. She looks over at me from time to time, avoiding Truman’s intense gaze, and by the way she’s looking at me, I can’t help but think that she has an idea of my true feelings, or at least a premonition of what they really are. This isn’t fucking fair.

Closing my eyes, I take a few breaths before I stand up and start my search for the bar. If I keep watching them, I’m going to do something extremely stupid. My search isn’t in vain because I finally find what I’m looking for and soon I’m sipping on a beer (the only thing they have in this place. Do they not believe in martinis?) and watching the dancing continue. I think Lauren is still out on the floor but I can’t be too sure. All I know is I’m halfway done with my first beer and I’m going to need a second soon.

Four beers, a few dances with Lauren, and one extremely pissed off Truman O’Malley later, we head out into the night. I have to say that the night was really nice and I enjoyed my time. Granted I couldn’t dance worth a shit and that’s something a tipsy Lauren isn’t letting me forget as we walk towards the Jones’s truck.

“You were sooooo funny! You stepped on my feet like four times!” she says with a laugh as she hangs on my arm. I try to stand up straight but I end up leaning underneath her weight seeing as I’m having problems standing up as well.

“I’m plum tuckered out!” Gretchen announces as we pile on into the truck. Lauren doesn’t even scoot on over, instead she plants herself firmly on my lap and I already know that trouble is starting to brew. I don’t know if I’ll be able to contain myself if she continues to play this charade of us going out to the extreme that she’s playing.

“Me too!” I say a bit louder than I intended. Lauren flinches slightly seeing as I practically screamed in her ear, but I can hardly hear anything seeing as the alcohol has muffled my hearing considerably. Thank God I’m not driving, Lauren too.

The ride is a jovial one and it seems that Lauren and myself are able to sober ourselves up en route to her house. She’s starting to slide off of my lap, which is a good thing because I’m sure poking her wouldn’t be the best way to finish out the evening.

We finally arrive at her house and after saying our goodbyes to Gretchen and Peter, we start our slow journey up the porch steps to her house. Lauren simply opens the door and walks inside the house, which is still something I can’t understand. I mean, why do people not lock their doors here? Have they not seen Capote? I mean two guys went into a house and blew an entire family into smithereens! What makes them think it can’t happen here?

“That was a good time,” Lauren states as she throws her purse on the coffee table in the living room. She pulls out her braid and I can’t help but love the way her hair comes out all wavy once it’s fully down. Lauren turns to look at me and she smiles as she sits down on the couch. I have no idea what to do, so I take off the cowboy hat that’s been slammed on my head all night and rest it on the coffee table next to Lauren’s purse. Sitting down next to her, I rest my feet up on the table and look over at her. She’s looking intently at a photograph of two penguins standing in the middle of a blizzard. I’m guessing it’s a picture one of her parents took on one of their extravagant expeditions, but she’s looking at it with respect and, do I detect a hint of longing?

“They mate for life you know,” Lauren states simply as she continues to stare at the picture, “the male finds a pebble and presents it to the female and if she likes it, they end up getting paired for life. If one of them dies, they don’t find a new mate. Sometimes I wish our world was more like that…”

Wow, well that was Straight Out of Left Field starring Lauren Walters. What the heck is she talking about? I mean, I’ve seen that documentary with Morgan Freeman or whatever and I know all about how penguins march and stuff but really I couldn’t stand to watch after one of the little baby penguins froze to death. I’m all about survival of the fittest, but do they have to show dead baby animals?

“Are you okay?” I ask her quietly and she shakes her head before she leans back against the couch and lets her head slump against the cushions.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, “It’s just the first birthday I’ve had in a long time without Neal and, well, I miss him.” And just like that the small buzz I was feeling is completely and totally gone. Vanished in a puff of smoke because here she is bringing up Neal again when it’s been a few weeks since he dumped her and she really should be getting over it.

But then again it was a pretty random way to be dumped, especially since she didn’t remember anything about it. And I’m carrying the entire blame for that, but I don’t think telling her right now would be the best thing.

“S’okay,” I find myself saying softly, “he doesn’t deserve you.”

“Then who does?” I want to say ‘me’ so badly but I know that would not go over well. She’s already buzzed, she’s depressed, and having me somewhat come out about my feelings would be the icing on her totally pissy birthday cake. “I mean Neal was everything I wanted and more, he was perfect for me and I blew it with him. I don’t know what I did, but I completely ruined it.”

Cue the guilt trip. All I have to do is tell her the truth that we really did kiss and that would be the end of it. She’d quit, run off to Neal, and tell him that it was Big Bad Justin who pulled them apart and I would never see her again. I can’t have that, she’s Lauren Walters and that name is monotonous with Justin Timberlake. Period. What would I do without her?

“Lauren,” I mutter quietly and she looks over at me, tears in her eyes. Oh boy this is not going well. I want to tell her but I don’t think I could stand to see her angry with me right now. She’s been so amazing on this whole trip I don’t think I can handle seeing her eyes glaze over with that hatred and frustration she usually gets when she’s yelling her vocal chords hoarse at me. “I’m not saying this as a boss, I’m saying this as a friend,” I begin and she looks at me intently while she fights the constant stream of tears that are trying to knock down her barriers. “You’re a good person, a great person, hell you’re one in a million. You take care of me, you put other people first before yourself, and you get your jobs done. Not only that but you’re compassionate, sweet, and you know how to have a good time. If Neal can’t see that, then he doesn’t realize what he’s missing.”

Good God, Justin, you are on dangerous territory and you better watch yourself before you say something you’re really going to regret. Sitting up, Lauren looks at me with this strange look in her eyes, something I’ve never seen before and quite frankly it’s exhilarating and scary all at the same time. I can’t quite place what it is, but before I know what she’s doing, she’s hugging me tightly around the middle.

“Thank you,” she mutters into my chest and I can feel my heart practically pounding it’s way up into my throat as I rest my chin on the top of her head. I have no idea how long we’ve been sitting here, but I’m just living in the moment of having her in my arms because I know soon enough, we’ll go back to the employee/boss relationship and the friendship we’ve managed to build while in Worden will fall behind work schedules, recording sessions, and party planning. “Thank you for being here.”

“Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” I blurt out and my body stiffens while I wait for her response. I don’t know if she heard me but she pulls away from our embrace all the same. There’s that look in her eyes again, like she wants to do something but she’s uncertain of how to go about it. The confusion shining in her eyes is apparent, but for some odd reason I disregard it. She’s leaning forward, I’m leaning forward, our foreheads are touching and our noses are tip to tip, and her breath is filling all of my senses. All I have to do is lean forward just a little bit more and all the barriers I’ve been trying to break will shatter into a million pieces and I’ll get exactly what I want — her.

She sighs my name softly and I stop my slow advance. The way she said it, like she was trying to say something else other than my name, the way there was a hint of a question almost as if she’s questioning what she’s doing right now. I don’t want to be a rebound, which is exactly what is going to happen if I kiss her, or let her kiss me. We’ll fall into something that neither of us want and…

I can’t do this. I really can’t. Not when she’s depressed and missing her ex-boyfriend, not when she’s lonely. Not when I know she’ll regret it the instant we actually do kiss. I can’t do this when I’m feeling so guilty. It’s my fault we’re in this situation right now and I can’t take advantage of her like that.

Pulling away, I rub my face with my hands and sit into the couch. She hasn’t moved from her position and I get up to my feet, grabbing my hat in the process. “I’m tired, I’m going to sleep. What time do we leave tomorrow?”

“Before ten,” Lauren says softly. Do I detect a hint of disappointment in her voice? No, I’m imagining things. Trying to mask my frustration, I rub my eyes and stifle a fake yawn as I walk towards the stairs.

“You should try to get some sleep,” I say quietly, “Big day tomorrow and everything.” God I feel like such an ass but I don’t care, I’ve got to push her away or else one of us is going to get hurt and as much as I hate to think it, I don’t want to get hurt again. Lauren is so much stronger than me, but if she breaks my heart I don’t know what I’d do.

“Okay,” she whispers as I turn my back on her to climb the stairs. I can’t face her because then I’d be forced to rush over and kiss her and do things I know I’ll regret in the future. No, it’s better to walk away and not deal with it right now.

Walking into my room, I pull out my sidekick and flip it open as I find Trace’s number and dial it. He picks up on the second ring and even though he sounds like he’s busy, he takes the time to talk to me. That’s what I love about Trace; he’s there for me whenever I need him the most.

“Sup?”

“Trace, I need you to do me a favor,” I ask as I sit down on the edge of my bed and start to work off my boots with my free hand. I think he can hear the confusion in my voice because he forgoes the standard jokes of sexual favors and immediately asks me what’s wrong.

“Just call Jive when you can tomorrow and have them remove Lauren from my services.” No joke about sexual service, just silence. I can hear Trace breathing heavily on the other line, as if someone has taken a sledgehammer to his stomach. Funny, I feel the same way.

“What’d she do now?” he asks a few minutes later once he’s found the ability to form a sentence.

“Really, it isn’t what she did, it’s what I did. Just have her promoted or something like that. Don’t have her fired or anything,” I add as an afterthought. That’s just what she needs, on top of a breakup and a rather disastrous return to her hometown — getting fired.

“You going to be okay?” Trace questions and I know I’m going to get the fifth degree when I get home, I’ll have to tell Trace everything and I’m not looking forward to that at all. I can’t even give myself the fifth degree when it comes to Lauren because it isn’t even needed. My feelings are so obvious but apparently she has no clue.

And I want to keep it that way.

“Wake up.”

No. Go away, I’m sleeping.

“Justin, you need to get up.”

Did you not hear me the first time? I’m trying to sleep, I had a rough night last night. Leave me alone.

“Justin, please get up.”

How many times must I repeat myself? Leave me the hell alone.

“You stubborn ass, get out of bed!”

“Jesus Christ!” I holler into my pillow as I turn my head to see who’s yelling at me when I’m trying to sleep. Lauren is sitting next to me, at the edge of my bed, her hand resting on my leg as she tries to shake me awake. She’s looks perplexed and angry that I won’t get my lazy butt out of bed and she couldn’t look more…put together. She isn’t taken aback that I’m yelling at her, or that I look like I just went through hell and back while I was asleep. She’s just there. “God, Lauren I’m getting out of bed you don’t have to yell at me,” I mumble into my pillow as I snuggle under the covers. I can feel the wave of sleep come over my body and soon I’m stumbling back into sleep.

That is until Lauren starts to shake me awake again.

“Justin, you need to pack up your things and get ready to leave. We’ve got to make a really long drive back into Billings,” she explains, a hint of urgency in her voice.

“I’m not packing up my things. You do it,” I reply, “Let me sleep.” I can tell I’m pissing her off and that’s a good thing. I don’t want to continue the friendship we’ve managed to build and maintain before and during Worden. I have to push her away before one of us slips, I won’t be the one who slips.

She scoffs and her weight leaves the bed as she wordlessly begins to pick up my strewn clothes and chucks them into my suitcase. She’s mumbling to herself under her breath and I slowly try to wake myself up so she doesn’t get even more upset than she already is. I want to make her upset that she won’t talk to me, I don’t want to get her so pissed that she’ll throw something at me.

I’m about to make a catty remark when my sidekick starts to ring the familiar riffs of ‘My Style.’ No, I haven’t changed it since December and I have no reason to change it at the moment. I hear Lauren let out a held breath as I reach over to the bedside table and pick up my phone.

“‘Lo?” I grumble into the phone.

“Hey J, it’s Trace.” His voice is perky, almost too perky and I want to reach through the line and wring his neck for being this happy when I’m on the borderline of being so miserable.

“Please tell me something good.”

“I called the studio today and I managed to get Lauren a job working in close proximity with Clive Davis. They said he needed a new assistant and I told them that after working with your sorry ass for almost four years, Clive would be a piece of cake and they immediately signed her on!”

I’m too happy about this situation to yell at Trace for being a douche bag for calling me an ass. This means that Lauren can work within the label and I can keep an eye on her and make sure she’s doing alright and she can go and get her dreams taken care of and, best of all, I don’t have to deal with the thought of being in love with her. I can let that nagging feeling in the back of my head go, once and for all.

“So when does she start?”

“As soon as you get back from wherever the hell you two jetted off to. I don’t know what it’s called, aren’t you in Idaho or something?” Trace questions and I laugh out loud as I sit up straight in bed while I watch Lauren rush around my room as she tries to get everything ready as quickly as possible. I’ll miss that.

“We’re in Montana you idiot. I’m glad you know where I’m at should you need to come up and get me for something,” I joke and Trace laughs before it subsides quickly.

“Well you have Lauren up there with you so it’s not like I really need to know where you are,” he explains and my good-natured fun with my best friend comes to a halt. After today Lauren won’t work for me any more and that thought is enough to send me into a sort of panic. How am I going to survive without her? I mean, she helps me with everything, more than Trace and the last time she left my life was nearly in shambles.

“I have to go. I’ll see you later tonight, Trace. We’ll party…” Lauren makes a noise in her throat and I look up at her once I put my phone back on the table. She’s holding onto one of my sneakers with a look of indifference on her face. “What?”

“You do realize that you can’t really do anything once you get home tonight because tomorrow you have studio time and you have to get ready for Miami because you have studio time there in three days, and it’s with Rick Rubin mind you and…” my mind starts to block her out as I watch her pace around my room and recite all the different things I have to do this week. She has it committed to memory, which is absolutely astounding; Clive is going to be lucky to have her…

“Lauren sit down,” I blurt out and she stops mid pace and looks over at me with questioning blue eyes. Obediently, she drops the shoe in my suitcase and comes to sit on the opposite side of the bed. She’s keeping her distance from me, which is a very good thing. I don’t know if I’d be able to hold myself back if she was sitting right next to me. “I have to tell you something.”

“What?” she’s not looking up at me, she’s busy inspecting the folds of the sheets on the bed. Her finger reaches out and starts to play with the edge of the fabric and I have a chance to get a good look at her without having her realize that I’m staring at her like some crazy person.

Her hair is still wavy but not a single hair is out of place. She’s back to her business wear, grey pencil skirt, hosiery, white blouse, and I’m sure her blazer is back in her room or waiting with the rest of her already packed luggage that’s resting by the front door. I can hear her tapping a heeled clad foot on the hardwood floor and I know she’s keeping beat to some random song in her head while she waits for my belated answer to her question.

She doesn’t look like the girls that I’ve dated in the past. They’re all gorgeous, super model types and longed legged things that adore dressing up and making an impression for all the wrong reasons. Lauren, on the other hand, dresses to impress because she’s going somewhere in life, she’s going to the top and she’s so normal looking. Not that that’s a bad thing. She’s the closest thing to normal I’ve had in my life in a very long time and I’m going to miss that sense when she leaves.

“Do I have something in my hair?”

Shit, she noticed me looking at her. A slender hand reaches up for her hair and feels around for the invisible piece of whatever that isn’t lodged in her brown hair. Shaking my head I reach out across the bed and grab her hand, bringing it away from her hair.

“No, I was just trying to figure out what to say, in my head.” Oh brilliant Timberlake, so fucking brilliant. Now you sound like a complete idiot. She raises a cynical eyebrow and clears her throat before she looks down at her lap. Well I think she’s clearing her throat because now that I think about it, it sounds like she’s choking back laughter. Great.

“Well I have to tell you something,” I explain as I surge my way through this conversation that I know will either end in hard feelings or a good parting of the ways. I can only hope it’s a mixture of both. I don’t want her to shout her praises to the heavens when I tell her Clive is her new boss and I don’t want her to tell me that she doesn’t want to leave.

“Yes?” she asks quietly. Emotions. In. Check. Don’t think of how soft her voice is and don’t think about the fact that you’re still holding onto her hand. Don’t think about anything; just think about what you have to tell her. Focus. “Justin?”

“Sorry,” I mumble stupidly, “Look, we’ve been together for almost four years, right?”

“Right,” she starts slowly and you can tell that the gears are starting to shift in her head. “What are you getting at?”

“Trace got a phone call from Jive last night,” I explain my voice soft and low, really I feel like I’m telling her that someone in her family died the way I’m going on about this. She’s looking even more confused than when I first sat her down and she tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “Apparently Clive Davis is in need of a new assistant, one who has to come highly regarded. I told him to put your name in and…” I throw my free arm up in the air in excitement and look at her with a huge smile on my face, “he wants you!”

She’s silent for a good couple of minutes, her eyes still trained on her lap. I’m watching her intently and I can feel my heart seize up as her hand slowly pulls itself out of my own grasp. Just like that, I’ve lost her.

Standing up, she smoothes the folds out of her skirt and turns around to look at me. Her face is blank, I can’t read it, and she walks over to the dresser and picks up a shirt that I packed but didn’t wear at all during our trip. How it got out of my suitcase, I don’t know, but she folds it up all the same and throws it in the awaiting luggage.

“When do I start?” she asks her voice a smooth level of monotony. I’m really having a hard time trying to keep my composure because my hands are twisting up in the sheets and I can feel the fabric wrap around one of my fingers tightly. Way to lose the circulation, Justin, way to go.

“As soon as we get back to LA,” I explain, “He’s got a lot of parties to plan and he needs help with some publicity for Nick Lachey’s new album release. You’ll be on your toes, but it isn’t anything you can’t handle…what’s wrong?” I stop my listing for a moment because I can hear her sniffling but I can’t see if she’s crying because she’s facing my luggage and holding onto one of my other shirts. “Lauren?”

“Sorry,” she says quietly before she sniffles again.

“Why are you sorry, this is what you’ve always wanted! You’re working for Clive Mother-Fucking Davis! He’s the Record Executive!” I find myself saying even though all I want to do is say, ‘just kidding, you’re staying with me because I love you!’ and throw her down on the bed.

“I know this is what I’ve always wanted, I just never thought I’d live to see the day,” Lauren states as she turns around. Her face is fucking glowing. She looks like she just found out that she’s giving birth to the second coming of Jesus and the tears in her eyes aren’t from sadness, they’re happiness. Of course, she’s escaping my clutches and going to work for a man that can make all her dreams come true. What am I? I was the taskmaster for four years. She was just biding her time, of course. I am such an idiot.

“Well believe it, because today is the day. You’re going straight from the airport in LA to the executive offices to meet with him. From what I hear he’s excited to meet with you,” I find myself lying. He’ll probably find out five minutes before their scheduled meeting time that his new assistant is in his office but I can’t just sit there and tell her that. I’ve got to build it up, I have to get her excited, I have to make her forget about me as quickly as possible. And by the look on her face, I don’t think I’m going to have a problem.

“I can’t believe it, thank you so much!” she all but yells in delight. Throwing the shirt into my suitcase unceremoniously, Lauren leaps onto the bed and scurries over to me before she throws her arms around my neck and hugs me tightly. My hands are too tangled up in the sheets to return the hug so I just sit there on my bed and let her hug me, her excited cries of ‘thank you’ echoing in my ear.

Why is this so damn hard?

And before I know what I’m doing my hands become untangled from the sheets and I’m hugging her. One of them, my left or my right, I don’t really know which is which right now, starts to stroke her hair while the other one keeps her there, right next to me. This is probably the last time I’ll ever get to hug her like this, “Stay,” I find myself whispering more to myself than to Lauren.

Too bad she heard me.

“What?” she asks while she pulls away abruptly. I can feel my composure start to fall apart and I know if she gives me that look, the one that she always gives me whenever I say something she doesn’t understand, I’ll just let everything slip. And I can’t do that to her, “What did you say?”

“I said, ‘hey,’” I state nonchalantly as I get up off the bed and run my fingers through my nonexistent hair.

“Why did you say that?”

“Because you were getting a little too close. What you want to get the famous Justin into bed before you cart off to work with Clive? Please, don’t flatter yourself.” There I go again, I’m like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde when it comes to my ‘relationship’ with Lauren. If you could even call it that. I don’t even know what we are.

But she scoffs and rolls her eyes before she gets off the bed and continues to pack away my things. God love her, she sticks to her job through and through. I can only hope Clive can treat her with more respect than I ever could. That’s where I royally slipped up and continue to fuck up every time I’m with Lauren.

If I could start over, I totally would.

She’s mumbling to herself in my room about incoherent things and I really want to know what she’s saying. Is she thinking about me? Is she thinking about Clive?

“Stop it, man,” I say to myself as I walk down the stairs so I can fix myself some breakfast in the kitchen, “It’s over.”

***