“Shit…damn…motherfucker!”
The sweet words of my beloved echo through the house as I poke a head through the doorframe, spying on her with an amused smirk on my face.
She bends down and picks up the fallen pasta dish that shattered across the terracotta tiles of the floor, groaning as she sweeps up the fragments of glass.
“Cheap piece of crap…” she mutters, picking up the pieces of glass and dropping them into the trash.
She brushes her hands over her jean clad thighs, before turning back to the stove and gently stirring another boiling pan. Her movements seem oddly hypnotizing as I watch her move around the kitchen. Cutting up carrots, adding salt to the water, adjusting the temperature on the stove. Dear me, I do love this girl.
Making my presence known, I gently cough and step fully into the door, leaning against the frame.
Cat’s eyes dart up at the noise and widen when they see me. “Hi!” she exclaims, quickly wiping her hands on a towel and rushing over to me, smiling. “I thought you’d sleep in today.”
“Nah,” I shake my head, returning her grin. “I couldn’t sleep. I was so excited!”
She laughs. “You’re such a child.” Her face softens and she smiles at me. “Happy birthday,” she whispers, before her arms wrap around my neck and pull me in for a kiss, her small hands grasping at my curls slightly.
I pull away, unable to hide the beaming smile across my face. “Thank you.”
“I thought you were going to wake up and I’d have an amazing lunch prepared for you,” she says, nodding over her shoulder at the pots simmering on the stove. “It’s not ready yet.”
“I know, but it feels like Christmas. I just couldn’t stay in bed any longer,” I reply excitedly.
She shakes her head as she laughs. “So, how old are you? Twelve?”
Rolling my eyes, I give her hips a squeeze. “Twenty four, if you must know.”
“Twenty four? That’s old,” she teases, poking me in the chest.
Smiling, I suddenly pick her up and sit her on the counter, ignoring her squeals of surprise. “So, how are we going to celebrate this spectacular day on which wonderful me was born?”
She giggles and tucks her hair behind her ear. “Well, your family is coming for lunch at about two, and then everyone else is coming for the party at around nine or so.”
“Who’s been invited?” I ask, fiddling with the belt hooks on her jeans.
She holds out her hand and begins to reel off names on her fingers. “Your mom and Paul, your dad, Lisa and the boys are coming to lunch, but Paul and the kids are going to leave early, before the alcohol is cracked out,” she winks at me as I smile. “And I didn’t really know much of your superstar friends, so Trace did most of the inviting there,” she say happily, resting her hands on the edge of the coutner.
“Oh God,” I groan, resting my head on her shoulder. “Can I just forewarn you that he may have invited a large portion of the guests from the Playboy Mansion?”
She raises an eyebrow disapprovingly. “There will be no playmates in this house.”
“Why not?” I tease. “You always said you wanted a threesome.”
She rolls her eyes. “No, I always said it was curious how they fitted so many people on one bed.”
“Practically the same thing,” I murmur, before leaning in to drop a kiss on her lips. “It’s not too big, is it?”
She shakes her head. “You said you wanted low key, right?”
“Right.”
“It’s probably about fifty people, which isn’t too bad,” she shrugs. “I made Trace make a list of who’s coming, so you should ask him.”
I snort in disbelief. “Trace actually made a list?”
She nods, beaming proudly. “Yup. I have that boy wrapped around my little finger.”
“Who was on the list, then?” I ask as she hops of the counter to tend to her various concoctions in the pots.
She shrugs. “I didn’t really look, honestly. He said something weird about the boys being back in town, which I assume is some inside joke.”
Smiling, I nod and pick at the potatoes, only to have my hand slapped away. “He was either talking about one of the guys from Nsync or maybe Phareezy.”
“Phareezy? My God, what cruel parents.”
Rolling my eyes, I lean against the counter, watching her movements. “No, that’s just what I call him. I mean Pharrell.”
She continues to calmly stir some sauce. “Pharrell who?”
“Pharrell Williams,” I repeat, “He’s from NERD?”
“Nerd?” she snorts. “This guy just gets better and better.”
“He’s a producer,” I reply, reminding myself Cat has next to no interest in the music business. “He worked on my whole album. He was in Like I Love You?”
She frowns and taps the wooden spoon on the rim of the pot, before turning to me. “Wait, is he the really cute black guy? With a stupid hat?”
Smiling, I nod. “But don’t tell him you think his hat is stupid.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior,” she replies with a smile. She pauses, and begins to twist her hair, something she only does when she’s nervous. “This is the first time I’ve met any of your friends.”
I pause. That’s true. Trace and I take the odd weekend to go over to LA or something, just to touch base with the real world outside of Tennessee and to do all the things we miss, such as clubbing or getting completely trashed. Cat however, never comes, no matter how much you invite her. I don’t blame her, she would just feel uncomfortable. It would be the same as her asking me to come with her to exhibition or gallery, it just wouldn’t be right.
But I really want my friends to meet Cat. We’ve known each other for a year, we’ve dated for half of that time, and they always hear me raving about her. I think it’s about time they met her. In a strange way, I want to keep her all to myself and just stay, tucked away in Tennessee, for as long as we live. I don’t want to share her with other people. But at the same time, I can’t wait to show her off to everyone. Granted, there will be a few that will find her too, ‘ordinary’, but all the people that matter will love her, I’m sure.
“Baby,” I comfort in a soothing tone, ignoring the fact she hates the term. “You’ll have a great time. You’re exactly the type of girl they’ve been telling me to date for years.”
A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I reply, tugging affectionately at a strand of her hair. “Honestly, don’t worry about it.”
She shrugs. “I guess not. They’re just people, after all.”
“Exactly. And if my mom stays for the party, she’ll have you introduced to the entire room in less than three minutes,” I joke.
She laughs. “I’m surprised your mother is still talking to me after our last meeting.”
Cat completely overreacted about that. It was the first time she was introduced to my mom as my girlfriend. They had met a few times when Cat and I weren’t seeing each other, and they got on just fine, but it was different with the whole ‘girlfriend’ title over her head. Anyway, Cat and I went to my mom’s house as ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’, and I jokingly put my hand up her skirt when we were sitting down for dinner for a bit of fun. Hell, it was no big deal. It was her thigh, for Christ’s Sake, it wasn’t like I was…well, you can guess what I’m going to say. Of course, Cat let out this really amusing yelp, and then I ended up telling my mom that it was my hand that had drawn that strange sound out of her, and then Cat wouldn’t talk to me for ages. What? I couldn’t lie to my momma!
“She appreciated the funny side of it, unlike some people,” I retort, rolling my eyes.
“Justin, thank God she’d met me before, otherwise she would have thought I was just another hoe of yours.”
“Ooh,” I tease, swatting her arm. “Getting a tad bitchy, are we?”
She shrugs. “Speaking of hoes…ex girlfriends were banned from the invite list.”
My eyes widen. “Catherine Grace Saunders! How on earth can you say a thing like that?”
She examines her fingernails nonchalantly. “Quite easily, in fact.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want them there anyway,” I say, sweeping her hair over her shoulder, exposing her neckline. “So, when do I get my present?”
She chuckles. “Not yet.”
“Is it underneath this?” I ask, prodding at her shirt as she giggles. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you all sexy dressed this morning, Miss Saunders.”
‘Sexy’ for Cat is not necessarily what other people would call sexy. Britney would call sexy walking around completely naked, or with tiny sets of underwear leaving little to the imagination. Don’t get me wrong, it was sexy, and I enjoyed it. But I think Cat would rather die than be ostentatious like that. It was fun flirting with her in the lingerie store, we laughed so much that day, but she’s still shy about things like that.
No, Cat’s idea of sexy is very classy and teasing and completely different from my previous girlfriends, which makes a nice change. She’ll just do something small and inconspicuous, things like wearing a slightly shorter skirt or not buttoning up her shirt to the very top. Things that she knows only I will notice, so it’s like we have this little secret between us that nobody else knows about. For example, today she’s wearing a tight pair of jeans, (she doesn’t wear jeans often, they make her legs look ‘stumpy‘. Honeslty, women can be so stupid), random accessories, like that cool chunky belt and those big earrings Trace gave her for her birthday.
I don’t understand accessorizing. It seems to be a refined art that only women can do. My idea of accessorizing was the JT necklace which, contrary to Cat’s opinion, is not a ‘piece of crap’. I’ll have you know, that necklace was praised globally by my fans…
But my favorite part of her outfit is the top. That is how I know she’s doing it for me. It’s just a normal v-neck, white shirt. I don’t know what it’s made out of…chiffon? Either way, it can go a tad see-through in the right light, but this infuriates Cat and she never wears colored underwear with that top, otherwise people would see it. I think that’s a great idea, but she gave me this long ass lecture about tackiness, etc, etc…However, today, I can quite clearly see black underneath her shirt, which means she’s wearing sexy underwear, which means she wants me to see it, which means she’s trying to turn me on, which means we’re going to have sex later on…
Sorry. My brain worked a little too fast there.
She blushes. “If you don’t like it, I can take it off…”
“Hey! I didn’t say that,” I complain, sliding a hand underneath her shirt. “If anything comes off, it’ll only be because I remove it, okay?”
She giggles and pulls me in for a kiss, her hands gliding around my neck and into my hair.
“You’re so bad,” she giggles as I kiss down her neck, blowing on her skin momentarily, knowing how much it tickles her.
“Don’t you know it, baby,” I reply huskily, before I begin laugh.
“Would you guys just STOP HAVING SEX!” A distant voice cries from the games room as Cat swiftly pushes me away, laughing.
“You’re just jealous, my little friend!” I call back, before soft footsteps approach the kitchen.
“Don’t think just ‘cause it’s your birthday, I’m gonna be nice to you,” Trace says, before breaking into a grin. “Happy birthday, man.”
“Thanks,” I reply, giving him a quick pat on the back.
Trace walks behind Cat and peeks over her shoulder to see watch she’s cooking. Normally, close contact with members of the male sex and Cat really bothers me, in fact I almost slapped the guy who looked right down her top the other day, but I know with her and Trace it’s purely platonic. And before you start, I know I’m too possessive of Cat, and she can do what she wants, it’s just…damn, I want her all to myself.
“What you cookin’, good-looking’?”
“Chicken,” she replies. “Which is probably burnt, by the way. Thanks to birthday boy over there,” she sends me a stern look, before winking at me.
“I could hear everything,” mutters Trace in a disgusted tone, shaking his head in revolt. “I’ll remove that for you, baby…” he mocks, before I clamp a hand over his mouth, knowing how horribly embarrassed Cat gets when people tease her about sex.
“That’s enough, little dude. So, who you invited to this birthday bash of mine?” I ask, trying again to snatch a tiny bit of the food, but Cat’s quick hand once again gives me a slap.
Trace pauses, mentally going over a list in his head. “Everyone from around here, a few LA-dwellers, Chris and Lance are gonna stop by--”
“Did you hear that, sweetheart? Chris and Lance are going to come. They’re in Nsync.”
“Really?” she says over her shoulder. “Hey, isn’t Chris my favorite one?”
Snorting, I nod. “Yes, he was the one with the monochrome braids.”
“Oh yay!” she jokes, kissing me on the cheek as she scoops some chicken onto a plate. “Which one is Lance?”
“The blonde one,” answers Trace, stealing a carrot when Cat had her back turned. “He’s got really green eyes.”
“Oh yeah. He’s handsome.”
“We all are,” I interject, earning myself a gentle slap on the head. “Anyone else?”
“Chris said she would try and make it. She’s doing some charity stuff in Louisiana, so she’ll be in the south.”
“Who’s Chris?”
“Christina,” I answer, stretching my arms above me head.
“Christina who?” asks Cat, once again. People at the party will have a great time if Cat repeatedly says “who?” after each introduction.
“Aguilera,” I mumble distractedly.
Cat’s eyes widen. “Seriously? Christina Aguilera?”
Trace nods and hops up onto the wooden island in the kitchen. “Yeah. Her and J did a tour together.”
“I know, I--” she stops abruptly, blushing as she quickly turns back to her cooking.
“What?” I prod.
“I went to one of your shows,” she mumbles so quietly I have to lean forward to catch it.
“Really?” I exclaim happily. “When?”
“Or more importantly, why?” says Trace, sneering at her.
She laughs. “I had to go with my little sister for her fifteenth birthday. I assure you, it wasn’t voluntary.”
“Were we good?”
She shrugs. “You were okay.”
Rolling my eyes, I quickly pat her ass, ignoring the ice cold glare I receive. “It’s my birthday, you should be complimenting me.”
She snorts. “Fine, it was the most thrilling experience of my life. It took every piece of willpower I had not to jump on that stage and kiss you. I was captivated by your performance. In fact, I couldn’t contain my excitement for weeks afterwards,” she says in a dead tone, rolling her eyes with each word.
Laughing, her and Trace share a high five as I pout grumpily in the corner. “You guys always gang up on me.”
“Sorry, birthday boy,” she says, dropping a quick kiss on my temple. “Anyway, you’re family is going to be here soon, you’d better get dressed,” Cat reminds me, casting an eye over my boxers and wife beater.
“Okay.”
“And remember to give your mom a call back.”
“Sure.”
“Could you just open this jar of sauce open for me?”
“No problem.”
I hand the jar back to her and set the lid on the counter. “Go on, now. Go get dressed.”
“Okay,” I quickly plant a kiss on her cheek before bounding upstairs to get dressed.
I have to stop complying to this girl’s every word. People may start to think she’s got me whipped.
But the harsh cracking noises from Trace as I leave the room assure me that people already consider me whipped.
-------------------------------------------------------
“Cat darlin’, could you pass me up some of that chicken please?” says Lynn, touching my arm and waking me from my Justin-trance.
“Oh, sure,” I reply, reaching over to grab the chicken from Trace’s side of the table and handing it to her.
“Thanks, doll,” she beams warmly at me, before scooping chicken onto her plate.
Lynn and I met months ago, a little while after I had moved in with Justin and we were on a strictly friends basis. We got on really well back then, but I did notice a change in attitude towards me when Justin and I started dating. Justin explained his mother was very protective, and hated seeing him make one mistake after the other, so she was naturally quite cold with her son’s romantic interests.
All I could think was well great, fantastic. His mother hates me for the sole reason that I’m seeing him, imagine how much she would despise me if she actually got to know me. I didn’t avoid Lynn, but I didn’t go out of my way to buddy up with her. We could chat for a few minutes over the phone, but I always sensed the, ‘Hurt my son and I’ll hurt you’ theme she had going on.
Of course, Justin got on with my family like a house on fire. They practically christened him Saint Justin after their first meeting. In a rare moment of sisterhood a few months ago, I called my sibling Sophie to complain about an argument Justin and I had had. The first thing out of her mouth was, What did you do? Not to mention his shameless flirting with my mother, who spent their entire first meeting blushing.
How can he do that? How can he make people like him instantly? I would really like to know, because then I could take a leaf out of his book and use it tonight. At the party. With all the strangers. All the skinny strangers.
To be honest, I’m dreading it. Trace pretty much organized it, he dealt with the guest list, the obscene amount of alcohol, the moving of the furniture so people could stand around. He was so excited just organizing things, I can’t wait to see how he acts tonight. Part of me is worried that him and Justin will get a little too caught up in the alcohol and all the beautiful people that will fill the house, but I don’t mind. It is Justin’s birthday, and he deserves to let loose.
If that involves me standing in the corner feeling uncomfortable, then so be it.
I shouldn’t be worried, should I? It’s just a party, I’m sure Justin’s friends will like me. It’s not even that big of a party, and if worst comes to worst I can just hide in the closet. No, Justin wouldn’t let me do that. He’s really excited about all of his friends meeting me, which poses the question…why on earth is he pleased about that? It’s the first time anyone out of our little southern mold has met me, let alone Justin and I as a ‘couple’.
But I don’t function at parties. I have a tendency to retreat to some reclusive spot and play with my cup until I drive home and reflect on what a waste of time it was. I rarely dance, after an unfortunate incident including a rather dramatic fall thanks to my bastard shoes in front of the entire room. I’m not a huge drinker, but when I do get drunk I tend to begin a cycle of equally unfunny impressions, and at the end of the night find my friends pretending they don’t know me. Not to mention the fact I have no idea what to wear. All of the girls will be wearing tiny skirts and halter necks and stilettos--
“Catsy!” A piercing, childlike voice slices through my thoughts, my head snapping in the direction of the sound.
“Yes?” I reply, smiling instinctively at Steven.
The young, sandy-haired boy tapped his fork on the table impatiently. “I’ve been saying your name for ages!”
“Sorry little man, got lost in my thoughts there,” I reply.
“Can Jonathan and me come to the party?” he asks with an endearing lisp, product of the missing row of teeth on his bottom gum.
Smiling, I take a sip of water. “You’ll have to ask your mommy that.”
“Steven, you can’t,” Lisa says, shaking her head at him. “It’ll be full of big people.”
“I am big!” he protests, once again slapping his fork on the table. “I’m six and three quarters.”
Stifling my laugh, I pat his arm reassuringly. “It’ll be really boring. You’re not missing anything.”
“But I want to sleep over!” Steven proclaims, his bottom lip jutting out.
“Why don’t you come over another night?” I suggest.
A shy smile breaks across his face. “Can I?”
“Sure,” I reply, “Just ask your mom.”
“Do you sleep over all the time?”
I nod and cut a piece of chicken in half. “Yup.”
“Where do you sleep?”
Feeling the blush inch across my cheeks, I keep my head bent down, enthralled in my food. “Um…Justin’s room,” I mumble quietly.
Not quietly enough. Lynn’s head turns to look at me, amusement written all over her face as I slowly prepare myself for embarrassment. More of it, that is.
“In Justin’s bed?” continues Steven innocently, his wide eyes staring at me sincerely.
The men of the table, that’s Randy, Paul, Justin and Trace, stop their conversation on last Friday’s game to turn to look at me, with my bowed head and inflamed cheeks.
“Um…sometimes…” I mutter, the steady movements of my knife and fork infatuating me. I don’t imagine the smirk on Justin’s face would be quite so broad if these questions were directed at him.
“Why?” he asks.
Why? “Um…” I begin, ready to fabricate an entire story about there not being enough blankets for everyone.
“Yeah Cat, why do you sleep in my bed?” says Justin, putting down his fork to look at me, biting down on his lip to stop himself laughing.
Oh you asshole. “I don’t know. Why do you invite me?” I retort. Ha ha, bet he wasn’t expecting that.
Trace’s cough is vaguely reminiscent of ‘to get some ass’, but I ignore him and concentrate very hard on cutting a potato into four pieces. Perhaps if I keep my head down, I’ll magically forget that all eyes are on me and that the expression, ‘beet red’, was invented for people like me.
“Can I come to the party?” interrupts Jonathan.
At that moment, I loved that kid. “You guys wouldn’t like it,” I repeat, silently thanking God for children as people return to their own conversations.
“Sure we would. Trace’s parties always have naked chicks in them, and I like naked chicks so…” he trails off and grins, bearing such a stunning resemblance to Justin I can’t help but smile.
“Oh really?”
“Yeah. Once, him and Justin got this girl to come to our house, and she had this whip thing, and--”
“Jonathan!” Justin sharply interrupts him. “What are you blabbing about?”
“The time you and Trace watched that girl dance when she was wearing those cowboy boots.”
I raise an eyebrow and turn my head to Justin. “Corrupting young minds a habit of yours, Justin?”
“I think you know it is,” he flirts, kicking my leg under the table.
Rolling my eyes at him, I turn back to Jonathan, who seems a little worldly wise for an eleven year old. “Anything else I need to know about, Jon? What else have Justin and Trace done?”
He takes a breath. “Well--”
“Jon, you gotta learn that whenever a woman asks you a question, you just say I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll talk later,” I wink at him, before laughing.
-------------------------------------------------------
“This one, or this one?” he asks, holding up two identical shirts over his torso.
I shrug. “Either.”
He rolls his eyes. “Cat, that is not cool. This is the first time I’m seeing this people in months. I need to look good.”
“You do look good.”
“Yeah, but I need to look really good,” he says, pulling a shirt over his head.
Ah, I see Justin is regressing to ‘Asshole Land’ again. The best way to deal with him when he’s like this is to just not listen to him, and nod in agreement of everything he says.
“Do you think I should leave these buttons unbuttoned?” he says, turning to me and pointing to the top three buttons of his shirt.
I nod.
“So this shirt is better than that one?”
I nod.
“Okay, what about jewelry? Both earrings or just one?”
I nod.
“Cat!”
“What?”
“Are you even listening to me?”
The temptation to nod just to piss him off grows, but it is his birthday, so I choose not to. “Yes. I just don’t know why you’re so worried. I should be the one who’s nervous. They’re going to be judging me.”
“No they won’t,” he replies, placing a loose tie around his neck before shaking his head and taking it off.
“Justin, you know they will,” I mumble quietly, running a finger over the comforter. “The first thing they’ll think is what the hell are you doing with some chubby farm girl from Ohio?”
“What?” he says, turning to me and frowning deeply.
“I’m just being honest, Justin. They’ll ask you why you’re dating someone who ever so slightly exceeds the phrase, ‘junk in the trunk’.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Sitting up, I toss my hair over my shoulder, the consuming feeling of depression beginning to fill my body. “I just know they’re going to judge me.”
“Cat, these are my friends, and you haven’t even met them yet. You’re the one casting judgments at the moment.”
“I’m not casting judgments, I just being realistic,” I snap, getting off the bed and walking towards the mirror, frowning at my appearance. “They would judge me anyway, but my case isn’t exactly helped by the fact I don’t throw up after every meal.”
“Cat, are you trying to start an argument with me? Because you’re sure as hell doing a good job!” Justin says, scowling at me with his hands on his hips.
Sighing, I run a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry.”
“How many times do we have to fucking go through this Cat? It’s ridiculous.”
“I know,” I murmur, bringing one hand up to rub my temple. “It’s just…I know that people outside of Tennessee won’t be as accepting as everyone else has been. I’m just nervous.”
“Don’t be,” he says simply, approaching me slowly and rubbing my waist. “I know you’re not used to situations like this, but you’re making things worse for yourself.”
“I’m just so confused,” I mutter, hearing my voice crack with emotion. “On one hand, I know I shouldn’t care what they think, but on the other I really want them to like me, but I know how impossibly high their standards must be and…ugh, it’s just so annoying…” I shake my head, feeling his arms wrap around me in a comforting hug.
“You worry too much about what other people think, and this isn’t the first time I’ve had to tell you that,” he says softly, gently stroking my hair with his hand.
“I know,” I reply, my face buried in the depths of his shirt. “I guess this is a downside to being Justin Timberlake’s girlfriend.”
“What is?”
“Always having to worry about what people might be saying or thinking. I mean, what if your friends tell you straight out I’m not good enough for you?”
“They wouldn’t do that, and if they did, I’d kick their ass.”
Laughing, I pull away from him, rubbing my eyes. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m ruining your birthday with my stupidity.”
“You can always make it up to me by wearing that little lace dress thingy.”
“Justin, that’s not a dress, it’s a napkin.”
“But an attractive napkin,” he says, grinning as he pulls it out of my closet without consent, and throwing it on the bed.
Trying my hardest to sigh disapprovingly, I pick up the dress and head to the bathroom to start an intensive hair and make up session.
Tonight, I have to be perfect.
-------------------------------------------------------
In real life, Christina Aguilera really isn’t as intimidating as I thought she’d be. She’s kind of small, and she lost all the weight she gained at one point, so she’s back to being a toothpick. She’s also a lot nicer than I’d thought she’d be. Justin introduced us, she shook my hand and shot me a quick smile, and we had a little conversation about how stupid Justin could be. It’s strange how much women can bond over their joint despair in the actions of men.
But then she floated away to mingle, and I was left all on my own looking awkward, until Trace saved me by introducing me to Bobby Ryesdale, Justin’s…choreographer? Hair stylist? Names are lost on me, let alone occupations. Fifty people turned out to be a bigger number than I expected. There seem to be hundreds of faces, bodies, drinks, smoke…all crammed into one space.
I haven’t seen Justin in about fifteen minutes, when he went to meet that Pharrell person and said he’d be, ‘back in a sec’. But I don’t mind. He’s having the time of his life, reuniting with people he hasn’t seen in a long time, drinking some strange concoction of vodka and lime, bobbing his head to the music. He owns the room with his confidence and nonchalant manner. He looks gorgeous, of course, with his hair just beginning to curl, the little beaded necklaces he refuses to part with, his shirt sleeves rolled up to just the right point to look cool. He looks every part the celebrity.
I shouldn’t be here.
“Cat, there you are!” the aforementioned sex God says, grasping my hand and pulling me through a gaggle of people to a corner. “I want you to meet Chris and Lance. Guys, this is Cat, my girlfriend.”
I won’t deny the rush of esteem I felt when he said ‘girlfriend’ so proudly, and I grin as I hold out my hand. “Hey, how are ya?”
“Nice to meet you,” they chorus. If they felt any surprise at seeing little old chubby me, they hid it very well.
“We should have met you ages ago,” comments Chris, his black haired head nodding thoughtfully. “Normally we have to approve Justin’s girlfriends after the first three months.”
Laughing, I shrug. “I guess he’s kept me all to himself.”
“I certainly have,” he says, smiling warmly at me as his hands slide protectively over my hips. “So, you guys finally decided to lower the standard and come out to ole Tennessee, right?”
“Just for your special day, Justin,” Lance mutters, shaking his head jokingly. “You know I can’t be this close to the South. Brings back that good old accent of mine.”
Chuckling, I examine them. Lance is very handsome. His dark blonde hair is styled to immaculate perfection, his green eyes literally sparkle at me, his broad shoulders are covered by a loose shirt. I was going to comment that he resembled a blonde version of Sean, but it’s not very nice to do that to Justin on his birthday.
Looking at Chris, I can’t help but wonder whether he really is this big funny guy, or whether that’s just the decision of some record label exec when they put personalities to Justin’s band. I’m assuming the former, with his spiky black hair and the dark red leather jacket hugging his short frame, he looks every part the fun-loving guy.
“Are you guys enjoying the party?”
“Yes, thank you,” replies Lance, shooting a glance at the buzzing crowd. “You and Trace did a good job organizing it.”
“Oh, thank you. It was all Trace, really. You know, with all his, ‘connections’,” I say sarcastically, causing them to laugh, much to my excitement.
“Whereabouts are you from, Cat?” asks Chris, taking a sip of his drink from the red straw. “You don’t have the adorable southern twang these two hicks do,” he says, motioning to an outraged Justin and Lance.
“Ohio,” I smile, before realizing just how uncool that sounded.
“Me too. Well, somewhere near there.”
The blush that was threatening to rise to my cheeks gradually creeps back down, for which I’m grateful. “And you, Lance? You’re from Tennessee?”
“Mississippi,” he replies, smiling. “But they’re all the same, right?”
Laughing, I shrug, before feeling a tug on my arm. “Yes?” I turn around to the culprit.
“Cat, I wanted to know exactly how much vodka we ordered,” Trace asks, his face torn between amusement and worry.
“I don’t know…why?”
“I think Lynn just drank half of it.”
“Oh no,” says Justin, dropping his head to his hands. “Trace, don’t you know what happens when my mother gets drunk?”
He grins. “Oh yeah. That’s one lap dance I’ll never forget.”
Shuddering, I turn to Justin. “I’ll go sort it out.”
“No, I’ll do--”
“It’s okay, I got it,” I reply, putting a hand on his chest to stop him from moving. “It was nice meeting you both,” I say, turning to Chris and Lance.
“You too,” the reply in unison, and for one second I consider teasing them for their automatic harmony, before deciding against it.
Dropping a quick kiss on Justin’s cheek, I shoot Chris and Lance the mandatory smile, before turning away.
That wasn’t too bad.
-------------------------------------
Watching Cat’s retreating back, I look at Chris and Lance from the corner of my eye. “So, come on guys, the honest truth.”
“I like her,” pipes Chris, putting a hand into the pocket of his jacket. “She seems to have her head in the right place.”
“She didn’t know anything about us, which I guess was cool,” says Lance, laughing.
Nodding, I turn back to them, unable to suppress my smile. “I’m glad you like her.”
“I think you like her more,” teases Lance, poking me in the ribs.
I shrug and take a drink. “What can I say, man? We’re great.”
“She’s not the type of girl you usually go for.”
Feeling myself bristle slightly, I look at Lance sternly. “Which is why I like her.”
“Justin,” begins Chris cautiously, staring at the floor momentarily. “Just…be careful with that one, okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“When you guys go back to the real world, just be prepared for what might happen.“
My face remains blank, so Chris continues. “The press will chew her up if you’re not careful.”
“I won’t let them,” I say defiantly.
“You can’t stop the media,” Lance points out. “It’s just something to keep in mind when you go back to work, that’s all.”
“What, you guys don’t think we can deal with the pressure?” I ask, shoving a hand into my pocket so they won’t notice my clenched fist.
“It’s not that…” says Lance hesitantly. “It’s just…as we said, she’s not what you’d expect, so you’re going to have to watch out for that.”
“Okay…” I mumble, hating them for bringing that up. I’m fully aware of how difficult things are going to be when I’m back in the spotlight. No matter how beautiful I think she is, to the media, she’ll get tagged girl next door in a second. And not in a nice way.
“But don’t worry about it now,” says Chris, slapping a hand on my shoulder cheerfully. “It’s just something we thought we’d mention. You’ve not got a secret album up your sleeve, do you?”
Shifting uncomfortably in my shoes, I stare at the floor.
“The problem is, guys…there’s going to be.”
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