It was good, at first. The way his fingers just skimmed the surface of exposed skin above her hips. And he had rhythm; so many of these random dudes she met had none. He smelled good; the scent of his cologne not overpowering or cloying. She didn't know what it was that he was wearing, but she could tell it wasn't cheap. 

"Damn, girl." He groaned against her ear as she arched her back and pushed up against him. 

He was about six feet tall, olive skinned. She wasn't sure what he was ethnically, but she guessed Mediterranean or something like it. His eyes were dark and sexy, like his curly hair. 

"Let's get outta here. You got a room nearby, don't you?"

She closed her eyes, liking the way her heartbeat pulsed in time with the music. "I just wanna dance, OK?" 

"You just wanna dance, huh?" His grip on her hips tightened considerably, pulling her flush up against him, grinding into her salaciously. "Because the way you're moving tells me something different."

She rolled her eyes and pushed his hands away. "Thanks." She turned to walk away and he grabbed her arm. She looked down at his fingers gripping her and then up into his eyes, her expression mild and vaguely disinterested. "You should let go of me now. I'd hate to cause a scene."

He followed as her gaze turned from him to the large, dreadlocked man standing off to the side of the small dance floor. He was watching them calmly, but obviously ready to move at the slightest provocation. "Man, whatever." He dropped her arm and stalked away. 

"Everything OK, Case?" Bruce asked as she neared him, making her way to the bar. "Old boy ran up outta here like his ass was on fire. Was he giving you a hard time?"

She smiled and gave her bodyguard a mock salute. "I'm aces, B. And he...well, I think I wasn't as much as fun as he thought I'd be." She made her way over to the bar and, after ordering a rum and cola, spotted Chris in the corner.

Drink in hand, she approached him and collapsed onto the cushion next to his. "What's up, Kirkpatrick?"

His eyes narrowed as he focused intently on the dance floor a few feet away from where they were sitting. "D'ya think that hurts?"

She followed his gaze and grunted. "It certainly doesn't look comfortable." She swirled the glass tumbler in her hand before taking a swallow. 

Her backup dancers, Jasmine Flores, Lawrence Mitchell and Mike Albion, were on the dance floor performing what appeared to be a simulated sex act. Jasmine was in the middle with the men flanking her front and rear. There was a little bumping, some grinding, and a whole lot of Jasmine being bent over and turned around.

Chris tilted his head as she suddenly leaned forward, head almost touching the floor. "You should definitely find a way to work that into your show."

"Yeah, somehow I'm thinking no." Casey gave an emphatic shake of her head. "The parents of the teenies in your audience would not be impressed. You guys keep the sexuality...relatively subtle and non-threatening."

Like *NSYNC, her music mostly focused on relationships--the endings and beginnings, and everything in between. Though none of her songs could be called graphic, and she generally sang about sex in metaphorical ways that most kids were not likely to understand, unlike *NSYNC her lyrics tackled the sex and sexuality in a more direct way. Her physical aesthetic was also a bit more overtly sexual, and the decision was made, once she joined the tour, that some of the choreography would be toned down so as not to offend any of *NSYNC's young fans--or, perhaps more importantly, their parents.  

"Yeah." His eyes were still fixed on the trio on the floor. Jasmine lifted one leg and wrapped it around Lawrence's waist. "There's nothing at all subtle about that." After a beat, he turned to her smirking. "Speaking of...where'd your boyfriend run off to?" 

"Huh?" Her brows knitted together in confusion.

"Oh, you know, that nice young man you were dry fucking earlier?" Chris slammed his drink back and looked around the room. 

She snickered. "I was just dancing, but I guess just dancing wasn't good enough for him."  

Chris laughed while she sipped at her drink, scanning the room. The lights were low and cast a bluish tint against the black walls and plush seating. The silvery accents twinkled in time with the beat of the music that pumped from the speakers at a comfortable decibel. 

One of the perks Casey Whitaker had come to enjoy about being on tour with *NSYNC as their opening act was VIP access at even the most exclusive clubs. This particular club, Room Blu, was not, however, particularly exclusive and it was small; the VIP area was roped and curtained off, a few steps above and off to the side of the main seating area. It was the location for the allegedly secret, unofficial post-show after party. As sometimes happened, word got out that *NSYNC might be making an appearance, and considering the fifty dollar cover for a club that usually had a ten dollar entrance fee, she could only surmise that someone connected with the place let the cat out of the bag. She heard that there had been some grumbling about both the excessive cover, and the fact that the club was twenty-one and over. That was another perk of being on tour; she had only recently turned twenty but was able to dance and drink no matter where the party happened to be. And despite the size of the venue, the DJ was on fire and the liquor was top shelf and free-flowing. She wasn't quite drunk, but she'd inched past buzzed and was feeling no pain; she planned on drinking away all plaguing thoughts of recent events. 

Despite the hefty door charge, hordes of fans--most of them female and scantily clad--descended on the club like moths to a flame. Three rather large and intimidating bodyguards stood in front of the VIP area, making sure that none of the more enterprising young women made their way past the rope--and oh, how they tried. The fan phenomenon was something that, even after being with *NSYNC for a couple of months, Casey still couldn't wrap her mind around. Girls went absolutely insane everywhere the guys were. They screamed and cried and just completely lost their collective minds. 

That evening the club was packed, and there was still a line of women waiting to pay their fifty bucks to get a glance of Joey, Chris, Lance, Justin, and JC. Casey laughed to herself, wondering how upset some of the girls would be once they realized that only three out of five *NSYNC members had showed up that evening, one of whom had bowed out quickly, none of whom were the supposed fan favorites. 

They were all supposed to go out together, but only Chris, Lance, and Joey made it to the club that evening. A sudden phone call had Justin begging off right before they left. Joey disappeared after about fifteen minutes of grinding with one particularly skimpily clothed young woman. But of course she couldn't help but wonder about why JC had stayed away. And just like that, her stomach started churning.

"I thought JC was supposed to be coming out tonight, too?" She cast what she hoped was a casual glance Chris's way.  

For a moment he only stared at her, blinking. She began to feel more than a little self-conscious and wished she hadn't mentioned it.

"Yeah," he began slowly. "I think that was the plan originally."

After placing her glass on the table in front of them, she twisted the silver ring on her left thumb. "What happened to change it?" She hoped that she looked bored and only semi-interested in his response.

He shrugged. "I guess you'd have to ask JC."

"Yeah, right. I'll just go up and ask the guy who goes out of his way to avoid talking to me. I've literally seen him change directions in a hallway when he sees me coming." She rolled her eyes and stopped twisting the ring suddenly, realization dawning. "Wait a minute; don't tell me he didn't come out because of me?"

He coughed, not doing a good job of covering up his laughter. "Again, Case, you'd have to ask him that. In fact, I think you should."

"I really don't fucking get him. I've never done anything to him-I've barely said ten words to him. But let me walk into a room where he is and I can almost literally feel the temperature drop twenty degrees." Casey sighed heavily. "Whatever."

"Well." Chris's tone of voice held the slightest bit of amusement. "I was under the impression that you didn't much like him anyway. Am I wrong?"

She snapped her head up, brown eyes narrowed defiantly. "No; you're exactly right. What's to like? He has the personality of a rock." She grabbed her beverage and gulped down the last bit. "I'm leaving; I'll see you tomorrow. Please tell Lance I said goodnight."

After slamming her glass down she stalked across the room to say goodnight to her dancers. 

***

Once outside the club, Casey dashed into the waiting SUV.  

"You're ready to head back already?" Christoff asked from the driver's seat. 

She looked down at her phone and was more than a little dismayed to see that it was only half-past midnight. "Yeah." She clenched her teeth and blew out a breath. "I guess so."

He adjusted his rear view mirror to look back at her. "Everything all right, Casey?" Sincere concern shined in his dark eyes.

She affixed what she hoped was a passably authentic smile on her face. "Everything's gravy. I'm just tired now." He continued watching her and she flashed a thumbs up. "Seriously. I'm good."

After another second Christoff nodded, readjusted the mirror, and pulled off. 

So much for her plan of staying out late as possible. For keeping her body moving enough long enough to keep her mind otherwise occupied. There was stuff, so much fucking stuff, lurking just beneath the surface of her consciousness. The liquor helped lately. And maybe, maybe she was using it to help just a little too much. But fuck it. She was young, and her liver was fully functional. It made sense to take advantage of her health while she had it. 

Music helped, too. Especially in a club or at a concert where she wasn't performing. When it was loud and pulsing and people were all around moving with her. On those occasions the unpleasantness, the craziness of the last year remained at bay. The sheer insanity of the last few weeks, especially. Including the ever present situation with JC. 

OK, so it was a bold-faced lie she had told Chris. Yeah, she had an idea she knew what JC's problem was. More than an idea, really. But she also had absolutely no clue of what to do to remedy things. Their first meeting had been less than comfortable. To say they met under bad circumstances was an understatement of nearly epic proportions. The second time was almost just as awkward. And everything that followed...well, it continued to go downhill. Rubbing her hands up and down her denim-clad thighs, Casey sunk down lower into the leather seat. 

Unpleasantness wasn't her thing. And lately, there had been entirely too much of it. She thrived on exciting and fun, and combining both of those things into activity and busyness. She liked moving and going and doing. Sitting still, and being contemplative, and dealing with heavy things were not high on her list of priorities. And the situation with JC went beyond simply unpleasant. It was irritating and vexatious and repugnant, and a whole host of other synonyms she couldn't immediately bring to mind. It was horrible. 

She thought Tony's exit would mean the end of it all. But in a way, things only got worse. And thinking about it made her feel sick to her stomach.

She tried to not let the fact that JC's apparent distaste for her was almost unbearable. If she entered a room he usually left if at all possible. If they passed one another backstage or in a hotel corridor, he avoided eye contact with her. Tony's dramatic exit had made JC's behavior toward her all the more obvious. When Tony had been around she was able to partially convince herself that JC was avoiding Tony more so than her, but once he was gone she couldn't deny the truth.

He hates me, she thought with a sense of self-pitying sullenness. Her first interaction with him came to mind and she shook her head as if physically shaking away the memory. The fact was, she understood why he felt the way she assumed he felt, but it didn't bother her any less. 

"Screw it and screw him," she mumbled aloud.

"What was that?" Christoff called from up front.

"Nothing."