There were two major problems I had as I drove into my driveway. First of all, why are the trash cans out and second, why is the light on? I know I didn’t leave the light on and I sure as hell didn’t put out the trash. 

I sat in the driveway, going through all the possibilities of what could currently be going on in my house. I mean, the obvious explanation is that I’ve been robbed. Although I don’t know why they’d take out the trash. Another option is someone stopped over, but my lazy ass friends sure as fuck wouldn’t take out the trash. I swear to god if there’s a burglar serial killer in my house I’m going to lose my shit. 

That would make sense actually, if there is a serial killer in my house he’d have taken out the trash to get rid of the bodies of his previous victims. 

There better not be dead bodies in my fucking trash. 

No, there’s not dead bodies in my fucking trash. Obviously that’s not why the trash is out. Maybe my assistant stopped over to feed the dogs. 

The dogs.

That has to count out the burglar idea, doesn’t it? I’ve got two badass boxers. At least, they’d look like badass boxers to an outsider. They’re two of the wimpiest dogs I’ve ever seen. Come to think about it, I’m pretty sure my dogs would jump around excitedly and lick a masked serial killer. Benji would probably hump the guy a little, but nothing a couple dog treats couldn’t fix. 

The useless dogs.

I laughed at my paranoia, there has to be an easier explanation. Maybe I did leave the light on, and take the trash out in a half asleep daze. I was real tired when I left this morning. Who would take the trash out anyway? I doubt there’s some crazy guy running around the hills hoping private gates to take the trash out for celebrities. It wouldn’t be easy for someone to get in, and close to impossible to get a big trashcan over the fence. Possible, I suppose, but once again why would someone go through all that trouble to take out the trash? A very helpful criminal, that’s who.

I took a deep breath, maybe I need to chill with the weed for a little. It helps get the creative juices flowing when I’m in the studio but it’s not the best idea when I’m coming home to an empty house at 2am. 

I am a grown ass man I have nothing to be afraid of. There is not a monster hiding in my house. 

I grabbed a golf club from my trunk, just in case. 

I slowly made my way to the front door, quietly turning the knob before walking into the house holding the club like a baseball bat, ready to be a hero. The dogs didn’t come to meet me at the door. Fuck, did the serial killer kill my dogs? What kind of a monster kills dogs?

As I made my way through the hallway I stopped in the kitchen and chuckled when I saw Rebecca scrubbing the stove. 

She turned to me, her blond hair thrown up in a messy ponytail and looked at me like I was a mad man. I was holding a golf club ready to attack, so I’ll give that to her. “What the fuck are you doing?”

I shook my head and looked to the ground, “I thought I was being robbed. What are you doing here?”

“You’re being robbed?” she asked with an eye roll before returning her attention to the stove. 

“Well, you’re the only one that has a key and you’re supposed to be in, what, Denver?” I waited for a second, giving her time to connect the dots before I repeated, “What are you doing home?”

“This place is such a mess,” she ignored the question and continued scrubbing, “Like, how is it possibly this messy? I’m gone for a three game road trip and it’s like a fucking bomb went off in this place. and you’re not even home.”

I leaned against the refrigerator. I should have known better. I’ve been dating Rebecca Rose for three years now. I know the pattern. When she cleans like a crazy person it means only one thing, some serious shit has gone down. “I’m glad you’re here,” I made my way over and wrapped my arms around her, “I missed you.”

She moved out of my arms, “I mean, there was literally a piece of pepperoni stuck to the counter. I had to like, pry it off with a knife.”

“I’ve been at the studio,” I made an excuse. It isn’t a lie, although I do take advantage of the time Becca’s away by living like a slob. Every guy does. I usually have a warning and clean it up before she gets home though. Or at least get someone to clean up.

“Yeah, getting high and fucking around.”

I took a deep breath, not really ready to get into this fight, although when she’s in this mood there’s no getting away from it. “Fucking around? I’m working.”

“Right, with the hoes.”

I know better than to take the bait and start this argument again when she’s already in this mood, so I ignored it and focused on the real issue at hand, “Why are you home Bec? The Lakers are playing the Nuggets tomorrow.”

She threw her sponge down and stormed into the living room, falling onto the couch. I followed and sat down next to her waiting patiently for some answers. 

My girlfriend, Rebecca Rose, is a sportscaster for the Los Angeles Lakers. She’s always court-side during the games, discussing the game, gossiping with the celebrities, and interviewing the players after the game. That’s how we met actually, she was talking to me on air and then wouldn’t stop talking to me off. That’s an exaggeration, obviously, I’m the one that wouldn’t let her get away.

She travels with the team all season so it doesn’t make sense that she’s home right now when she’s supposed to be gone for another three games. Also, an important backstory to understand why I didn’t automatically think my girlfriend, who lives with me, was the one who had the light on and took out the trash. I’m not an idiot. 

“Didn’t you watch the game?” she pouted.

“I’ve been in the studio,” I repeated slowly this time. 

Becca took a deep breath, playing with her Boston Celtics necklace nervously. She’s from Boston and moved out to LA three years ago when she got this job. She’s from a sports family, her older brother Elijah Rose is star point guard for the Celtics. He’s a real hometown hero, MVP and all that shit. Becca’s obviously a big Celtics fan, which obviously doesn’t go over very well working for the Lakers. And by the way she’s playing with her necklace, I’d bet that has something to do with her current mood.

“What happened?” I asked when I realized she wasn’t freely offering the information.  It’s fucking late, I’m tired, let’s get to it.

“I got fired Justin, fucking fired! Right on the air. They didn’t even let me finish the game.”

I pulled her onto my lap hoping to stop the crying before it even starts. She’s one of those girls that cries over the drop of a hat so I need to pull out the big guns here. “What? That’s bullshit. What happened?”

“They said I wasn’t being a good cheerleader. Like I’m supposed to be a cheerleader? I’m not a fucking Laker’s girl, I’m a professional journalist. I speak the truth, that’s my job,” she whined, “They said I was putting the team down.”

I leaned my forehead against her back to stop myself from laughing. “Well, were you?” Of course she was, she’s been putting the team down since her first fucking day. It’s a surprise she’s lasted this long, if I’m honest. Since the first day I saw her on TV, before I even met her, I thought it was hilarious, but also completely ridiculous, that she was standing there, working for the Lakers, wearing a Celtics necklace. It never made sense to me that they’d let her wear that, but as my buddy said, she’s hot and can do whatever the hell she wants. 

It was all for ratings, superstar Elijah Rose’s kid sister working for the Lakers. 

“No,” she answered in shock I would even ask such a question, “All I said was that the team always focused too much on Kobe and now that he’s not there to carry them they can’t stand on their own. It’s a fact, they’ve lost every single game this season that he didn’t start in. I’m not the first person to say that.”

“What else did you say?” there’s obviously more to the story than that, she says that shit every game. Hell she’s even said that to the face of just about every player on the team.

“I said they’re not playing like they want it. Which is also a fact.”

“And what did you say about the Cs?” I hugged her tightly to prepare for the outburst. She always manages to bring up the Celtics at least once each game. At first it made for good television. It was cute, the Lakers court-side reporter, the sister of Celtic’s MVP, mentioning her brother’s team. But that got old fast. They’ve warned her countless times but they need to learn what I learned a long time ago, this girl does what she wants.

“I just said they want it more,” she answered softly. 

I coughed back a laugh and held her even tighter, “Well, there you go.”

“It’s not funny!” she pulled away and punched my arm, “It’s bullshit. What do they expect? They knew Elijah’s my brother when they hired me. I stated a fact, the Lakers have been playing like shit and they don’t play like they want it. Kobe was always the only one on the team that wanted it and with him on the inactive list they’re screwed. And Kobe only wants it because he gets more money and sponsors if he brings the team to the finals. The C’s want it, all of them want it and they’re playing like they want it.”

“Well then you stated a fact. A true reporter. Don’t worry about it, move on.”

“Move on?” she shouted and I quickly wrapped my arms around her again to stop her from slapping me or throwing the couch at me. It wouldn’t surprise me with this girl. “Justin, I got fired from my dream job. I’ve never been fired in my life and I got fired from my dream job.”

“It was not your dream job,” I answered with a chuckle, she’s so fucking dramatic. “It was absolute hell for you to have to work for the Lakers and you know it. So what’s the big deal? You don’t have to deal with Kobe anymore.”

“I hate Kobe,” she whined.

“I know you do,” I kissed the back of her neck, “Take some time off. We’ll go to Hawaii or some shit and then you can come back and get another job. A better job. With ESPN or something.”

Becca turned around and straddled my waist, “I will get another job. Away from the most overrated team in NBA history.”

“Yeah, you will.”

“I will,” she allowed herself to smile and leaned down to press her lips against mine. She ran her hands through my hair and bit at my lip that way she knows drives me crazy. 

“Let’s go on a trip. Where do you want to go? Anywhere you want.”

“I thought you were in the studio.”

“Fuck the studio.”

She giggled and looked up to the ceiling as she thought about it, “Let’s go to Bora Bora.”

“Yeah, sure. The most expensive place in the world.”

“You said anywhere!”

“I did. Should have known better with you,” I answered, placing my hands in the back pockets of her jeans. 

“Fine, let’s go to Glendale. That’s more what you were thinking, isn’t it?” Becca asked with a smirk. 

“Oh yeah, you got me figured out, girl,” I moved my lips to her neck, “You know, now that you’re going to have some time off, maybe it’s about time to start thinking about, ya’know” I moved my hands to her stomach. 

“No, I don’t know. What?”

I lifted up her shirt and she looked at me as if I were crazy. I swear sometimes she needs things to be spelled out for her, “You know, having a baby.”

“We are not having a baby until there are at least three carats on my finger.”

“OK,” I don’t know why she acts like that’s a big deal, she knows damn well I’d get her a fucking ten carat ring if that’s what she wanted, “And then?”

Becca let out a sigh and threw her head back, “Do we really need to talk about this right now?”

“No, I just…”

“It’s just that it’s so easy for you. Yeah, let’s have a kid. All you have to do is have sex and you’re done. I have to fucking grown a human being in my uterus for nine months. And that’s just the beginning of it. I have to get fat and wobble around and my career, that doesn’t even exist at the moment, clearly relies on the way I look. A baby will fuck up my body forever and what if I can’t get back to my pre-baby weight? Then how am I supposed to find a job?”

I immediately regretted bringing it up, it’s gotta be at least three in the morning and I finally managed to get her into a semi decent mood just to bring us back to shit all over again. “Never mind. I just… want to seriously talk about it sometime.” 

“What do you mean seriously talk about it?”

“I just mean…” oh fuck it, “You do want kids, right?”

“Of course I want kids.”

“Soon?”

“I don’t know, soon. You’re older than me Justin, I get it, but I’m not 34, I’m only 28. I have time and I’m trying to focus on my career first. No one is going to hire me when I’m pregnant and even if I get a job and get pregnant they’ll stick me behind a desk somewhere or make me work fucking radio. I am not a radio girl.”

“I know but I don’t want to be fifty with a five year old.”

“You’re not going to be fifty. I’m not saying I need eleven years, but I need a couple more years.”

“Yeah, for the first kid, but then you wait a couple years for the second and then a couple more for the third.”

Her mouth dropped, “how many kids are you planning on me pushing through my vagina?”

“I dunno, four? five?”

She threw her head back and laughed as she crawled off my lap, “You are out of your fucking mind Timberlake. Out of your mind.I can’t talk about this right now, I’m going to bed.”

“Alright,” I answered softly and watched her walk away. 

She stopped at the foot of the stairs, “You coming?”

“Yeah, I’ll be up in a minute.”