Reese

I planned on coming home and getting straight on the computer to research JC, but I decided I needed some grounding first. 45 minutes of yin yoga later and my body feels calmer but I haven't reached the deep, meditative state I was aiming for.

But it's OK because my emotional support is already on the way. I called Sasha in the car on the way home, and although I didn't go into explicit detail, she's got enough information to already be headed to my place. I sit on my couch, pull my legs up underneath me, and call Bridgette next.

Whereas Sasha and I have been thick as thieves since we became neighbors as toddlers, B and I became friends my sophomore year of college. We met in a digital photography class I took for elective credit. I would've noticed her no matter what; she walked into the room that first day with half of her head of wavy black hair shaved and the other half bleached blonde and streaked with rainbow colors. We were also the only two brown people in the class so I was glad when she spotted me and immediately claimed the seat next to mine.

I was flailing emotionally when we met, an only child navigating a difficult transition with my only parent, while my best friend in the world was in school out of state. B is three years older than me, a middle daughter sandwiched between two sons. She kind of adopted me that semester and we've been friends ever since.

"Bitch," Bridgette says when she picks up, "I've called you fifty fucking times since yesterday and you're just now calling me back."

"I texted you." I snicker.

"Yeah, with no motherfucking details. I'm assuming you got dicked down good and you're still in recovery mode?"

One of Bridgette's many charms is that she has no filter. If she thinks it, it's most definitely going to fly out of her mouth.

As much as I want to laugh at that, all I can muster is a pitiful sigh. "Can you come over? I have pizza and alcohol, and Sash is bringing the chocolate. I'll give you all of the details your nosy ass so desires."

"I'm on my way."

Thirty minutes later I'm surrounded by my best friends, pizza, and several bottles of wine. I'm already halfway through my third large glass of bubbly, pink moscato because I started without them.

Bridgette and Sasha are seated on either end of my sectional, and I'm sprawled on the floor in front of them. There's a fire going in the fireplace, and I'm feeling warm, cozy, and a few sips away from drunk.

I've taken them through the story, beginning with JC catching me as I stumbled out of the club's bathroom. They've heard about the great time--multiple times--we had on Saturday and Sunday. Sasha was wide-eyed and Bridgette was howling when I got to the part about our impromptu reunion in my office this afternoon.

And I've just gotten to the JC-is-apparently-a-celebrity-thing.

"So Layla comes into the office and she's on ten, and she's asking me all these questions about JC and I'm super confused, right? And I ask how she knows him and she starts literally shrieking at me about how he's famous and used to be in this group with Justin Timberlake and--"

"Wait a minute," Sasha exclaims, and her incredulous expression is almost a perfect mirror of Layla's. She sits up so fast that she almost knocks her plate off her lap. "You had sex with JC Chasez? JC Chasez from *NSYNC?"

"Who?" Bridgette looks as confused as I felt earlier.

Sasha pushes her plate onto the cushion next to her and grabs her phone from the side table. She taps for a second before tossing it to Bridgette. "JC Chasez. *NSYNC." She's gaping at me.

I shrug. "Apparently."

Bridgette holds the phone out to me. The image on screen is of five guys so young they're practically pre-pubescent, and it takes me a moment to recognize Justin Timberlake.

"Which one is he?" she asks as she slides onto the floor next to me.

For a moment I'm too busy inspecting JT's formerly 3b curls; I wonder if he relaxes his hair these days. Then I hone in on JC. "When's this from?" I ask Sasha.

She joins us on the floor, sitting on the other side of me. "1998, I think."

"Hmm." I point him out to Bridgette and scroll to see more pictures.

I tap his name into the search bar and a series of recent pictures pop up. I stop on one of him smiling, dressed to the nines for some sort of obviously black tie event. He's in black on black, blue eyes sparkling magnificently, and his dark hair is styled perfectly. He's so beautiful it almost hurts.

"That's what he looks like now?" B grunts a little and scrunches her face up. "I guess you can't judge a book by its cover. He doesn't look like he can fu--"

She stops and shrugs when I cut my eyes at her.

"I can't believe that you took JC Chasez home and had sex with him," Sasha says. "I cannot fucking believe that you took JC Chasez home and you had sex with him and you didn't know he was JC Chasez." She stares at me with unadulterated disbelief.

I ignore her and keep scrolling through images. There are several recent ones of him and Tia. She's as beautiful in pictures as she is in person. And together...well, it's like Layla said: they make a perfect fucking couple.

The sensation in the pit of my stomach feels a little too much like jealousy, and I hand the phone back to Sasha.

"So I guess I'm the only person on earth who had no idea who he was? Is." I stare into my half-full glass of wine before gulping it down.

Bridgette laughs, pats my shoulder, and gets back up on the couch. "Oh, girl, I wouldn't have known either."

"You really don't remember anything about *NSYNC?" Sasha asks. "Nelly even did a song with them."

I roll my eyes. "No. I don't remember."

"Do you remember Katie Jefferson? She was in our English class senior year?"

I think back and I have a vague impression of someone. "Really tall? Red hair and glasses?"

"That's her." Sasha nods. "We were in a creative writing class together sophomore year of undergrad and she was a huge *NSYNC fan. I went to a concert with her one weekend. Maybe I should Facebook her. JC was her favorite and I'm pretty sure she used to write stories about him."

I scowl, thinking back to the way he looked at me when I asked if he made a living or worked a job. I didn't understand it then, but it makes perfect sense now: he was surprised as hell I didn't recognize him. It was the same look he gave me when I asked his name.

I crawl over to the bottles of wine and pour another glass. "You know what? I'm done with men. All of them. I mean it this time." I raise my glass to commemorate the moment.

"I really don't see what the big deal is," Bridgette says.

Before I can reply, Sasha turns disapproving eyes toward her. "What do you mean?" she asks.

Bridgette rolls her eyes. "So he's got a girlfriend; it's not like he's married."

"B!" Sasha drops the wine key she's been playing with.

"What?" Bridgette leans over to grab the key from the floor and begins to fiddle with it. "He went home with you after knowing you for an hour. Clearly his relationship has issues that have nothing to do with you."

Sasha's gaping at her and I gaze at her blankly.

"If the sex with him was as great as you say it was, then let his fucked up relationship be his problem and see if he wants to smash again. You were going through kind of a drought."

Like I said, she has no filter.

"Bridgette!" Sasha squeals again, which is what she does when she's really shocked and exasperated. "I can't believe you'd say that after what Dav--" She stops and looks at me guiltily.

I lift my glass again, toasting the air. "You can say his name, Sash. It's fine." Him, being David. My boyfriend of three years. Ex-boyfriend. Ex-cheating-boyfriend. Whatever.

"But that's exactly my point, Reese." B has her wine glass in one hand and she's pointing at me with the other. "David was an asshole even before he was a cheater. Or rather, before you knew he was a cheater."

I flip her off and she continues unperturbed.

"The cheating was just a symptom of a relationship that didn't function. I hate that he did it to you, Reese, but at the same time I'm glad he's gone. Good riddance."

I don't think any of my close friends particularly cared for David, but she's the only one who never pretended otherwise.

"So how does that translate into me continuing to have sex with JC?" I ask, genuinely interested and also genuinely drunk.

"You said it yourself when you ran into douchebag and what's-her-face," Bridgette says, referring to David and his fiancé. "She's not at fault. She didn't have any obligation to you."

Sasha's giving me this look like on one hand she's not quite sure if I'm OK, but on the other she doesn't disagree with Bridgette.

"It's the same thing with JC and his girlfriend," Bridgette continues. "If their relationship was so great he wouldn't have spent the night with you. That's not your fault, and you don't owe her anything. Make sure he's STD-free, and enjoy the D while you can."

"That's horrible, B," Sasha says, a large amount of disgust in her voice. "And if he's cheating on his girlfriend, he's just like David. Why would Reese put herself in that position?"

Bridgette groans as if Sasha is the simplest of the simple-minded. "I'm not saying date him. But good dick is hard to come by these days. If he's willing to give it to you, and you can keep your feelings out of it, why not? The fact that he's famous...well, it makes it much more interesting. Maybe you'll get flewed out."

Sasha mumbles her disapproval but I just shake my head. Bridgette, meanwhile, is completely unconcerned with either of us or our feelings about what she's just said. Because that's just who she is as a person.

"I have no desire to be a side piece, thanks. I don't care how good the sex was." And although I grimace at B, I'm also pouting because fuck me if it wasn't spectacular. "Anyway, he's only here for the week. He's going back to L.A. on Sunday." And the fact that I'm feeling some kind of way about that is a tidbit I keep to myself.

"And even if he lived here, I wouldn't and couldn't. His girlfriend is really nice." I pour more wine and realize I've lost track of how much I've had. "This is just my punishment. This is what I get for bringing a stranger home."

"Oh, sweets." Sasha scoots closer to me and rubs my arm affectionately. "This isn't your fault and you aren't being punished. Men are just assholes."

I smile at her attempt to make me feel better, but the irony isn't lost on me. Sasha's been blissfully married--to the only man she's ever had sex with, no less--for over a decade. And her husband really is, pardon the cliché, one of the good ones.

"I guess it could be worse." I sniff a little bit, mostly for effect. "At least I had the good sense to use condoms."

"Not when you had his dick in your mouth," Bridgette mutters under her breath.

"Bridgette, shut up!" Sasha yells.

Great, I think with a sinking feeling in my stomach. Now, on top of feeling like shit in general, I have to worry about having gonorrhea. In my mouth.

I guess the next thing on my agenda is a full STD panel as soon as I can get in with my doctor.

I down my glass and pour more wine.

JC

I don't spend a lot of time with Tia's family, especially not at their home in Chicago. But whenever I do, I'm amazed.

It may as well be an estate. Or a museum. Because on the inside, that's what it reminds me of. It's all marble and granite and stone. And it isn't just the size of it. I've been in plenty of huge homes, being in the entertainment industry. But I guess I'm just in awe of the fact that this is just the way Tia grew up--well outside of entertainment.

Thanks to my career I've made a lot of money. And thanks to great financial advisors, I continue to make a lot of money. I don't ever really think about how much money I have, which I guess is common when you have a lot of it. If I want to buy something, I buy it. If I want to go somewhere, I go there. I don't really consider how much things cost because, for the most part, I know I can afford it, whatever it is.

But at the same time, I don't think I live a really flashy life. I mean, yeah, I live in a big, expensive house. But it's not the biggest, or the most expensive, in my neighborhood. Nowhere close.

And I have a few luxury cars, but they aren't much compared to some of the super flashy, super expensive cars some of my neighbors drive.

I don't exactly shop at Target, but at the same time I'm also not constantly walking around in eight hundred dollar pants, or three thousand dollar suits. And although some of my clothes might be kind of expensive for what they are--mostly jeans and t-shirts--I keep my clothes for a long time. They get a lot of use.

I definitely didn't grow up in the lap of luxury. My parents took great care of me and my siblings, but they went to work everyday. They had regular bills like everyone else. Sometimes we used coupons and bought things on sale and...well, it was very middle class and very normal. And I've held on to a lot of that.

I have a lady who comes in a couple of times a week to clean my house. But on a daily basis I load and unload my own dishwasher. And I do my own laundry.

Tia's grown up way different than me. I overheard her mother call me new money once. They still don't know I heard it, but I guess it's true. And if I'm new money, Tia and her family are ancient money.

Her father, William Stanford 'Bill' White, is an Illinois appellate judge. Without getting into specifics, it means he's a pretty big deal in the legal system in the state of Illinois. He's one in a long line of politically connected Whites. Her mother, Amalia, is the daughter of a Mexican diplomat. And other than the fact that her family is a big deal back in Mexico, I don't really know what that means.

Well, I know that it definitely means her parents don't like me.

They've never said that, of course. And they've always been polite, but they don't approve of me. Or of my lack of education. Or the fact that I'm a pop musician. I think they'd be a little more impressed if I were a classical cellist, or world-renowned opera singer. Maybe even if I had a bunch of Grammys and A-list name recognition. But I'm just an over-the-hill, former teen heartthrob who now flies mostly under the radar and stays behind the scenes.

And they just don't have much use for me.

I'm nursing a vanilla old-fashioned while we--Tia, her parents, and me--sit around the table in the informal dining room right off the kitchen. Which is not to be confused with the formal dining room in a different wing of the house. Conversation is kind of swirling around me, but I'm finding it difficult to stay engaged. I nod when I'm supposed to, say 'yes' and 'mmhmm' when I think it's necessary. Mostly though, their voices are washing right over me.

Despite my best efforts, I've spent the bulk of the evening distracted. I guess I'm mentally decompressing. Trying to. I've got a helluva lot to decompress from.

There are more than 12,000 realtors in Chicago. That's what Google says. So how the hell did Tia end up in the office of the one I went to bed with two nights ago?

I felt sick when I walked into that room and saw Reese staring back at me. Sick and guilty. And not even guilty for the right reason. I feel guiltier about not telling her about Tia than I feel about Tia not knowing anything at all.

That's fucked up, right?

After that office visit I texted Eli three letters: FML. He replied with a question mark. Which is actually perfectly symbolic of everything right now.

I keep replaying that moment I walked into her office--the way she looked at me first, then the way she wouldn't look at me after--on an endless loop. The recognition when she first saw me, the realization that came next. There was a split second of disgust, a brief moment of benign disinterest, and then...nothing.

I'm staring into my glass like it holds answers to unknowable secrets, wishing I could knock it back, let it burn my throat and cloud my head, and get another. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. But I know Mrs. White will look at me in that vaguely disapproving way she always looks at me, without saying anything. And I'm not in the mood for that so I sip slowly, telling myself that I'm not supposed to knock back expensive bourbon anyway. And I pretend to be comfortable in this uncomfortable ass chair.

"I think we might be boring JC with all of this talk about business."

I look up to see Bill looking at me. He sounds amused, like the whole thing is funny, but his expression says he's not really joking and he wants me to know it.

I laugh it off. "No, it's not that. I'm just really tired. I haven't fully adjusted to the time change yet." I am tired. So that’s only half a lie.

"JC," Tia says suddenly, grabbing my arm, "tell Mom and Dad about your movie!"

Her parents are looking at me expectantly now so I force a smile and clear my throat. "Uh, it's um...well, it's not a done deal yet or anything, but I was offered a role in a small film and--"

"And he's going to do it and it's going to be amazing," she gushes.

"What's the movie about?" Bill asks.  

"It's about a musical, Daddy. Which is perfect, right? I keep telling him he needs to get back out there and this gives him the chance to showcase his acting and remind people of what an amazing voice he has. And maybe it'll lead to something bigger down the road."

She's holding onto my arm, looking at me like she's so proud and excited and I just...want nothing more than to get out of here.

The movie in question is an indie thing and I honestly don't know if I'm going to do it or not. There are still a few logistical things my manager is trying to work out. In fact, I'm waiting on a call from him any day now. I kind of didn't want to talk about it with anyone--especially not the Whites--until I knew for sure. So much for that.

"Is anyone associated with it we would know?" Amalia asks.

It's the undercurrent of disdain and judgment from both of Tia's parents that makes me stand up suddenly and pull my phone out of my pocket. I have to get the hell out of this room.

"Excuse me, but I have to take this call. Tia can fill you in on the details." I smile again, pretend to answer a call, and put the phone to my ear as I walk out of the room. "Hey, Eric, what's up?"

Without bothering to look behind me, I walk down the hall carrying on an imaginary conversation with my manager. When I get to the study, I close the door behind me and collapse into an armchair. I scroll through my phone's recent call log and choose the name of the only person I can be completely honest with right now.

"I was wondering when I was gonna hear from you," Eli says when he answers.

"Dude," I groan, holding the phone in one hand and my head in the other. "I'm fucked."

"Let me guess," he says, and the TV I could hear playing when he first picked up goes quiet. "This has something to do with your new friend from the other night? What's her name? Reese?"

I groan again and even though I'm pretty sure Tia and her parents will stay where they are until I come back, I lower my voice. "I am so completely fucked."

He chuckles. "Where are you? You're really quiet."

"I'm at Tia's folks' place and I can't handle it right now, man. Today has been…" I sigh. "I didn't think I'd ever see her again."

There's a pause before Eli says, "Maybe you should start at the beginning."

"Hold on." I take a moment to make sure I'm still alone, and when I step out into the hallway I can just make out the sounds of the Whites in the dining room. I know they're going to leave me alone if they think I'm on a business call, but I'm paranoid. With good reason. I come back to the study, closing the door again, and get straight to it.

"What'd you say about Reese on Saturday? That she looked fun?" I exhale slowly. "You have no idea."

I spend the next ten minutes giving Eli the Reader's Digest version of my Saturday and Sunday with Reese. OK...maybe the story is a little bit more Vanity Fair, but I swear I'm not disrespectful.

I tell him about how I'm pretty sure that she doesn't know who I am, and how much I appreciate that. I'm filling him in on how I left her place, and how I absolutely did not want to leave her place, when he interrupts me.

"Why the hell didn't you at least get her number?"

"Because I--" I stop, grunt. It's only a valid question without all of today's details. "It doesn't matter; let me finish."

I take a deep breath, like the rest of the story requires an excessive amount of energy. And in a way, I guess it does. I tell him about Tia's appointment with the realtor. About how she went in before me because I was on the phone.

"So I knock on the door, open it, and Tia's sitting there talking to her new real estate agent...who's none other than Reese."

There's a moment of silence, and then Eli busts out laughing. "No shit! You're serious?"

"Yes!" I hiss. "And it's not fucking funny."

Eli is one of my oldest friends and I love him like a brother, but right now, with the way that he's laughing like I just told him the funniest joke he's ever heard, I kinda want to punch him.

"I don't know, man, I think it's kind of funny.” He's still cracking up. "Damn, brother, you weren't joking about being fucked."

"Thanks, asshole," I mutter.

"But wait." He turns serious. "Since you're currently dining with the Whites, that means Reese didn't mention your little, ah, indiscretion."

I make a face at him, which is pointless since he can't see me. "No, Reese didn't say anything; she just ignored me the entire time we were in her office. So after, I go back to the car with Tia and I lie and say I have to use the bathroom, right?

"So I go back to her office to try to explain and she's done with me. She says she won't say anything to Tia because she wants the commission check. And she's completely calm when she calls me a cheating bastard--"

"Which you are," he interjects.

"Fuck you, man. Anyway, she won't listen to me. At all. She basically kicked me out of her office."

"You're lucky she didn't hit you; I would have." Eli's still quietly snickering on the other end of the line and now I definitely want to punch him, no kind of about it.

"What'd you expect?" he asks with way too much obvious amusement in his voice for my liking. "You went home with her, fucked her, spent the night and hung around the next morning so you could fuck her again. All signs are pointing to you being really into her, and then you show up in her office on Monday with your preternaturally peppy girlfriend. Which, by the way, is a really crazy fucking coincidence."

Don't I know it. I sigh and my head drops back to my hand. "I was really into her. I still am. That's the problem. She's a cool chick. Funny, smart, interesting." Also the sex was insane.

"And I'm sure the great sex doesn't hurt either," Eli says wryly.

Like I said, we've been friends for a long time.

"But even before that we clicked, you know? It's been awhile since I had that. And now she knows about Tia, and I just…" I stop and consider how much like shit I feel.

"And you just fucked all the way up," Eli offers genially.

I'm pissed and I have to fight to keep my voice down. "Listen, if you're gonna--"

"Hear me out, JC."

I take a deep breath and remember that I called him for a reason. On top of the fact that he was at the club with me so he's the only one who I can tell what's going on, one of the things I appreciate most about him is that he's a straight shooter. Even when I don't want him to be.

"I know you don't want to hear it but as far as Reese goes, dude, the proverbial ship has sailed. It's not ever gonna happen again. And I get it; new pussy is always exciting--"

"Eli--"

"--but you may as well start thinking of her as nothing more than Tia's realtor because I can guarantee you that from now on, that's all she's going to be to you. And speaking of Tia, you've been ambivalent about your relationship for months now, and for months now I've been telling you that you need to man up and handle it. Maybe if you do that, eventually you'll meet another cool, funny, smart chick and, uh, click with her--without all the drama."

I'm quiet because really, I don't have anything to say to that. He's right.

And I hate it.