Waking up in a house that isn’t your own is an extremely odd event that is almost indescribable. The entire place smelled like Justin, which relaxed me. The place also had far too many windows, which annoyed me.

I’d had far too many drinks the night before and the sun was going far too out of it’s way to shine in through every window in the place-- and Justin Timberlake had a lot of windows.

I felt weird, and it could have been for millions of reasons. More than likely, it was the glaring memory of what Justin and I had done the night before. It was the impossible pounding in my head that would not be ignored. It was the almost overwhelming fact that Justin and I were moving at the speed of a runaway freight train. A train that somebody needed to put a stop to before it barreled out of it’s safe little tunnel and endangered unsuspecting pedestrians all around.

“Oh god.” I opened one eye, then the other. It was so fucking bright. It hurt. “Why?” I asked the windows and the shining sun. I tried to swallow but my throat was thick. I was still on the very couch I’d been on the night before, but Justin wasn’t there next to me.

The disappointment I felt was both predictable and embarrassing.

I yawned, deeply, and almost choked on it when I realized that Steven Timberlake’s face was a mere breath away from mine. Our noses were nearly touching.

He smelled like a child. I snatched my head back.

He smiled that nearly toothless smile, “Morning.”

I squinted an eye against the sun coming in through the window. I looked down at my legs and realized that I was wearing a pair of Justin‘s sweatpants. They were incredibly hot and incredibly confusing. I couldn‘t remember putting them on myself. I yawned, long and slow, as I pulled them off of my legs. I adjusted the dress on my thighs and vowed never to wear it again. Steven watched me the entire time. “Morning, brat. What time is it?”

“Ten o’clock in the morning.”

Which meant that each of us had gotten less than five hours of sleep.

“Where are all your little friends?”

“Their mommies taked them home.”

“Where’s everyone else?”

“At the mall…Justin is still sleep.”

A too full bowl of cereal came dripping into my view and I sat up on the couch, quickly, now completely alert, and stared down at the bowl Steven held in his small hands. He leaned against the couch, somehow managing to hold it steady. “I maked you some cereal.”

I cringed, “Why does it… look like that?”

His eyes grew unsure, “It’s Frosted Flakes, and Fruit Loops, and Lucky Charms all mixed! I didn’t puts none of Justin’s cereal in there ‘cause his is nasty.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, as if he were on a secret mission, “And he don’t likes to share.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“But I maked this for you!” He was extremely loud and extremely proud.

Only a monster would turn her nose up at his effort, so I took the bowl from him, careful not to drip. I was afraid, but took a heaping spoonful, anyway. I figured as long as he saw me chew and swallow it once he would be satisfied.

I smiled softly, “This is actually pretty good.”

Steven seemed pleased. Then he frowned. “I maked a mess.”

I looked up from my cereal and stared. “You made a mess?”

Steven bit his bottom lip, nodded, and looked towards the kitchen.

I followed his gaze, but the swinging door was closed, blocking my view. “How messy of a mess?”

He seemed to really think it through, and clutched Davis to his chest. “Like… really.”

Slowly, I set my bowl down on the table. Again, I was meticulous to avoid any drippage.

“Justin is gone got mad at me.”

The brat was concerned and I couldn’t blame him. I immediately recalled one night at Justin‘s condo. We’d been watching some show on HBO and the gum I’d been chewing had accidentally fallen out of my mouth and landed on the arm of his leather couch.

The way he’d looked at me… I was frightened that I’d just breathed my last breath. Then the gum wouldn’t come completely off and, the way he looked at me, I was sure I’d breathed my last breath. I ran from his condo screaming in fright before I could find out for sure.

Needless to say I’d learned very early on that anything involving, crumbs, gums or liquids were to be handled with the utmost delicacy, if at all, whenever you were in the presence of Justin Timberlake or anything that Justin Timberlake owned.

I was now fully awake and held my hand out to Steven, who was now anxiously bouncing from one foot to the other, “Show me where!”

He grabbed my hand in his little one, dragged me to the swinging door of the kitchen and pushed it open.

The moment my eyes drank in the sight I gasped and threw my hand over my mouth.

I considered running as fast as I could in the opposite direction as to clear myself of any accusation if Justin found this before we could clean it. Looking down into the little monster’s big, blue eyes-- I knew I couldn’t throw him to the obsessive compulsive man that still slept upstairs.

“Okay…” I took in the counters, which were covered in Lucky Charms, Ore O’s, Fruit Loops and Frosted Flakes. I knew for a fact that Justin’s counters had a really nice, black, marble like finish but, looking at it now, completely drenched in Vitamin D milk, one would never know. The liquid was quickly traveling down the counter and over the edge, where it dripped onto the pristine floors. I held my hands out at the sight, as if this would somehow stop it.

“Oh no…” Steven seemed to be taking in the massacre before him as quickly as I was, “It’s gotted worse, Trevie.”

“Don’t panic!” I hurried into the kitchen and began throwing open counters, “Where does Justin keep the soap and 409 and stuff?”

“I don’t know I don’t live here!” Steven cried.

“Keep your voice down!” I snatched a bottle of purple Palmolive off the sink, “This will have to do. I need towels--”

Steven was standing behind me with arm full of white towels. He was two steps ahead of me. Without another word, we both went to work cleaning. Steven was on the floor at my feet, cleaning furiously and I was above him, sliding cereal off the counter and into my hand. Every once in a while I’d miss, causing cereal and milk to drip off the edge and into Steven’s hair.

Neither of us cared. There was no time.

“Justin’s gone got mad.” Steven chanted this phrase over and over as he crawled across the floor, wiping up every inch of the tile whether there was milk present or not.

“He’s not going to get mad. We’re going to clean this up quick and he’ll never have to--” My eyes shot to the closed swinging door of the kitchen. Except that it was no longer closed, but wide open, “Know.” I slowly finished. I dropped the towel.

Steven’s eyes hit me, saw my face, then traveled to the door. When he saw Justin standing there, his entire little body flew into the air and his ass hit the floor with a plop. He didn’t scream, but it sure seemed like he wanted to.

“It was him!” I cried, pointing to Steven.

Justin was speechless. He was in a pair of grey sweatpants and a white tee shirt. It was clear that he’d just woken up but that didn’t mean he was incapable of blowing the fuck up on somebody. His eyes were wide, tired and puffy, but that didn’t disguise the fury that was slowly boiling over behind them. “What… happened?”

I looked down at Steven.

Steven looked up at me.

We both looked at Justin.

The silence only riled him more. “What… happened?”

I stammered, “He did it!” For the second time, and pointed to Steven, again.

“You guys were going to try and clean this…” He motioned to the catastrophe, “Without telling me?”

No response.

“How could you? You guys know that I have a very specific cleaning regime for spilled milk and cereal and how many times do I have to tell you not to make cereal by yourself, Steve?! You can’t do it without making a mess so don’t do it!”

Steven’s voice had grown incredibly high and whiney, “I was just trying to made Trevie something to eat ‘cause she was tooking a nap. I just wanted to surprised her.”

“Oh, Steve.” I grinned down on him, like mush, “That was very sweet--”

“If you can’t do it without making a mess don’t do it!”

I gaped at Justin, “Heartless bastard, did you not hear what he just said?”

“Look at my kitchen!”

I pointed at him, “Heartless! Heartless son of a bitch, you are!”

For the first time, Steven didn’t jump to ‘uuuumm’ me into oblivion for my profanity.

“He’s a kid, Justin. Damn. You see us in here trying to clean it so your crazy ass didn’t come in here and throw a fucking tantrum. You see us in here freaking out because we know how psychotic you are about keeping your shit pristine, so stop fucking yelling at the fucking kid!” I was now standing in front of Steven, who was clutching my legs. After staring at Justin, daring him to say something, I grabbed the towel I’d been holding and went back to the counter, “Fucking dick.” I mumbled, continuing to clean.

Justin spoke, attempting to stay calm. “It wont be clean until we scrub it with one third of Lysol and one forth of 409.” He opened a counter under the sink and slammed it shut, “Fuck, we‘re out!”

Steven squeezed in between me and the cabinet and reached up onto the counter. He set both of his hands on top of one of mine to help me scrub. He felt bad. I threw Justin a look, “It’s fine, Mr. Clean. Almost good as new.”

Justin’s eyes widened, “Almost is not good enough. It’s milk, Trev. If there’s even a trace of it anywhere it could contaminate the entire area!”

Steven and I stared up at him, dumbfounded. “Do you realize that you enunciate every other word you say when you‘re like this? Do you realize how stupid you sound?!” I cried.

Justin’s jaw was clenched so tight I was sure it would shatter, “Lysol and 409. Mixed together. A third and a fourth.”

“I can‘t believe I let you touch me with those psychotic fingers of yours.” I smirked.

He raised his eyebrows, “Don’t say what you don’t mean, Spencer.”

“Psychotic.” I mumbled, going back to the counter. Steven set his hand back on top of mine and helped, every once in a while throwing Justin concerned looks.

“My kitchen.” Justin seemed defeated. God, this shit was seriously a huge deal to him, “I think we might have some Lysol in the bathroom upstairs.” Justin spoke, but no one listened. “Just stop!”

Steven and I jumped.

He was holding his hands out, “Just stop trying to clean it because you’re not…” He covered his forehead and sighed, “You’re not going to do it right, so just…” As he left the room the phone rang. “Could you grab that?" He motioned to the phone absent mindedly, while hurrying out of the room.

I turned at stared at it. I didn't live here! Why would I answer the phone?

I handed Steven the towel, “Here, brat, keep scrubbing. And don’ be like Justin when you grow up.”

“Okay.” Steven softly agreed. He began brushing furiously. I grabbed the phone off the cradle, and hesitated.

Turning back to Steven, watching him clean the counters, I actually laughed, “Oh my god. I almost forgot!”

Steven paused and looked up at me, “What?”

“Close your eyes for a second, would you?”

Steven complied, and covered his face.

I pointed to the mess and twirled. After I was done, I swear, I saw a faint sparkle.

Steven removed his hands from his face, took one look at the spotless counter and jumped, “How did you do that?!” He screamed.

I gaped at him, “Do what? Haven’t you ever heard of the cleaning fairy? She only comes around once a year when little boys don’t feel like cleaning. But only grown ups can summon her.”

“Woooooooow.” Steven was in awe.

I turned back to the ringing phone, “Justin your brother’s cute but he’s not the brightest star in the sky. Hello?" I held the receiver to my ear.

A female voice answered, "Justin Timberlake, please."

She had said please, but the tone of her voice almost completely cancelled out everything she'd said, however polite. I took a look at Steven, he was now running his hands tentatively across the counter as if it was the first time he’d ever seen a counter, and quietly left the kitchen and sat at a table in the dining room.

"Who is this?" I asked.

"Who is this?"

"This is the person who's fucking house you called." I could hardly believe I was cussing at someone on Justin's phone. I actually had no right to be angry at this lady. I didn't even know this lady. I just needed someone to scream at since he wasn't around.

"This is Justin Timberlake's house. This is his number. I know it is. Put him on the phone, please."

I examined my nails, "I’m not sure I care for your tone."

"You're..." She paused, "Trevion, aren't you?"

My eyes widened and my hand fell to my side. Well, bitch just took the wind right out of my sails.

"Your silence speak volumes." She said, pompously, "Can you put Justin on the phone, please?"

"Mr. Clean is a little busy having an aneurism in the bathroom right now. Besides, he just got his dick sucked yesterday. I'd say those are two pretty good reasons why he can't come to the phone for you right now."

“… Believe me, darling, if I was looking for a dick to suck my husband would be the first stop."

"You're married, huh?" I asked, "That never stops them."

"Well it's a good thing I'm not one of them."

"Who are you, then?"

"I'm his manager slash publicist slash ax murderer if you don‘t get him to the phone in the next ten seconds."

I couldn’t respond.

She sighed, “I’m his publicist and manager.”

"Should that mean something to me?"

"It should if you're tired of seeing your face on every magazine rack in the country."

I perked. "You have my attention, ax murderer."

"Great. If only I needed it."

I cringed at the phone, then put it back to my ear. "You're mean." I said, very childishly.

She laughed out loud, "From what I've read, so are you."

"Justin has a publicist?"

"Yes. Before he ran off to Las Vegas to roam the streets he had a life of his own. A career. An income. A fan base. All of which are quickly dwindling."

"Oh yeah!" I beamed. "Sometimes I forgot about the whole Nsync thing."

"Nsync? No. He's a solo artist. His new album was supposed to be released yesterday."

"He has a new album?" I asked. I couldn't believe I didn't know any of this.

"Yes. And I can't possibly explain to you how much fun it's been releasing a Justin Timberlake album... With no Justin Timberlake. Never mind that Jennifer's been busting her ass for years. Jennifer hasn't slept in fourteen weeks, but that’s okay. Jennifer hasn't gotten laid in even longer, but no worries. Jennifer is on the bleeding edge of her second divorce, but-- hey, just another day in the life of a publicist right?"

"So..." I faltered, "That would make you... Jennifer?"

She wasn't amused. In fact, I don't even think she heard me. "Jennifer's worried about this fucking kid like he was her own son. She doesn't know where her next paycheck is coming from, but that's neither here nor there... As long as everybody's having fun in Vegas!" She laughed a crazy laugh, and I was a little afraid. Then, Jennifer got serious, "Can you put him on the fucking phone please?"

I sputtered.

"Hello?"

"Hang on." I whispered.

I called out to Justin and, several minutes later, he came walking in from another room with every imaginable cleaner in his hands. He looked at me like the last thing he wanted to do was look at me.

I held the phone out to him. "It's Jennifer."

The color drained from his face.

"Your publicist slash manager.”

He didn't move.

I moved for him, shoved the receiver into his chest and held it. He reached up and took it, struggled with all of the containers in his hands.

"She's mean." I informed, even though it was more than obvious that he already knew that.

I left him for twenty minutes to take a shower and make myself look halfway decent. I put on the jeans I’d worn when Kim and I first arrived and stole a white t-shirt from one of Justin’s drawers. It hung down to my knees.

When I went back downstairs Steven was in the den watching Power Rangers. Justin was in the kitchen, which was back to it’s previous pristine state, as if noting had ever happened.

When I walked in he removed the yellow gloves on his hands, crossed his arms and leaned against the stove.

I leaned against the swinging door.

We watched each other.

He spoke first. “Hi.” The fight he put up against the smile attacking his face was a losing battle.

I smirked. “Hi.”

“I’m sorry I yelled.”

“You should be.”

Justin jammed his eyes closed, “He destroyed my… pristine kitchen. And now he’s being punished.”

“He’s in the den watching Power Rangers. Some punishment.”

Justin winked, “Those are re-runs. He hates re-runs.”

“You monster.” I stepped into the kitchen. Justin laughed when the swinging door came back in and pushed me even farther. I rolled my eyes and made my way up to him, allowing him to reach out and place his hands on my waist. “I’m pretty sure you’re going to hell for letting him sit on that couch after what we did on it last night.”

He spread his legs and pulled me in-between them, “He’s a growing boy, he’s got to learn someday.”

“He’s six. Speaking off odd punishments… why did I wake up in your pants this morning? I was sweating like an African hog.”

“You were shivering last night. So I just… slid them on you.”

He picked up a bottle of Naked Orange Juice sitting on the counter and took a long sip. He held it out to me, after.

“What ever did I do to earn such kindness?” I brought the juice to my mouth.

“Please understand this, Spencer. You will never have to earn your way into my pants.”

I sputtered and covered my mouth, handing the bottle back to him.

He took it and set it on the counter, “Sharing is caring, after all.”

“You sure weren’t all about the sharing last night.”

“You were too drunk for the sharing last night.”

“I was not--”

He gave me a look.

I smacked my lips, “That drunk.”

“Trevion…” He waited for me to look at him, “You were gone.”

“I had a few beers.”

“When we share.” He leaned closer and placed a soft kiss on my neck, “I mean, really…” He came up and bit my ear, “Share.” He pulled back and licked his lips, “We’re both going to be there. Completely.”

“Sharing?”

“And caring.” He added.

“So that’s why you wouldn’t fuck me last night?”

“Trevion, I live in a mansion. I’m rich. I would have found a place for us to fuck.”

“But I was half naked. I was saying yes! Either you’re gay or…“ I shook my head, “No. Actually, you know what? That was… incredibly noble of you, Justin.”

“No, you’re just incredibly important to me.”

I looked away from him. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to be mad about this later, but right now,” I looked back at him and smiled, “I can’t seem to manage it.”

“Damn.” He snapped his fingers, “That’s how I like you. Angry, and in large doses.”

“It’s still early.” I reassured.

“Speaking of sharing, didn’t Kim bring anymore of her clothes to share with you? I have to be honest… I’ve rather enjoyed the little fashion show you two have been putting on this weekend.”

I took a moment, then reached up and clenched his shoulders, “Can I be honest with you about something without you freaking out and getting all estrogenic on me?”

“Yes.” He gave me a look, “And I’m pretty sure estrogenic is not a word.”

I could have argued that it absolutely was a word, but I had other things on my mind. I made myself spit it out right then, “I think we’re moving too fast,” because I knew I would have lost my nerve if I’d waited a second longer.

Justin’s entire body stiffened under my grasp, and I got stiff right along with him. He cleared his throat, “You think we--” His head cocked to the side, “What?”

“Well, like you said… I was really drunk last night. You weren’t exactly sober, yourself. I mean, we couldn’t even be in the same room together ten hours prior without profanities and endless discussion of your dick getting thrown around in all directions.” I flailed my arms all over, “Last night just seemed really… sudden. You know? One day we’re friends, the next day we hate each other and then, hours later, were making out on the couch. I just…” I cringed, “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

He clenched his lips together, tight, then nodded.

“Are you mad?”

He shook his head, “Nah.”

I sighed, deeply, and brought my hands from his shoulders, “Good. Good. And here I was thinking you were going to get all girly on me.” I went to pull away from him.

He pulled me back. “I need you to have dinner with me and Jennifer tonight.”

My face collapsed, “That crazy bitch on the phone?” He nodded, “That’s funny.”

“I’m not joking.” He reached into an open Total cereal box next to him and threw a handful into his mouth. He smiled at me as he chewed. He said, with a full mouth, “I told her that you were my assistant.”

“Timberlake, why?”

“Because.”

“Um, because why?”

“I have to have dinner with her. I don’t want to do it alone.”

“So your solution was to volunteer me?”

“Yes.”

“And if I say no?”

“I’ll do this.” He opened his mouth, which was now full of chewed up, moist cereal, and gave me the perfect view.

“Oh my--” I pushed him against the counter with all my might and tried to pull away from him. “You are disgusting!"

He swallowed and pulled my arms around his waist, “You should do this for me. This is what friends do for each other.”

Some serious emphasis on the word “friends” right there. For the first time, I noticed how tightly he was holding me around my waist, how short he had suddenly become, the look in his eyes. He was trying to hide it, but something had very subtly changed about him. “Friends.” I repeated.

“Isn’t that what you want?” Yep, he was definitely being short.

I stood up on my toes, until we were nose to nose, then came back down. He followed, keeping his nose pressed against mine. “Can friends kiss?” I whispered.

He raised his eyebrows, “I don’t know.” He swallowed the cereal in his mouth, “Can they?”

“I don’t know…”

His lips crashed onto mine. I was hesitant for a few seconds, then that was over, and I was allowing him to push me up against the counter.

He tasted like oats and alcohol, but I didn’t care.

Nobody kissed like this man kissed.

Nobody.

--

Later on that evening Justin has, somehow, gotten me into the passenger’s side of his car.

Honestly, I knew exactly why I’d agreed to have this dinner with him and that psychotic woman on the phone. Kim had come back earlier from shopping and promptly reminded me that we were leaving for Las Vegas the next morning, no ifs, ands or buts.

She hadn’t asked me how things had gone with Justin the night before. Honestly, I think she either already knew or was too afraid to ask.

Either way, I was now wearing her jeans, her heels and the same sparkly top that I’d been wearing when we first arrived.

About ten minutes into the drive I was looking at Justin. He had been uncharacteristically quiet for the entire ride, which I didn’t mind. It had given me some time to think.

So much time, in fact, that I started to think out loud. “Are you being sued?”

He was shocked at the question, “Why?”

“From what Jennifer said it seems like you’re being sued. Considering who you are, I’m assuming that when people sue you they sue you for the kind of money people like me will never see.”

“Jennifer exaggerates. But, yeah, I probably am being sued.”

That panicked me more than I imagined it would. I mean, I’d had an idea that he was, but watching him confirm it was a whole other thing, “Why? And by who? Oh my god!”

“Don’t panic, Trevion.”

“Fuck that!”

“I wouldn’t lose that much money. But I would lose a lot. A whole lot.”

I stared at him, and when he didn't continue, I sighed, "Justin, a whole lot to me is fifteen dollars. A gold mine, an investment, dinner for a week.... You get my drift."

He smiled, "What about thirty million?"

I could feel my eyes bugging, "Whoa!"

I was instinctively excited at the thought of thirty millions dollars. Probably because I knew I'd never see that kind of money for as long as I lived. "I'm sitting here, right now, trying to imagine thirty million dollars and I can't. That's how unfamiliar thirty million dollars and I are to each other."

He laughed, out loud.

"Don’t laugh!" I beamed. "Could they really take that kind of money from you? Could they really do that?"

"Record companies don't fuck around, Trev. If you're signed on to do two more albums it doesn't matter whether or not you want to do them. It matters whether or not the record company wants you to do them. If you decide not to do it-- if you decide you don't like your contract, anymore, you can't just walk out of it. You have to buy your way out... And the asking price aint cheap.”

"It's about twenty-nine million, nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine dollars more expensive than anything I've ever seen."

"Thank god you make me laugh. You take my mind off of all this bullshit." He reached over and rested his hand across my seat. Then his hand was behind my neck, his fingers playing with my short hair.

"How much are you worth?" I asked.

The moment the question left my lips, his hands had left my hair.

"Whoa... Bad question to ask?"

He stared at me, "You must have missed class that day in the second grade when they talked about manners. Wait,” He smirked, “Sorry, I forgot who I was talking to for a minute.”

“You just told me that your record company's thinking about suing you for thirty million dollars. Your complete nonchalance when you told me this probably means that you can afford to lose thirty million." I jammed my eyes shut. Just saying thirty million was making my head pound. "I know that you have at least thirty million dollars. I guess I was just a little curious about the main number."

"The main number?"

"Yeah. The number that makes you talk about losing thirty million dollars like most people talk about losing a dime on the street."

"I'll tell you. Only because I know that it doesn't matter to you. It's never mattered to you." He said, and when I didn't respond, his gaze stayed strong in mine, "Sixty-three million."

For the first time in my life, I was afraid of the man in front of me.

"Let's talk about something else." He suggested this immediately after telling me that he was worth sixty-three million dollars. It was as if he'd said something as meaningless as what he'd ate for breakfast that morning.

Reguardless, I abided by his wishes and stopped asking question.  This laster about five minutes.

I chimed, "How exactly does one go about making sixty million dollars?" I asked, "Just so I know for the day that I feel like becoming a sixty million dollar..." I paused, "- ionaire." He didn't immediately answer me, so I began to ramble, "I know that you've sold millions of albums worldwide, so that would put one or two million in your bank account. Then you go on tours and stuff and that would add a few million. Television appearances-- you get paid for those, right?"

"Yes." Was all he said, never breaking his gaze from the road. I kept a firm grip on my seat as he increased speed and began making sharper turns than necessary.

"And you've been in the business since you were thirteen, which is ten years of work. I'm no Einstein, but... That would only leave you with about twenty million dollars. And with all the meaningless shit that I see you spend all that money on everyday that twenty million is easily dwindled down to ten. I mean... I just..." With every word I said he seemed to drive faster--wilder, jerking me roughly whenever we made a sudden turn. I just couldn't stop myself from talking, though, even though I could see it was bothering him. "I mean--"

"I have people that handle my money, Trevion." He finally responded, "Professionals. I have stocks. Bonds. Savings accounts. Every time a song of mine is used in any way, shape, or form I see a piece of the pie. Any nightclub in Vegas would pay me one hundred grand to walk in and sit down for five minutes. Two hundred grand for every TV appearance. Steady income from album salves, DVD sales. On my last tour I made three hundred thousand per show."

"Okay." I shook my head, "I did fairly well in math in elementary school, but you're making my brain hurt."

"My buddy Marty was bored one day, sat down and calculated my every cent. Sitting on my ass- not doing a damn thing-- I'm making five grand a day, two hundred and eight dollars an hour, 3.50 cents a minute... With every second that passes I just made another .50 cents. That's how I'm worth sixty million dollars. That's why I can afford to buy all kinds extravagant shit. Okay?" He didn't give me even a second to answer. "Okay."

I stared at him, my mouth agape. "You really make three dollars every minute?"

"Three dollars and fifty cents."

"That's ridiculous!" I cried. Ridiculous in the best possible way!

"What's ridiculous is that we're still talking about this."

"Okay, I've been ignoring it up until now, but I can't, anymore." I said, squealing slightly when we made a sharp turn, "Why are you so touchy about money? Why do you hate talking about it, so much? You've told me about your sex life, all about your family, I know that you're deeply afraid of teeny tiny spiders, that your favorite aunt's entire house is pink and that your ex-girlfriend fucked your best friend-- an event that sent you straight to the rooftop of my dorm. I know pretty much everything there is to know about you. Why is money such a big deal?"

"Because people make it a big deal. I didn't think that you were one of those people, but..." His eyes narrowed to me, then back to the road "It's not your fault. It's just that, everything my money touches… Everything it touches turns to shit."

--

Two hours later, we were at a fancy Italian restaurant who’s name I couldn’t even pronounce. The place was jammed packed but Justin and I were swept right past the hundred or so people on the forty-five minute waiting list and straight into the place. Every once in a while, someone would throw us a look, then look away, then snap their heads back, eyes wide as saucers.

Then there was the whispering.

Ah, the whispering.

If I never head my name whispered on the tongue of a person I’d never met, again… it would be too soon.

Justin and I were seated at a table in the corner next to the windows. Our company, if you could even call them that, joined us not even two minutes later.

We were now twenty minutes in. I was shaking my head and afraid for my life. “You’d think after yesterday I’d have sense enough to know that sitting down with you at any table that isn’t inside of a taco joint isn’t the grandest idea.”

Jennifer was sitting across from us with one of Justin’s “many” lawyers, John.

Ah, Jennifer.

“I mean, honestly, Timberlake, how you’ve survived this dinner all the way to the salad course is beyond me. How I haven’t jumped across this table and strangled you until you pass away is beyond me.” Jennifer was a very animated speaker and her arms flailed all about as she spoke. A few times, I was worried for John’s safety, as her wild hand often came dangerously close to catching him in the temple. I was also worried that all of the movement would put a wrinkle in the pretty little red suit she had on.

Justin’s eyes fluttered closed, “We talked about this on the phone, didn’t we? I don’t know why you’re acting so surprised.”

“You don’t know why I’m acting so surprised?!” Jennifer did that a lot. Justin would say something to her, then she would repeat it in the format of a question. As if every word he said was the craziest thing she’d ever heard in her life.

She was an incredible woman. Incredibly blonde, incredibly tall, incredibly mean and incredibly not afraid of anyone or anything. Honestly, I was sure that if the three hundred pound guard at the front door challenged her to a dual she wouldn’t back down for a second. From the moment Justin and I had sat down she’d been laying it on him, thick. Apparently he’d lost a lot of people, including himself, a lot of money and was on the fast track to losing more. “You disappear,” She threw her arms out, “For two months.” She held up two finger, “You reappear,” She threw her arms out, “For two weeks.” She held up two fingers, “I have no idea who, what, when, where, why, or HOW and you don’t know why I’m fucking surprised?”

I stared at my salad like it was the most vivid thing I’d ever seen. I don’t know what button Justin had pushed, but he’d certainly pushed it.

“I see you all over the magazine covers with some woman that I’ve never seen in my life.” She looked at me, “And you don’t know why I’m fucking surprised? Since when do you give complete strangers the time of day, Justin? Matter of fact, who the hell are you? Do I even know you? Are you some kind of science experiment that’s gone terribly wrong? Where are you hiding the real Justin? Is he alive? Is he being fed? Please tell me he’s being fed because, when the police find him, I’d like to know that there wont be any real brain damage as the Justin that’s being hidden from me has got to have a little more common sense than the fucking idiot that I’m looking at right now.”

I stared at Jennifer, mouth agape. I didn’t even feel the need to stand up for Justin. Partly because she was clearly insane and within two inches of a steak knife, and partly because I kind of liked her.

“Is something funny?!” She threw me a look and wiped the smile right off my face.

“Don’t talk to her like that.” Justin voice was hard.

“Don’t talk to her like that?!”

“It’s okay.” I touched his arm.

“Is this woman really the reason that you’re going to lose all of this money? Really, Justin? Do you even know that Britney’s out of the hospital?”

My hand tightened on his arm.

His silence gave her fire, “Yeah. She’s been out for… wow, two weeks now.”

“I didn’t come here to talk about her. Not now. Not ever. I’m not going back into the studio. Not now. Not ever. I don’t care who sues me. Not now. Not ever. I don’t ever want to see you raise your fucking voice at her, again. Not now. Not ever.”

“Justin, it’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t.” He looked at me, “It isn’t. You don’t have anything to do with this.”

“She doesn‘t have anything to do with this?!” Okay, that was getting annoying. Jennifer threw her hands out, narrowly missing poor John, “Have you picked up a magazine lately? As of one and a half months ago she has everything to do with this, Justin! And, I must say, you certainly seem very protective of your ‘assistant’.” Hello air quotes!

“I think we all know that Trevion isn’t my assistant.” Justin rolled his eyes.

John, who’d yet to say anything, smirked.

"Will he really lose a lot of money? Like thousands?" I asked.

"Let's go ahead and try millions, darling."

My entire face fell and I shot my gaze to Justin, beaming, "Millions?!"

He threw me a look. I knew his faces very well. ‘Not now.’ mixed with ‘Are you kidding me?’ was what his face was saying right then.

I didn’t care, and beamed again, just for effect, “Millions?!”

"Yes. Millions." Jennifer nodded stiffly, appearing highly thankful that at least someone understood the weight of the situation at hand. Then she looked at Justin, completely exasperated. "You’re already on thin ice with the record company, J. I don't even want to think about all the reimbursements that need to be made for the dozens of the scheduled appearances you've missed. We can reschedule most of them, thank god, so we'll only be a couple million in the hole. Once the tour starts things should get better-- please allow me to remind you that Pepsi is paying you seven hundred thousand dollars per performance.”

I choked on my water and threw Justin another look. He was looking at me, as well, like I’d betrayed him or killed his puppy, or something.

Jennifer didn’t seem extremely aware of mine and Justin’s exchanges. As I looked away from him and back to her, still running her mouth, I was convinced that she just really, really liked the sound of her own voice, regardless of whether or not it was hitting another human being.

“You are fucking this up, Justin. You are fucking this up big and now is the time--the only time, to fix it. This is your last chance before the big money starts to go."

I stared at her. As far as I was concerned, the big money had been going since earlier in the night when she’d brought up a suite at The Marriott that went for 1500 a night.

Justin, of course, was unimpressed by the numbers being thrown at him. Thoroughly unimpressed. He was so disgusting sometimes. Stubbornly, he crossed his arms, "I'm sorry, Jennifer. I'm sorry..." He seemed to truly mean it, "I'll make it up to you, but... I'm done. I'm done with music. It's not for me."

“It’s not for you?!”

“Are you aware that you’re repeating everything he’s saying?” I shook my head. She was scary, but, honestly, I was this close to stabbing her in the eye.

“Trev…” Justin shook his head, “Shhhh….” He looked back to Jennifer, “It’s over.”

"Justin!" Her voice was homicidal.

"Justin!" I couldn't believe that he was going to make me the reason for losing millions of dollars.

"Justin." Though he was a man of few words, I was sure that John had stopped breathing.

"Look." Justin was now on the defense, as he held his hands out. "The last time I checked this was my talent. My voice. My body. My life. My decision." His eyes softened in Jennifer’s, "I'm sorry… I am... But things have changed. I've changed."

Justin reached over and grabbed my hand. I grabbed back. Instinct.

Fire shot through Jennifer’s thin nostrils as she stared at our clasped hands. I wondered if she'd had surgery on that flawless nose. She set both hands on the table and took a very deep breath. “Justin…” She rose her brown eyes, the only thing average about her, to his, “I’ve been seeing my therapists lately.”

I looked at Justin just to see if he’d noticed the plural. He nodded his head, very softly, eyes shut. I clenched my lips and looked back to the crazy woman.

She set her hands on each reddened cheek and blew air through her lips, “They all tell me that my job… my relationship to you, to the record company, to the lawyers, are all extremely destructive. They’re the reason that I’ve had so many failed marriages, they’re the reason that I can’t have kids, they’re the reason that I blow up,” She clenched her hands into little claws, “The way I do, but I’ve never listened.”

I heard Justin swallow.

Very calmly, Jennifer began counting on her fingers, “I can’t fucking eat, I can’t fucking sleep, I can’t fucking think, I can’t fucking fuck!”

I jumped in my seat.

“I can’t fucking do anything without thinking about you. About your career and this--” She motioned to our hands, eyes wide and blue and crazy, “Is how you repay me, you son of a bitch?!”

Justin’s grip tightened. I looked around. Yep, people were definitely looking.

Jennifer didn’t care. “What aren’t you comprehending, Justin? What am I not saying to make it clear to you how much of a catastrophe your life will become if you don’t man up and take care of your responsibilities?! Do you honestly think that Jive is all you have to worry about? They’re not. Think about your endorsements. McDonalds. Coca-Cola. Weaties. Fuck, Justin, the NWA is all over my ass because you didn’t show up for the performance last weekend. That’s a fifty million dollar lawsuit right there. The papers have already been filed, it’s done. You are officially being sued, it is no fucking joke and it is only the beginning if you don’t straighten the fuck up!” Okay, Jennifer was no longer breathing.

For the first time, I was gripping Justin’s hand as hard as he was gripping mine. Every table around us had decided that eating was now priority numero dos and were paying our table their utmost attention. Outside of Jennifer’s tantrum, the place was dead quiet. Waiters in every corner were fidgety, probably wondering whether or not to approach our table and tell us to keep it down. I didn’t know who they were more afraid of, the celebrity or Jennifer.

“… your Jeep? Gone! Your houses? Gone! Your savings? Gone! By the time they are done with you ass you’re lucky if they don’t seize your baby brother while they’re emptying out your eight million dollar house! And even after they take all of that it’s not over. Enter the public! Once the corporations are done with you you’re going to get hit by the few hundred people that are likely to be laid off. Record producers, stagehands, back-up singers, dancers, receptionists, sound techs, your gardener, your cook, your maid, lawyers-- oh god! The lawyer fees are going to be through the roof! The list honestly goes on and on and fucking on! I just…” She sputtered, “I just don’t even know what to say.”

Justin, very quietly, mumbled, “Actually, I don’t… I don’t have a maid.”

Jennifer dropped her fork. It hit her plate with a clank.

Silence. I threw Justin my own wide eyes. “Don‘t…” I clenched my teeth, “Speak.”

She fumed, “There is no light at the end of the tunnel, Justin! There is no choice. These people will not only come down on you, but on us--us. They will come down on us like a nuclear bomb--” She slammed her fist into the table, “God damn it! Understand! Try to understand me! I’m not telling you this for my mother fucking health, I’m telling you this for your future and mine.”

“I understand.” Justin’s voice was soft.

“Do you?!” Jennifer nearly leapt out of her chair, “Do you really?!”

I cleared my throat. When her eyes shot to me, I wanted to melt into my chair. The look of fire she threw at me was daring me to say something. Anything. One word. One reason for her to reach across our salads and claw my eyes out.

"Look, Jen. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Justin held his hands out in surrender. There seemed to be a collective sigh of relief all across the room. The man was apologizing, which was clearly not only the right choice, but the only choice, “Don't look at me like that, Jen. I'm sorry, okay? I’ll do it. I’ll do it. I wont go back to Vegas until this is all…” He sighed, “Straightened out.”

Jennifer eyeballs seemed determined to take up residence anywhere but inside her eye sockets. Every breath she took was heavy. I wasn’t one to notice a woman’s breasts, but as she sat there, heaving like a dog, I couldn’t help but notice how nice hers were, whether they were real, and where she shopped for bras if they weren’t.

“I’ll stay.” Justin lowered his hands slowly back down onto the table.

Jennifer crossed her arms and began whispering in John’s ear. Judging from her frantically bobbing head, small eyes, tight lips and the fact that she was Jennifer it couldn't have been anything too nice.

Two minutes later, John, who had kept very quiet and was, in extension, the only person at the table with an iota of common sense, nodded his head stiffly at whatever Jennifer had said.

She turned back to Justin. She was teary eyed, but composed. Not once did her eyes narrow around the restaurant. Not once did she acknowledge the nosey bastards who couldn’t rip their eyes from her. She was actually quite pretty when she wasn’t screaming. “10:15 tomorrow morning I’ll be at your house with the papers.”

Justin nodded. “10:15.” He took a deep breath. It shook.

“Trevion.” Jennifer’s eyes closed in on me. “I’ll see you in hell?”

I returned her fake smile and widened my eyes down into my salad.

I sat in complete silence next to Justin and, as she and John stood and quietly left the restaurant, our eyes met. The moment they were gone, I smiled.

And so did he.

Our laughter was loud, immediate and, apparently, contagious, because the moment we started laughing, everyone around us was laughing, as well. The bold ones even went so far as to try and engage Justin in conversation. He ignored them all.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Apparently, Hell hath no hilarity like a woman scorned, either.

Even though I’m pretty sure that doesn’t even… make sense.

Eventually, we went back to our salads, eating quietly.

I lasted a full minute. Dropping my fork, I looked at him, “Okay… can we please talk about that?”

He dropped his fork, as well, and caught my eyes, “She’s not always like that.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“When she’s had a good night sleep, a meal and a tummy full of meds she can actually be downright pleasant.”

“That woman was a lot of things… but pleasant aint one of them. She was scary.  And what was with the lawyer? Marcelle Marceau had more to say then that guy."

"That was John, Jennifer second husband.  He is only allowed to speak when spoken to or expressly acknowledged."

"She's got him on a hell of a leash, no surprise there."

He slung his arm over the back of my chair, “Yeah, I noticed that you didn’t say anything.”

“She was a little too crazy and we’re in a room where sharp objects are a little too accessible…” I smirked, “I wasn’t saying shit.”

He reached out and ran his knuckles down my jaw. I wondered if he noticed that we, once again, had the attention of most of the room.

I smiled at him, “When you said that thing about your maid, oh my god.” I threw my head back, “I thought she was going to leap across the table and stab you.”

“There were a few times it seemed like she was going to stab you. Which would have been unfortunate, because then I would have had to stab her.”

“Look at you all protective.”

“I was scared for you, Trev. For us.”

“That certainly makes two of us. Getting stabbed isn’t exactly on my top ten list of things to do before I die.”

His hand glided down my face and into my hair. He caught a piece between his fingers, “I would have thrown my body in front of you.”

“That works for me, Clark Kent.”

He pulled the hair he held and grinned when I cried out, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I wish I could say the same.” I cut my eye at him and went back to my salad. As I ate, I couldn’t help but notice his eyes on me and looked back. He was staring. “Focus on your salad, Timberlake.”

“I lost my appetite.” His hands were back in my hair. The smile on his face spoke volumes. “For the salad, anyway.”

My body was so immediately responsive that it was frightening. I quietly set my fork in my salad, “I hope you’re not suggesting that we get freaky in this restaurant.”

“Oh no.” He pulled his face in a very tight, very obvious frown.

“Because I’m not that kind of girl.”

“No, no.” He shook his head.

I looked down at my salad, sighed, then gazed up at him. “I think I have to use the bathroom?”

His eyes almost shined as he nodded, “Yeah.”

--

I made my way to the bathroom first. It was at the end of a long dark hallway, far away from the other diners and thankfully so. I stepped into the ladies room and looked around as the door closed behind me. It had three stalls and was impeccably clean. I could actually smell a faint hint of bleach.

I made my way to the large counter right as Justin came in behind me. He closed the door behind him, then locked it.

I watched and listened as it locked into place. It seemed so final.

He turned to me. “So is this it?”

I pulled myself up onto the counter and reached under my top. I fingered my belly button, desperate for skin on my skin, even if it was my own. I threw him a look. “Come here. Come here, pop star. Richy Rich.”

“Don’t--”

“Call you that.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m just playing. Besides… I think it would be kind of sexy. You could be Richy Rich and I could be the poor peasant girl. Actually…” I thought about it, then laughed, “That wouldn’t be much different then what we’ve already got going on. Okay, how about I could be the rich one and you could be the bum… let’s try that out…” I undid the button of my jeans, “Come closer.”

He didn’t. His arms were crossed tight over is chest and he seemed quite at home leaning on the door of the bathroom. “You really fucked me up this morning.”

My hand dropped from my jeans.

“That shit you said to me.” He shook his head, “What are we doing? Do you want to take things slow or do you want to fuck?”

My brain immediately hurt. Man that was a hard question to answer.

“Are we going to be together? Or are we just fucking?”

“Well, technically, we haven’t fucked, yet, so that’s a difficult question to…” I studied his face, then quickly finished, “Answer.”

Yep, he was pissed.

My eyes widened, “I don’t know. I just thought we were…” Say the right words, Trevion. Say the right words, Trevion, “Having fun.”

His entire face changed. Wrong words. I barely heard him when he said, through clenched teeth, “I’m not just having fun.”

“Okay, fun was a bad choice of word--”

He was no longer hearing me, “I’m not just having fun, Trevion. As a matter of fact, I haven’t been having fun for a while. I haven’t been having fun from the moment that I realized that I could never have you. I haven’t been having fun from the moment that I realized I could probably have you, but had no idea how to go about it. I haven’t been having fun from the moment that I realized I loved you… more than I loved myself, and that you’d never understand that. I haven’t been having fun from the moment you told me you loved me just because you didn’t want to watch me leave you… I haven’t been having fun, Trev. I’ve been in fucking agony.”

“Like I said…” My voice was small, “Bad choice of words.”

“Do you just want to fool around?” His voice rose. “Is that it? Please tell me. Tell me now before I think this relationship into something that it isn’t.”

“I just want you!” I beamed. The words shocked me, but, surprisingly, there were many more where those came from. “I just want to be with you, Justin. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from you regardless of how stupid that makes me.”

“Why does it have to be stupid, Trev? Why can’t we just be together?”

My nostrils flared, “Was this your plan, all along? Lure me in here with the promise of a little sex and then give me the third fucking degree? Huh? Is there a man sitting on the other side of this mirror taking notes?” I pointed to the mirror behind me, then knocked on it.

“If you just want to fuck, then that’s fine. I can give you that…” He held his hands out, “But just tell me. Just be for real.”

“I don’t have to be for real, Justin, because you already know that I fucking adore you! And don’t,” I jammed my eyes shut, “Don’t give me that look. Because you know it. You’ve known it, Justin. I’ve known it. Trace has known it. Kim has known it. Hell, Steven has known it and, let me tell you, that kid aint exactly the next Einstein! It’s not like it’s some big fucking secret… how I feel about you.”

He watched me, “How do you feel about me, baby? Tell me.”

“You know how I feel about you. You know that I would do anything for you, even though that’s not much. I can’t pay for your meal tonight, I can’t take you to Bora Bora, I can’t buy you a car, but… I would do anything that I could for you. Without question and you know it. I’m just not as capable or willing to say it out loud as you are. It’s not as easy for me as it is for you. Okay? So don’t give me that look. That look like you don’t know what the hell I’m talking about when I tell you I’m crazy about you.”

“So what do you want?” He persisted.

I groaned and fell against the mirror. “Oh my god, I’m trapped in a Meg Ryan movie.” I tried to claw my way through the mirror.

Justin continued. “Do you want to go out? Is there a three date minimum? You want me to sing you a song? Recite the fifty states? Stand at the top of the Eifel Tower and scream your name in French? What do you want? What do you need, Trev, that will make you feel more comfortable with where we’re going?”

I tried to think up an answer, only to realize I didn’t have one.

“Anything.” Justin watched me intensely.

“You’re pressuring me.” I pouted.

“It’s been almost three months. I have never pressured you.”

“Why can’t we just have fun?”

“Because I’m not wired that way.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me.”

I could hardly believe my ears.

“I’m just trying to move this forward because I know if I leave it up to you we’ll just be at a complete standstill until we’re ninety, and, Trev, I’d really like to make love to you sometime before then.”

“What the hell, Justin? I’m right here, and I’m saying yes.” He was hesitant, “What do you need? Huh? Do you need me to be your girlfriend before you’ll do anything serious with me?”

“Yes.” He answered immediately.

“Well,” I shrugged, “I’m sorry, but that scares me a little bit.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t be someone’s girlfriend.”

“Why?”

“Because I would suck at it!”

“You’ve been doing all right the last two months.”

“I haven’t had a girlfriend label hammered into my back for the last two months, either.”

“You’ll still be the same person. Just… plus one.”

I laughed out loud and turned sideway so my legs were stretched out across the counter and I was leaning against one of the stalls, “Justin. I have been plus one, for the last…” I pulled a Jennifer and held up two fingers, “Two months.”

“I just want to be with you. Romantically. Intellectually. Sexually. I’ll take you in small doses or I’ll take you in larges ones. You’re in the driver’s seat, Trevion. Whatever you want, I’ll do. I’m just a man lost to a woman who merely…” He chuckled, “Who merely tolerates him.”

I immediately jumped in, “I don’t just tolerate you.”

He didn’t respond.

“Justin… if I fuck this up I will never…” I sighed. Damn it, I’d already said too much. I rose my eyes to his. My words didn’t seem to have any effect on him, “I will never forgive myself. I love being with you. I love that you let me be the man in our relationship. I love that it took you a month and a half to get up the nerve to kiss me.” I laughed, “I love that you‘re a neat freak to worrisome levels. I love you and I’m scared of just how much. It’s dangerous territory that I don’t thread lightly on. Having you around is a… a privilege that I don’t care to tamper with. It’s not that I don’t want to be with you. It’s not that you’re just some cheap thrill. It’s just that I don’t want to lose you. I couldn’t even… begin to handle it if I lost you. Why do you think I was down here so quickly when you called me? I’ll tell you what, it’s wasn’t because of that god fearing, motor-mouth little brat you’ve got back at the house.” I pointed to the wall, then stuck a finger in my mouth, “Well, maybe it was for him, a little.” I rolled my eyes, clutching the counter, “You can jump in and shut me up anytime here, Timberlake.”

“Take off your jeans.”

I skipped a beat, then froze. “What?”

He leaned against the door and stared at me. “Take off your jeans.”

I studied him, smirking. “Will that make you feel better?”

For a moment, I honestly didn’t think he was serious. A part of me wanted to remind him that there was a bustling restaurant full of people on the other side of that wall, but something stopped me. Maybe it was the look in his eyes. Maybe it was how horny I was. Maybe the night before had rendered me helpless to his every advance without me knowing.

I wasn’t su