*Justin*

There are times when I wish I wasn't who I was. I wouldn't have to worry about being incognito all the time, going to the grocery store wouldn't be an adventure in itself and just simply walking around the block would not result in forty thousand pictures and words describing what I had been (or had not been, for the tabloids) doing in great detail gracing magazine and major papers that gave a damn about that kind of thing everywhere. I wouldn't be so worried about my family's well-being all the damn time, I wouldn't have to worry about women (and some men) stalking or camping out in front of the gates of my home just hoping for some glance at my life. And I wouldn't have my heart as bruised as it is now.

My life isn't what people expect it to be. It's not all glitz and glamour; it isn't all about getting free stuff and I don't get money handed to me. I put my pants on one leg at a time, feet go in my shoes just the same. There are times when all I want to do is curl up in my bed with my comforter and a good movie (or ten) and stay there the entire day, not caring how I appeared or smelled; I just wanted to be alone, to be with myself, and my mood only.

Of course, if I didn't have the life I had, then I wouldn't have all that I do. I wouldn't be able to make sure my brothers go to a good school, that my parents are taken care of, that I am taken care of. I can buy just about anything my little heart desires, and most of the time, I get it free if I even mention having it in an interview (which, definitely has it's perks). I live in an amazing house in an amazing community (for the most part) and I wouldn't have met four of my best friends if it hadn't of been for the life I have.

Nor would I have met Britney. But she's another story.

And then there is Alisan. Or San (Almost like Van, but with an S), as I like to call her. She is the polar opposite of every person I have ever known. I am so used to having my choice in women, not having to worry where my next date is coming from, or if a woman finds me attractive that hanging with her, I question all of that.

San has been a close friend for about five years. We met in Malibu at some party thrown by Alyssa Milano (somehow, they're related, but I couldn't tell you how) who I was dating at the time, and by Alyssa's introduction (and pressure for me to befriend her since she was new to California), she and I began talking. We talked about everything from our favorite beaches to our favorite elementary school teachers. Everything, but our occupations. She not once asked me about my fame, my status; it was just like I was back home again, talking to one of my childhood friends. We instantly clicked, and thinking about it back then, it surprised me.

I'm gonna get a lot of shit for this, I know ... and I'll probably go to hell for it, too: San was not my type at all. To me, she was plain and just someone I could be friends with and tell basically anything to. She didn't have an amazing body like Britney had pre-asshole, Alyssa's soft curves, or Cameron's amazing face. She did have amazing hair, though. Thick, full of waves and always put together. She did have Alyssa's smile, which was beautiful all in it's own, but her whole package to me was shit. And that's horrible for me to say, but back then, when my ego was at it's highest (c'mon, go from a platinum selling group into a platinum selling solo career, followed by a couple of Grammy's, you'd be too), she was the last woman I'd even consider getting with, sleeping with, all that honkey dory.

And then, two years ago, that changed. Maybe, maybe it was trigged by her love for one of my former band mates and close friends, or maybe, I just began to see her for who she was. I even remember the day the jealousy reared it's ugly head and panged me in my ego-driven heart. JC had been looking for a home closer to the studio, and since she was a real estate agent, she offered to show him a few good choices. JC, being Mr. Fickle that he was, had asked me to come along and help the choosing process be just a bit smoother. And then, in the midst of hour four (yes, hour four), with they both flirting shamelessly yet JC completely unaware that they were doing it and there were feelings coming from her end, I began to take a lot of notice in her that I hadn't before.

I imagined kissing her full, pouty lips. I wanted to run my hands through that full head of brown waves. I wanted to hold her against me and feel her breathing against me. I took notice of the sweet perfume she had on, and immediately, that was forever my favorite smell: a mix of vanilla, amber and what I thought to be musk. I heard her laugh and I immediately wanted to be the one she was laughing with, saw her smile and wanted to be the one she was smiling at. I wanted her brown eyes to be looking back at my blue ones ... I wanted to be the only one she saw for miles and miles (just like that one song ... calling on to my true Tennessee roots, here).

And it wasn't just a jealousy thing like I had assumed it to be. It went on for days, weeks, months ... and here we are, two years later. She was still lusting after JC, and I was still feeling jealous.

For a while, I began to make excuses as to why I felt that way: I didn't want my friendship to change because she'd be with JC (or they started to hate each other), I thought the two of them deserved better than the other (meanwhile, they were perfect for each other) and I just didn't like the fact that oblivious, head always in the clouds, naive JC was getting someone that loved him (regardless of he knowing or not) and I was stuck on rebound after my 'jealousy' began rearing it's head while Cameron and I were together and she felt as if she were becoming a third wheel with the jealousy.

She did have a point though. I seemed to make it a daily, no, make that hourly infatuation with coming up with more assinine reasons as to why I didn't understand Alisan or JC. Hanging out with JC became a chore: I was thinking of ways to downgrade what he thought of Alisan to begin with to make her look worse than she really was so that he would have no intention on dating her or even feeling something for her. I began feeding ridiculous stories of JC and his so-called 'crazy' ways to make him look like something she'd never want to be with. And for a while, it seemed to work.

And then, on Christmas Day, Chris Kirkpatrick and the mistletoe became Timberlake enemy numbers one and two.

Mid-conversation, Chris (Let's point out everything and make everyone notice what I had pointed out) Kirkpatrick, another one of my former bandmates and the oldest friend I had (besides Cameron) who also acted like my youngest brother, pointed out that both JC and Alisan were standing underneath the mistletoe that Cameron had placed in the archway of my home. Going with tradition, a stuttering Alisan was kissed by a slightly bewildered JC, he unsure whether or not she'd accept the kiss with tradition.

Oh, she accepted it.

She accepted it so much that Joey had to break them up. Christmas became my least favorite holiday, dropping from first to last quite quickly. It was actually two days later that Cameron left my sorry, pathetic ass in the dust, saying, "if you're so in love with me, you need to stop being in love with someone else", and left it at that.

That was four months ago. Well, almost five. San and JC had a few dates, but with his album being recorded and he doing promotional work, he hasn't been around to do much of anything in L.A. as of late. San had been busy showing off houses to the likes of Nicky and Paris Hilton, George Clooney and Brangelina (who actually chose to live in New Orleans instead after a while). Her favorite, who was now my least favorite man in the world, Matthew Perry, had actually called her a few days prior to set up an appointment to look at a house that was near JC's old one.

Now, of course, me being the Justin Timberlake, I brushed it all off and acted like a cocky asshole about it. I said how much of a pussy Matthew was, how he was probably gay, and how, if he wasn't, was just interested in a piece of ass, not a piece of land.

She was insulted by all but that last one. According to her, he'd be the only one that she'd turn into a whore for.

Damnit.

This brought out the even more cocky, arrogant side of me, making idiotic comments and suggestions, she brushing them off like they were nothing and bringing my ego from the size of the Goodyear blimp to the size of those little foil balloons on sticks. Major difference.

She was the only one who seemed to have the ability to do that. When, years ago, Britney and I started hanging out, I courted her (yes, courted) and she turned me down a few times before finally agreeing. I kept with the notion that I was the Justin Timberlake, and the Justin Timberlake could get any piece of ass (or breast[s]) that he wanted and she meant nothing. Good for a relationship, right? Actually, good for putting a good impression on a girl, right? It worked for Brit, Alyssa and Cameron.

But not Alisan.

Maybe that was her difference compared to all of the other girls. From the get-go, she never bought my act, she never once fed on my fame or my name. She didn't play that game, it wasn't her. She had a similar upbringing, though her life took a different route and she was still that same girl from Georgia with the same cute accent, while I was a prick with a Hollywood state of mind and a slight twang that only came out when I was upset or angry.

She treated people with respect, but didn't give it if she wasn't given it in return. She was sweet, soft-spoken and sincere, yet sassy, seductive and stubborn. She never once put a person down, she didn't live in the Hollywood way of life and she did not believe that being in one place should be any different from living somewhere completely different. To her, the little town of Newnan was the big city. There was nothing she couldn't do, and nothing she questioned.

Her taste in music always confused me. It ranged from the likes of Chuck Berry, to though I just got her to admit it recently, me. She despised rap, but lived for the 'feel-good pop music' that seemed to die off after both my group and Backstreet took a break (or, hiatus, as my group did). I found a mix in her cd with Hanson it, and she just rolled her eyes and played it. She mentioned going to school with whomever two of the Hanson's married, feeling old because one married at 18, the other at 22, and here she was, 25 and single.

And I thought to myself, "I can change that, you know", but I didn't say anything. I knew she would think that I wanted to set her up with someone, while I was only thinking of myself. And I came to the realization that I am all I think about. I worry more about me than anyone else ... at least, I used to, until she came along. I wanted her to be happy and with someone, but I didn't want her to be happy with JC as that someone; I wanted to be that someone.

This was one of the moments where I wished I had not been who I was. Why? Because then, my ego wouldn't be bigger than my body and I could just say it to her. But, deep down, for some mysterious reason that I didn't understand, I could not do it. Maybe it was pride, maybe it was still me being in denial that I probably (okay, definitely) liked her, but I couldn't open my mouth for that subject. Anything else, her ear would fall off from listening to me. But she listened and never complained.

And for another reason I could not explain, she kissing JC still bothered me. I wondered what it would feel like to be in his position, to feel her mouth against mine and see if they molded together and fit just like a romance story would describe, or would our mouths be so clumsy that I'd bite her lip or our teeth would clank together like two sticks, cracking a tooth or maybe knocking one out?

I saw how she leaned into him, saw how he held her delicately as if she'd break. That was just like JC, always the charmer, the chivalrous one of the bunch. I, on the other hand, if it were me, I would have had her against the wall and pressed so hard against me it'd be hard to breathe because she'd be concentrating on where my hands would be going. JC is the map, the one who takes and gives direction; I am the typical man who just wings it and will go in all the wrong places, even if you argue and tell me the other way.

But hey, that's just me. I've always found my way to my destination, so I can't complain.

I do have to admit that we have kissed before. It isn't like you'd think, though. In January, I left for my tour and wouldn't be back home for three and a half months. Then, in August, I'd leave again to finish off the rest of the tour ... but, back to what I was saying ... I was leaving for almost four months, and it was probably the longest I'd go without seeing her, since there was no break in the midst of that, and she couldn't get time off to visit, so we'd communicate only through phone and messaging on the computer (which, was actually fine by me, because I wouldn't have to see her and think about her constantly). I was just about to go through bag check and she had hugged me and pecked me on the mouth, saying she loved me and she'd see me when I got home. I also got a warning (and a bad hint at a joke) that if I misbehaved, she'd have the whip waiting. I rolled my eyes and repeated what she had said to me (though the 'I love you' came out almost in a stutter because I felt confused saying it) and waved her off. Secretly, I was wishing that she had the whip and really was waiting for me (I'd misbehave all she'd want if she was the one dominating ...) and still felt the tingle on my mouth from where her lips had touched my own.

When I got on the plane, I had immediately fallen asleep. I dreamt about her (not shocking) and I fighting about something, but in the end, she had kissed me there, too. But this kiss, it was powerful. And my God, did it feel good. It was better than I imagined it to be (I have a very wandering imagination) and when I woke up after a slight bout of turbulance, I still felt that familiar tingle and smelled the hint of what seemed to be either cherry or strawberry lipgloss still on my mouth. I had brought my hand up to my mouth and shut my eyes; there, she was still kissing me goodbye and I wasn't even close to getting on the plane yet.

For about a month or so, my mind did wander away from my feelings toward San. I was forever thankful, but (surprisingly) depressed about it. Did I want to feel what I felt for her? Did I even know what I felt for her? Was it still jealousy, or did I actually like her? We spoke daily, but none of the conversations seemed to answer any of my questions and it pissed me off.

And then suddenly, after the near four month absence, seeing her in the airport waiting for me answered every single question I had ever wondered.

She waited until I had gone past security, and as soon as I had put my bags down, she ran at me with this huge smile on her face and I immediately knew it was for me, that she was running to me because she missed me. She cared about me, and I cared more about her then I let on. She held onto me tightly and threatened that if I didn't take her with me the next time I left for a long time, she wasn't ever talking to me again. I felt wanted, needed, and I really didn't remember the last time I felt that way. She was good for me, she was the one piece of my life that kept me grounded (well, almost) and made me feel as if I were just some normal guy - and I needed that.

She kissed my cheek numerous times, and when I turned my head to stop her with a grin on my face, her mouth pressed hard against mine once more, but it lingered, it didn't move as quickly as the peck did. And I liked it. A lot.

She pulled away, somewhat embarassed, yet somewhat joking about it, saying that she must have missed me more than she had thought, and grabbed a bag, my hand and led me to her car. She joked about my disguise, saying that if someone really wanted to find me, they would, and it probably would have been a better disguise if I had not worn anything. She talked the whole way home about what I missed, what I didn't miss, how her work was going - and then she finally asked how I was, how I was doing, and asked if I was tired and wanted a place to crash instead of being in a place that reminded me of where I was for four months.

I whole-heartedly accepted her invitation. Not only for the familiar, yet not close to my life place to live, but to be near her for longer.

And that, was when I realized I was in love with her. Not just, infatuated love, the more-so defined lust that made you want to jump that person all the time and call it day, it was the 'constantly on my mind, wonder what they're doing', head-over-heels, first thought on my mind waking up, last leaving my mind falling asleep kind of love. I obsessed with reasons as to why I was jealous, and never sat back and thought about it. But now, sitting in her guest room while she goes over some last minute plans with a contractor for a house she had just put up for sale, I know what it is I'm feeling.

And for the first time in my life, I'm scared to death.