You know, of all the reactions a guy might want to kissing a girl, "are you bipolar" probably ranks just above "you've got halitosis," "when should we get married" and "I forgot to mention I have oral herpes."

"What?" I ask in disbelief.

"Are you bipolar?" Chelsea repeats with her hands on her hips, head cocked to one side and one furious eyebrow raised above the other. It's a shame she took those boots off really, the barefoot and short vibe is killing her stance.

"What the hell kind of response is that?"

"Says the guy who just bitched me out like I was fucking his friend in the middle of a crowded club when it didn't have any relevance to the conversation and then decided to kiss me instead. What the hell are you doing?"

Well shit, there goes my ego… yep, I can see it swirling in the bowl before being flushed down that toilet. To add to my humiliation, I find her oddly hot when she's angry. That used to get me in a lot of trouble with Monica and is probably the reason that destructive relationship lasted so long; I hated all the fights but her being angry was oddly sexy and then that led to sex and the sex kind of kept us together despite the fights. It was a vicious circle.

"I mean… God." Chelsea throws her hands in the air and begins stalking round the room. "You just had that skank crawling all over you, you get pissed with me because I dare to tell you you're setting yourself up for tabloid drama with said skank and then you bitch me out like there's anything between me and Eddie and then you kiss me? I mean, explain to me what the hell kind of response THAT is because I'm at a loss here buddy."

There's nothing between her and Eddie? Shit, wait, that wasn't the part I really ought to be focussing on. I wish I'd had a few less beers earlier; my brain's working too slow. I now feel a little guilty for being mad because if she really was just concerned about tabloid shit then she's just doing her job and looking out for me. Trace would have done the same, though he might have been a little more straightforward and less of a woman about it. I hate women, I suck at reading signals. It's hard to read signals when their meanings are changing every five damn seconds. One second she was letting me kiss her and now she's all mad at me.

Great, she's mad at me for kissing her. That kind of killed off my last little hope that she was just embarrassed and too shy to bring up our last make up session. Well, maybe she was embarrassed in a different way… boy this evening's been great for my manly pride.

"I… uhh…"

"Yes?" Her hands are still on her hips and I wish she'd understand how intimidating she is right now. Girls like that one she thought would sell me out… I'm in control of those girls. They want me, I know it, and all the aces are in my hands. Here I'm totally at the mercy of this woman and it's scary as all hell.

"Will you stop that?" I ask irritably.

"What?"

"That!" I spit out the words, gesturing with a loose hand at her. "Standing there like I'm some naughty school kid or something. I just kissed you woman, no need to act like I killed your puppy."

Chelsea shakes her head, eyes widened in disbelief, and then she throws her hands in the air and stomps off towards the sliding balcony door. "You are unbelievable. Unbelievable."

"Oh, I'm sorry, is it really that disgusting to hear that a guy finds you attractive and wants to kiss you? No damn wonder you've been single since cop boy ran out."

Her face goes white. It's not in the upset, hurt feelings kind of way; it's in that bloodless 'looks like the bad guy from Harry Potter' way. You can see the tension rising in her arms and if she wasn't so far away I think I'd have been slapped already. Oops. Now she's marching back over to me and I brace myself for the inevitable retaliation. My arms instinctively move a little closer to my balls, ready for action lest she decide to put a knee in them.

"Say that again."

Huh? Didn't expect that. "Umm…"

"Say that again," she tells me dangerously.

"I think it was a bad enough idea the first time," I squeak out. Shit I sound like Mickey Mouse when I get nervous.

"You think?"

She really looks like she could murder me right now. Lord, please don't let me die this way. If I had to go out of anything except old age, I was hoping it'd be a little more glamorous than death by enraged female.

"You know, God, I actually had you down for a decent human being for about five seconds there," she rages. "How fucking dare you talk like you know shit about me or Will? I mean, God, in the space of ten minuets you've managed to accuse me of whoring it up with Eddie and then repulsing all men and I'm supposed to be flattered that you deign to find me attractive? Who the fuck do you think you are, Timberlake? I thought for a second you might actually be a nice guy but guess what, you're just like every other Hollywood bastard I've ever met who thinks they can say anything to anyone and that it's okay because you're you. Well guess what, asshole, I'm not like that silly little slut in the next room who'll put up with any shit you throw out so long as you'll get her off, I've got a little more self respect!"

Pretty much every sentence of this speech has been punctuated with a sharp shove backwards. I've been too stunned by the rhetoric to notice much, but I definitely notice now that she's managed to open the door and push me right through it. You know, for a pretty small woman she's got some surprising strength to her; if I do say so myself my muscles are steel and she's throwing me round like a rag doll. I stumble, and the next thing I know I'm on my ass in the hotel corridor as she gives the door a good slam behind me. My booty feels bruised, but not as badly as my ego.

I have a feeling that I may not have handled that so well.

***

It's six o' damn clock in the morning. Nobody should be awake at this hour… let alone somebody who still hasn't slept up until this point.

It's the sick feeling in my stomach keeping me awake. I have actually been physically sick - it's embarrassing, but when I get upset I do sometimes react physically like that. When I'm angry I get stomach cramps (may be a PMS throwback), when I'm upset or nervous it's nausea. Since I've now done both this evening, the two have combined with the alcohol I didn't manage to pour away and I threw up. That was just after I threw him out on his ass, and after much tooth brushing and mouth rinsing I finally have the taste out of my mouth and the smell off my breath.

What the fuck did I do? I basically assaulted Justin after insulting him a whole bunch. I mean, he thoroughly deserved it but then there are a lot of celebrities I could have said far worse to and I didn't - why? Because it could cost me my damn job and now it probably has. You can't go around talking to your boss like that in any job, you just can't. Trace might get away with it but I didn't know Justin when he was in diapers so I can't play that card. Shit… shit, shit, shit.

Can I make a teensy confession? I think I got so pissed off with him because he may have had a tiny little bit of a point. Not about Eddie because that was just dumb as all hell, but about the way I react to guys liking me. These days male attention is not top of my favourites list; it's flattering and all but it's no longer something I'm too comfortable with. This is because men are trouble. He was still a total asshole for the way he said it and the way he just attacked me out of nowhere, but I'm not so sure he was wrong.

Another lone tear slips down my cheek, and I swipe it away angrily. I don't want to burst into tears again, I feel like such a girl when I cry over stupid stuff. Everybody cries when it's worth it, but I never wanted to be one of those overly emotional types. I find crying embarrassing.

My phone beeps, and at this hour I'm betting it must be Sophie in a weird time zone. Wearily I grab it from the side table, and prop myself up against my pillows to read the text. Lo and behold, it's her name on it.

'What the heck r u doin 4 him worth 20k? luv S x'

That makes the kind of sense that doesn't, so at light speed I tap out a response. 'What do u mean?'

Clearly she's bored and playing with her phone, because the response is instantaneous. 'Thought u wud b asleep @ that time. Insomnia?'

Ahh, I see, she just sent the text to me thinking I'd pick it up when I woke up. She does that sometimes; it's usually when she thinks it's too late or early to be calling me. See, sometimes she can be thoughtful. However, she didn't answer my question, so I have to respond.

'Yep. So what about 20k?'

The answer astounds me. 'JT paid 20k 2 keep u longer.'

Well, given what happened earlier I'm guessing he regrets that, but I'm in total shock. Justin seriously paid out twenty thousands dollars to have me around longer? I mean, he mentioned to me yesterday that they'd have to pay for the extension of the original secondment, but he made it sound like nothing. Maybe twenty thousand isn't much when you're worth millions, but in my world that's serious cash.

In a daze, I tape out a breezy answer to Sophie to assuage her curiosity. 'I kick ass! Nite hon x'

'Sleep tight xx,' comes the response.

Damn it, why do things like this have to happen when my mother is in bed asleep? She may drive me crazy if I speak to her too much, but this is a situation in which I need mature adult advice rather than Kennedy. I cost a guy twenty grand and then went postal on him, I need my Mommy to tell me what to do here. This is not a situation they cover in any handbook. I'm already trying to work out if I'll get sued for the money back.

Then there's a knock on my door, and I figure I wouldn't have time to read any handbook anyway because I'd bet you my last dollar that's Justin.

***

Chelsea's blotchy-eyed and looking pretty small and helpless when she opens the door to me and squeaks out a 'hi.' I never had much radar for female moods, but even I can tell you she's probably been crying. Makes a guy feel like a real shit bag - women crying has never been something I handle well, I never know what to say.

"Hey." I rub my door along the door jamb, feeling mightily uncomfortable. My hands are shoved self consciously into my pockets for fear of over gesticulating. "Umm… can I come in?"

"Sure."

Chelsea immediately steps back and lets me in, which surprises me greatly after my less than glorious exit. When I looked at it there was a nice red patch on my left butt cheek which I'm hoping has faded by now. It's still a little sore. She leans self consciously up against the dresser, and inwardly I groan when I realise she's wearing little silky shorts and her legs are still on show. Those things are distracting and the last thing I need is to get caught leering and have her flip out on me again. That's not the object of this visit.

The object of this visit is to apologise so I can shush my conscience and then maybe it'll let me go to sleep.

"Umm…" we both say it and the same time, and then chuckle awkwardly.

"Umm, you first," Chelsea gestures.

"Look, I uhh… I'm really sorry about earlier." The tips of my ears burn red and I find there's an interesting floral motif in the carpet beneath my feet. "I was really out of line; I should never have spoken to you like that."

"No, no," She lets out in a rush of air. "I can't believe I was such a bitch to you, it's me who should apologise…"

"But you were only a bitch because I was an ass first!"

"No, I provoked you; I'm the one to blame…"

I chuckle aloud as I push a palm back over the mini Mohawk I'm growing. "Most people argue because they don't want to take the blame and we argue because we both do."

Chelsea gives me an awkward smile that thins her lips and looks more like a grimace. "I guess we're weird."

"You know if Trace was here he'd probably say something along the lines of 'no shit Sherlock' or… something," I finish lamely. You may notice I'm avoiding the topic of the kiss.

"Nah, if Trace was here he'd still be busy laughing over you being pushed on your ass by a girl."

"Yeah, that hurt you know."

Dang - I ruined what little humour we had going there because her face just fell and she looks really upset again. I hope she doesn't think I'm going to hold this against her; it's just a dumb fight. Hell, if I fired Trace every time we argued about shit I would hold some kind of world record. The best thing I can think to do is to reach out and give her a hug. Chelsea puts her arms gingerly around my waist and I give her a little kiss on the cheek, hoping it tells her that I'm not mad at her.

We stand there like that for a short while, me rocking her slightly and her hiding her face in my chest. I suspect she's too embarrassed to look at me. Here's hoping this doesn't sound perverted, but she smells different than she did earlier. I wonder if she had a bath or a shower or something in the meantime because she smells like… I'm not sure, I suck at smells. Maybe it's jasmine or honeysuckle or something? It's something sweet and floral. It's very girly and I like that. I find feminine scents kind of comforting, because it reminds me of the times when you can just sit with a girl you dig and just chill, snuggled up and not having to say shit. Calmer times, sadly lacking in the present.

Chelsea pulls away a little without dropping her hands, and she looks up at me quizzically. I look at her expectantly and wait for her to say whatever it is she's clearly desperate to say.

"Did you really pay twenty thousand dollars for me?"

Oh shit, where'd she hear that figure? I purposely left it out of our conversation earlier. I figured I had to tell her something, but not everything. "Dang, you're good. I didn't realise you had so many spies."

"Twenty thousand dollars worth, apparently."

I shrug, locking my fingers together behind her back and settling them in the small of it. "You're good, Enrique's a bastard and I need you. I figured we could afford to splash a little if it was worth it."

"I just… wow." She's blushing even harder than she did when she was apologising. Sometimes I wonder if Sophie ever tells her how good she is because she seems way too surprised by all this.

"You're good at your job, Chels," I tell her. "You have to expect to pay extra for the best." Hah, she went even redder. I'm evil for encouraging that, but it's kinda cute.

It just takes me by surprise when her response is to grab my face and kiss me (especially after the whole bipolar reaction earlier). My first thought is 'what the fuck' closely followed by 'she tastes like toothpaste' and 'mmm.'

Before I know it my eyes have drifted shut and the only things I know are the flavour and smell of her and the feel of my hand sliding over the silk on her back. I knew she was a decent kisser from our little, uhh, 'session' before, but there's something infinitely more satisfying about this. It's probably that after the crazy shit that happened this evening it's good to know all is ending well, but I don't care if it's not. Her kiss is firm without being too rough and I can feel the faintest touch of her tongue running along my upper lip. I always did like kissing girls…

I'm scared shitless of what I'm doing, mostly because half me still expects her to break away in outrage any second now, but gingerly I let my hand slide under her shirt at the back to caress the soft skin there in slow circles. Chelsea takes it as her cue to do the same, but she's a little bolder than me and she also slides my shirt upwards as she goes. I let her take it off, but I'm kind of nervous about it. People think I should be a cocky shit because of the girls going gaga over those shirtless Rolling Stone pictures, but I'm not half so airbrushed in real life and not all of my body is as great as my abs. Thankfully she doesn't seem to mind it as she starts these little feather light kisses across my collarbone; I in turn bury my face in her neck, inhaling deeply as I taste her there.

"Oww," I say against her skin as her hand brushes over the sore spot on my ass.

"Oh. Guess that's where you landed, huh?"

"Yep," I nod, and her hair kind of gets tangled in mine a little as I do so. I have to sweep blonde strands of it out of my face.

"Sorry."

"You should be."

She giggles and returns to what she was doing, making her way back up my chin. I'm finally brave enough to start trying to tug her shirt off, and I could honestly get down and kiss the ground in thanks when she lets me do it. If she'd cut me off now, I might've cried. Seriously, you would've seen a grown man weep. Lifting her off her feet slightly, I kind of drag her over to the mattress. It's not until I sink into the pillows, pulling her down with me, that I realise just how tired I am. There's no way in Hell I'm stopping for a snooze now though, so I continue making out with her and running my hands over her breasts and stomach. I can't get over how soft she is… she's got more meat on her than Monica, and I will never be stupid enough to use this adjective in conversation with her but she's wonderfully squishy.

We take turns slowly kissing and stroking up and down each other's torsos, occasionally stopping for a little more mouth to mouth. After what seems like an age I finally get her shorts and her panties off, and it was worth the wait. I've been with some serious Hollywood bodies but hers will do just fine, I like it. She's got this really cool birthmark on her hip, kind of looks like a lopsided star if you squint at it. I also had a deliciously nasty thought about whether that set of shorts was the one she bought on my credit card.

We continue like that for a while, just nekkid and making out (life is sweet). Finally I have to ask the mood breaking 'are you on the pill' question, but thankfully she just says yes and kisses me again. I almost don't notice what's about to happen as she draws me over her body and settle there above her, but before I know it I've slipped inside her and we're in this fantastic slow grind, just stroking and kissing quietly as we go. Pretty much all my fantasies about this girl have been about slamming her up against walls or throwing her in pools and ripping her clothes off or bending her over tables or what have you, but now that I'm here this is just real… nice.

I think we guys underrate nice sometimes. Making the bed shake and all that is damn awesome but taking the time to feel is also pretty amazing, now I come to think of it. I should do this more often. Hell, I should have sex more often - it feels like a fucking lifetime since I last got laid.

Finally the whole things shudders to a close (I mean literal shuddering, the really great kind that kind of courses through your body and sets every nerve on fire), and before I know it we've kind of collapsed in a heap together, limbs tangled and just a little sweaty. My arm is draped possessively over her stomach, my hand gripping her hip. I kiss Chelsea's jaw before pushing my face into my neck and closing my eyes. One arm is splayed above her head and with the other hand she lazily strokes the little bit of hair at the nape of my neck. It's pretty hypnotic; she's going to put me right to sleep.

I wish I didn't have to get up in less than three hours - if I had longer, I'd lay odds on this being the best night's sleep ever.