A.N.: Okay, so I changed my mind, this isn't part two of chapter 18; it's just another chapter. lol Oh and I haven't gotten to proof-read this chapter yet, I was lucky to get through with writing it with the way my computer has been acting. Hopefully y'all like it and please let me know what you think!
Chapter 19: Face the Music
He felt the bed quake, as he was shaken out of his slumber. "What the..."
"Lovely day, isn't it?" K said, bouncing onto her bottom beside him now.
Frowning, he glanced at the digital clock that sat beside his bed. It had only been ten minutes at the most since he'd decided to lay down for a nap. "K, I was sleeping."
"With who?" She asked just as casually as she'd been speaking before.
"With the pillows...who else?"
"Oh, I dunno." She said, getting to her feet now. "Maybe a tall, long-legged brunette who just left outta here a few minutes ago."
"K..." He sighed, pushing himself up into a sitting position, seeing that his nap wasn't going to happen now.
"Explain later. Take your time, getting your lies together this time. Wouldn't want to catch you off guard again." She said, in that same strangely cheery tone she'd been using. "I've gotta write a paper and start studying, so I'll be holed up in the library for the rest of the day. Lucky you, huh?" She murmured, moving around the room as if she was looking for something, but hadn't found it yet.
"What are you looking for?" He asked, getting to his feet too as he rubbed his tired face trying to wake himself up more.
"Nothing." She said; her head still down as she scanned the floor looking for 'nothing' under the piles of Justin's randomly strewn clothing.
"Well, that's a pretty well hidden nothing. Maybe if you..."
"Maybe if you'd clean up a little every now and then like I asked you to I would have found it already." She snapped, finally showing a bit of her anger.
"Oh, so you are looking for something then?" He said, with a smirk, knowing that he was only enticing her anger more.
She straightened up then, watching him for several seconds through narrowed eyes before shaking her head as if to say that he wasn't worth the effort. Cursing to herself about tests, she stormed out of the room slamming it as she went. He followed slowly behind her, opening the door, he called down to her. "I would appreciate it if you wouldn't slam the door."
In the kitchen now, she pretended not to understand what he was saying as she opened and slammed several drawers and cabinet doors. "I'm sorry, what did you say? I couldn't hear you over my loud slamming of things in an attempt to spare your life."
Wanting to laugh at that but thinking better of it, he skipped down the stairs and strode into the kitchen, where K continued to look for 'nothing.'
"Still haven't found it?" He asked, leaning against the kitchen island, as he grabbed an apple to eat.
Ignoring his question, she said, "Wash it first."
"So are you going to tell me what's wrong?" He said, after he'd finished washing the apple.
"Do you want me to cut that for you?" She asked, her eyes still searching for 'nothing.'
"Yeah, sure." He said placing the apple down on the counter and moving out of her way as she reached into the knife drawer. It was only when he saw the gleam of the light reflecting off of the knife that he realized that letting her cut the apple for him probably wasn't the best idea. "Actually, on second thought," He started, reaching for the apple.
Smirking, she met his eyes this time as she raised the knife out of the draw and quickly stuck it into the apple before he could take it. "What were you saying?" She asked, smoothly snatching the knife out of the pierced apple flesh.
"Nothing."
"That's what I thought." She said; her eyes focused on the knife and the apple now.
"K," He started, watching her slow and deliberate cuts.
"What?"
"I'm getting the feeling that you're less than pleased with me."
"Really? I don't see how." She said; glancing at him before roughly pushing the cut slices off the cutting board onto a plate.
"Thanks."
"Uh-huh." She muttered, moving to leave.
Grabbing her by the waist he pulled her against him. "Baby, what's wrong?"
"Nothing." She sighed; pushing him off her as she again tried to escape.
"'Nothing' is code for 'something.' So..." He said, grabbing her by the wrist this time.
"So,” She shifted her glare to the hand that he was using to hold her there. “Let me go, before I have to hurt you."
Without another word, he let her go. When she didn't immediately start to move away, he said, "Aren't you going to go?"
"Oh, so now you're trying to get rid of me?" She snapped, frowning at him. "You have me move in here, and then you fuck some other two-bit huzzie to get rid of me! Un-fucking-believable..."
"What?" He said; his mouth agape in confusion.
"Like I said before.” She started, her voice low and controlled, void of emotion. “I'm going to give you time to get all your lies straight this time." She said, moving to leave again.
"K, she..."
"Lalalala..." She said, covering her ears up with her hands as she jogged away. "I got too much shit to deal with right now without you adding to it."
"But, she..."
"Lalalalala...don't want to hear it right now." She said, trotting back up the stairs. Five minutes later she was flying back down the stairs with her backpack strapped on.
"When will you be back?"
"Sometime between now and never." She said, before escaping out the front door.
"What happened to you being the mature one?" He called to her from the doorway, watching as she scurried to her car.
"What happened to Sandy?" She said, half in the car now. When he didn't say anything, she nodded to herself. "Exactly. Get your lies straight for later, Timberlake." And with that she slipped into the car and sped off down the road to the library.
Again.
The phone was ringing again. It had been ringing nearly incessantly for the last hour or so. He knew should just get up and answer it. But answering it meant, answering questions. So instead he laid back and listened to it wail for his attention, until it nearly drove him insane.
"Hello?" He said, finally picking up the phone.
"It's about damn time!" the voice on the other end exclaimed exasperatedly. Justin tried not to laugh, but for some reason the little man's anger always tickled him.
"Chris, I'm sorry, it's just..."
"It's just that you’re a selfish bastard who has no regard for anyone else's feelings or thoughts."
He sighed. He knew it was coming, but that didn't make him anymore prepared for it. "I wasn't trying to be sneaky about it."
"You weren't trying to be sneaky? You're more than half-way through recording your fucking so-lo album, which you fucking failed to fucking mention to anyone in the fucking group." There was short pause before Chris sighed and said, "And we've asked you. We've fucking point blank asked you before and you always said 'Nooo, I'm not going solo. Don't worry about it. You know I would tell you guys if I was.'"
"Didn't I tell you though?"
"Yeah, a fucking millisecond before you officially leaked the news to fucking MTV." Chris said bitterly. "So I guess I should be thanking you that you managed to scrape up just enough fucking decency to let us know...over the fucking phone, that our fucking careers are over before we find out from watching TV. So thank you Justin." He spat heatedly. "Fuck you very much. Have a great day."
"Chris...Chris..." He called, hoping that the dial tone was mistaken and that Chris hadn't really hung up on him like that. "Fuck!"
"Fuck, is right dipshit."
"What the..." Justin jumped at the sound of the new voice. "How did you get in?"
Walking further into the room, Trace smiled. "Trace Ayala goes where he pleases."
"Well, Trace Ayala better hand over the key he must have stolen to get in here before he leaves in 1.2 seconds."
"Justin, Justin, Justin.” Trace laughed, shaking his head at his rash friend. “You would think in a time like this you would cherish the one friend you have left."
"What are you talking about?"
"What are you talking about?" Trace echoed him flawlessly. "I'm talking about how the guys want to skin you alive right now, starting with your balls."
Wincing at the thought, Justin sighed. "Shit, man. I know I messed up and I shoulda told them all sooner, but this...this...this is ridiculous don't you think? Don't you think they're going a little too far?"
"What's too far, Justin? Dude, you called them to tell them that their careers are over."
"Their careers aren't over! I never said I didn't want to be in *Nsync anymore. I'm just doing a solo album."
"And if it does well..."
"Then...I dunno...” He trailed off with a frown as he shrugged. “Am I a psychic? Do I have a crystal ball to rub and tell me what the future will be? How ‘bout I just rub on my balls instead and let you know?”
There was an odd number of silent beats before Trace spoke up again. “Dude, do you have to bring up your old crusty nutsack in every conversation, you sick fuck?” He laughed. “I was just sayin’, damn.”
“Well, I’m just sayin’…we’ll just have to figure it out when it comes to that."
"See, that's what they're talking about. You say 'we'll figure it out' right now before any solo success has inflated your monstrous ego anymore that it already is, but you've already started excluding them from important decisions."
"Was I supposed to do, ask their fucking permission to make an album on my own?"
"Yes, and no. It would have been nice, but the least you could
have done was tell them face-to-face, make sure they were okay with it...or let them know you were seriously considering it. Something."
"Since when did you become the spokesperson for the rest of them anyways?"
"Since they decided it was in the best for their legal lives and your health that they not come near you right now." He laughed.
"Man, how do I fix this?"
"Toss some money at them that's what all the celebrities do to fix their problems." Trace laughed, strolling into the kitchen in search of something to eat.
"Trace, I'm serious." Justin said, walking to the entryway of the kitchen and leaning against it.
"They're your friends, Justin. Figure it out." He said, smacking on a sandwich he’d snatched off a plate on the counter. "And soon." He added, moving to leave.
"Where are you going...with my food?" Justin asked, frowning as Trace exited with the sandwich Justin had just made in hand.
Smirking, Trace took another big bite into the PB & J sandwich. "Back to report to headquarters and tell them you're still a selfish dumbass, but you're a very sorry one at least." He smiled.
***
A long line snaked damn near out of the bite-sized building with the usual suspects.
The pseudo intellectuals were trying to look important with their lives compacted down into palm pilots, ‘business’ cell phone conversations on their headsets so that they could sufficiently multi-task while looking like one of the crazies talking to their selves and their newspaper forever opened to the business section.
Then there were the pseudo-pseudo intellects, who wore the thick black framed glasses slung low on their stuck up in the air noses, their hands always fondling their lovers: squatty thick little books with nearly microscopic print.
Always perched near the window were the Artsy Farts, either poring over a new book, sketching, or lackadaisically click-clacking away at their laptop. If you were unlucky enough, you’d hear an impromptu performance of their latest poem about the cruelties of “the man” before they continued to sip away at the steaming cup of expensive java that some poor family in South America broke their backs to make—only to get pennies in return.
Then there were the caffeine freaks, who stood in line itching and nearly twitching of another taste bud burning cup of coffee.
And then there was me.
I hated Starbucks; I hated coffee. But I needed the caffeine to carry me through the long torturous hours of juggling between poring over chapter after chapter in my mind numbingly boring textbook with the only sunny spots brought on by my highlighting and the struggle to find ten pages worth of literary analysis.
If I ever write a book and it ever gets popular enough to give teachers the collective idea to torture students with, I’m going to write a letter at the end begging that all analysis be voluntary or five pages double-spaced at the most (or more of you need it, cause I know how a minimum requirement can be just as hard as a maximum requirement sometimes). So even if my words aren’t heeded, the student overdosing on putrid overpriced designer coffee with a mermaid of all things on the logo of the cup will know that I was on their side.
After receiving my cup of economic evil, I exited Starbucks, cup in hand, joining the legion of coffee couples, Artsy Farts, pseudo intellectuals, pseudo-pseudo intellects who strolled proudly with their cups in hand—all proud to be Starbucks-ers.
For being so evil, it sure did taste good, but principally speaking, I still hate Starbucks.
Taking his last sip of Starbucks’ coffee, he pitched the cup in a nearby trash can. He smiled, thinking of how K would have said that he’d pitched away his morals right along with that cup. But no sooner did that thought make him smile, did the realization of what he was about to do hit him. Deciding it was probably better to meet with all of the guys at another time (maybe with K there too—surely they wouldn’t kill him with her there? Though with the way she’d been acting lately it was a coin toss decision on whether or not she’d actually care), he turned to leave and head back to the safe confines of his Mercedes.
“No, no, no. Not so fast.” Trace said, pushing him back toward the building. “It’s time for you to face the music.”
***
One Starbucks coffee, two Redbulls, and five chocolate bars later, I was wired. My leg was bouncing so much I’m sure it appeared to be a neurotic twitch. But even all that couldn’t stop my eyes from glazing over with the inevitable boredom of having stared at an annoyingly white screen of a laptop as I tried to force my thoughts into being enough coherent to make a ten-page paper that didn’t consist of one four sentence paragraph cleverly re-worded for the next nine and three-quarters pages. But I was done!
Unfortunately I didn’t even realize this exciting piece of news until much later when I awaken in a small pool of my own drool to the sound of the Library Troll’s voice announcing that the library was closing in a few minutes. The Library Troll had waddled her stocky little body over me, pushing her thick coke-bottle glasses far up her wide nose with continuously flared nostrils like a bull ready to charge and proceeded to poke me in the side until I sat up, completely out of it.
“Discombobulated?” She chuckled with a snort, pushing her glasses back up the ski-slope of her wide nose.
“Shit,” was as far as my vocabulary went at the moment I realized this wasn’t a well-lit book loving hell. Rubbing my face, I also realized a few other things. One, never fall asleep in a public place. Two, never fall asleep in a public place on something that could leave a nice print on your face. And the most important lesson of them all, never fall asleep before you’ve printed out your paper.
“Shit,” I hissed again ignoring the Troll’s reminder that the library was about to close as I frustratedly tried to coax my computer out of its ‘hibernation’ to get it back to my word document which I was praying I’d at least had enough sense about me to save.
So, it turns out that I’m not one of God’s most hated after all…apparently I wasn’t important enough for that much attention, because thankfully, my document though not saved by me and been luckily saved by my otherwise good for nothing computer. Emailing the document to myself, I shuffled over to the nearest library computer and ignoring the Troll’s riddle about ‘what happens at four in the morning?’ I began to print the paper that would serve as my first grade of two in my British literature class—but no pressure right?
What was done was done, is what I reminded myself as the Troll stood, hovering by me now muttering her riddle again, more slowly this time.
“What. Happens. At. Four. In. The. Morning?”
I don’t know, maybe what happens is you get out of my face and go munch on a pack of tic tacs for your harsh, eye watering strong musty ass breath. I thought. Snatching the last of my paper pages out of the printer, I turned to her, my curiosity getting the best of me and said, “What happens?”
***
Justin opened his mouth, but closed it without saying a word.
“Justin says…” Trace started, glancing at Justin, who’s mouth was moving wordlessly. “He says, he’s an asshole.”
Frowning, Justin hit him.
“Sorry, sorry ‘bout that man. My bad. Correction: he’s a sorry asshole.”
“Tell us something we don’t know.” Chris said, sounding yawningly bored.
Trace looked over at Justin, who was again flapping his jaws without a sound escaping. “Okay, Justin says, he’s a big Paula Abdul fan and thinks ‘Straight Up’ is a classic and that if Simon knows what’s good for him, he’d leave Paula alone.”
Rolling his eyes, Chris clarified, “Something revelant.”
Justin popped Trace upside the head and whispered in his ear. Frowning Trace turned from Justin, muttering about how that hit was unnecessary, he said, “Justin says,” before singing his next few words “If he could turn back time, he would have handled it all differently.” Finishing to silence, Trace smiled at the guys who looked unimpressed and turned to smile at Justin before feeling compelled to add, “Did he mention he’s a sorry asshole?”
“Trace, leave.” Justin said, finally speaking up for himself, his head down as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“What?” Trace said, turning back to face Justin again. “Are you sure you wanna do that?”
“Yeah, man. I’ll be fine.” Justin nodded. “They’re my friends after all.”
“Yes, but in case you haven’t noticed they aren’t looking at you very friendly right now.”
“It’s okay.” He smiled reassuringly, or so he thought—thinking he couldn’t possibly do any worse of a job than Trace had.
“Alright.” Trace nodded, turning to leave. “But if I were you, I’d stop grinning like that. It’s a cross between teeth baring and lip quivering crying—it’s disturbing, dude.”
And with that he left Justin alone with…them
***
“So…” Justin breathed out, still trying to smile at the group of four frowning faces lined against the far wall staring him down.
“So…” Chris groaned, checking his watch.
“So…” JC sighed, before clearing his throat. Loudly.
“So…” Lance yawned, looking bored to tears.
“So…La, Ti, Do…” Joey sang. “I’m hungry. Did somebody say McDonald’s?”
“Joey,” JC started.
Smiling, Joey said, “What?”
“Shut up.” Chris finished.
“Actually, now that you mention it I am pretty hungry.” Justin said, glad for the distraction.
“Good, I’m famished.” Joey said; his vocabulary always expanded when he got hungry, for some reason. “Let’s go.”
Joey and Justin were half-way out the door when Chris spoke up, raising to his feet as he said, “Whoa, whoa…before you two skip off into the sunset together with Big Macs in hand…”
“With cheese.” Joey added. “Can’t forget the cheese.”
Frowning, JC stood up now. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“What? Can I help it if cheese is good?” Joey said, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.
“No, but you can help all this ‘it’s all good, let’s eat and be merry’ bullshit you’re on right now. Whose side are you on anyways?”
“My growling stomach decided I’m not on anyone’s side ‘cept the ones moving the fastest toward the door. Let Justin have his little solo album. It’s not gonna change anything right?” Joey said, turning from Chris and JC to Justin.
“R-right.” Justin nodded.
“Yeah, right.” Chris grumbled, crossing his arms stubbornly.
“So are we going to Mickey D’s or what?”
“I’m not hungry.” Chris muttered, his arms still crossed, his face fixed into a frown.
“Me either.” JC said, sullenly.
“Lance?” Joey called. When he got no reply, he called to him again. “Lance? Lance?!” Walking over to where Lance was sitting, eyes closed and apparently snoring and drooling peacefully on himself in the corner.
Laughing, Joey turned to the other four and said, “The fool managed to fall asleep.”
“Are you serious?” Chris laughed, the serious stoicalness melting from his features.
“How could he fall asleep when Chris was practically yelling?” JC chimed in, chuckling to himself.
“It’s not like you were using your inside voice either.”
“Hey, before y’all find something else stupid to fight over…what do you want to do about Lance?” Joey asked, nodding over to the sleeping man.
Chris asked, “What do you mean?”
“Do you got a marker?”
“No, why?”
“We could have drawn on his face. Got some glue?”
“Nope.” JC said, shaking his head. “Why?”
“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I might use that prank on one of y’all later.” He laughed.
And with that last laugh the tension in the room dissolved as the four men bonded over plotting evil things to do to their unsuspecting friend.
***
Apparently what happens at four in the morning is the library closes, but more than that the Library Troll goes berserk on the stragglers, bitching about how she should have listened to her mom and gotten her GED when she had the chance or at the least become a stripper (but don’t dare mention how there are no Troll strippers, she’s a little sensitive (aka crazy as hell)) so she could have done more with her life than live in a library for more hours of the day than she cared to remember and stock shelves all day.
After leaving that library, I decided to head on over to the another library which I knew for sure was open twenty-four hours for midterms—figuring I could crash there to finish studying for my exam.
Unfortunately, the Physics textbook I was trying to read must have had some sleeping gas fumes leaking out of the pages because I didn’t hardly get but two chapters into the five I was supposed to read before I was knocked out.
I just barely woke up with enough time to get up and rush over to my class to take the exam, praying the whole way there that osmosis really worked and somehow by sleeping on the book some of the knowledge had wormed its way into my head. And then directly after the test, I didn’t even have time to relax (aka eat a mass amount of chocolate to counteract the ‘F’ for fantastic I’d probably just gotten on my test, guess that’s what I get for going to a friggin’ liberal education school. Liberal meaning learning a bunch of things I’m never going to need).
After taking a moment or two to curse about the time, I rushed to another building which just had to be on the other side of campus, after I’d nearly killed myself trying to make it down the stairs to get out of the first building. The thought of just letting myself fall briefly entered my mind before I decided that tumbling head-first down a flight of stairs wasn’t going to solve anything.
***
Oh heeeell no!
Is God testing me today or something? Have I done something horribly wrong in a past life to somehow deserve this bullshit?!
What the fuck is this rinky dink grey and rusted old Buick doing in the driveway again? Grabbing a nearby rock, the thought to chuck it through the windows briefly entered my mind before I decided that probably wasn’t the best thing to do. Reluctantly I set the rock down before I set it off, out in the open right there in the drive. I stood there for a few minutes mulling over my next move.
To kill him and the bitch or not to kill them. To just minorly fuck them up so then my jail time wouldn’t be as long or not to go jail.
The angel on my right shoulder said to just simply walk away, it wasn’t worth it. I already had enough shit to deal with, without adding more headaches to my plate. So instead I did the next best to the kicking ass and taking names option, I pulled out my cell and had the bitch’s car towed. With the devil on my left shoulder smiling, I sauntered into the house more than proud of myself.
But dammit, if the first thing I saw when I walked in wasn’t a tall, long-legged brunette. Now where the hell did I leave that damn rock?
“Hi, I’m Keisha.” I said, walking into her space and greeting her as amiably as I could muster through a strained smile. “But you probably know me better as the girlfriend of the man you’re screwing.”
The woman’s mouth dropped, which almost made me smile enough to not want to smack the taste out of her mouth. Almost.
“Whoa, whoa, what’s happening in here?” Justin said, walking into the room with two drinks in his hand and finding me in the Tall One’s face, more like her in her shoulder though, which made intimidation a tad bit difficult.
“That’s what I was just about to ask you my damn self.”
“K…” He started with a sigh, placing the drinks down on the steps which was only a foot or two away from the door.
“You know what, save it.” I said, throwing my hand into his face to halt his words. “I got my own shit to deal with it. You obviously don’t give a flying fuck about me.” I said, pushing past both of them and walking into the kitchen only to realize where I really wanted to go was up the stairs, which meant walking back through them. So turning around and keeping my head up, I again shoved my way through them, accidentally stepping on the Tall One’s clod-hopper, clown shoe sized pump covered feet.
“I’m sorry about this.” Justin apologized to the Tall One, who simply nodded as if I was just a little dog gnawing on her ankles and she was just too big of a bitch to be bothered by it.
“Are you going to let me explain?” He asked, his voice louder now so I assumed it was directed at me, but I was too busy trying to ignore him and climb (aka stomp up) the stairs to answer.
By the time I reached the top of the stairs I was out of breath. Either some more stairs had been added when I wasn’t looking, or I’m horribly out of shape.
Grabbing up as much of my stuff as I could find through my anger haze, I shoved it into a duffel bag, before rushing back down the stairs. Making no eye contact, I wordlessly walked to the door with the bag slung over my shoulder.
“Where are you going?” Justin sighed, sounding tired.
Continuing to ignore him, I opened the door and only glanced at the two of them standing behind me. I wanted to say something smart, something clever…like they do in the movies at times like this. But fuck smart, fuck clever, fuck them. I was tired.
“K,” He said more urgently this time, his hand on my wrist now.
I glared at his touch on my arm for a long moment, until I realized the bastard wasn’t letting go. When I tried to snatch my arm away, he easily pulled me further into the house and closer to him, so I started to struggle against him and he just wrapped my arms around my chest and held me like that.
Tired from the fruitless effort of squirming out of this damn human strait jacket, I sighed, “I hate you.”
He laughed at that, chuckling rather loudly into my ear, which ignited my anger again. Kicking him as hard I could, I was aiming for higher, but wound up connecting with his shin.
“Oww,” He whined, still managing to keep his hold on me. “Don’t kick me.” He said, pinching me. “Okay, are you ready to listen now? No bullshit?”
“No bullshit?” I scoffed. “You’re the one…”
“Working. That’s all I was doing with her. Just business.”
“So that’s what they’re calling it nowadays.”
“K, she’s…”
“…about to be late for a dinner meeting.” The tall one spoke for herself for once. “For the record, I’m not interested in Justin. He’s not my type. I don’t like to the tall, skinny boy band thing.” She laughed. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Justin muttered back, but I could tell her words had stung a little.
“I was just over here to talk business.”
“What kind of business?” I asked, trying to shake Justin’s grasp off of me. “Let go of me.”
“Will you behave?” he asked, like he was my goddamn daddy or something.
“Will you get the fuck off me?” I said, rolling my eyes.
“We were talking about his album. He was trying to get me to sing a hook or two for him.”
“Hmm,” I said, eyeing her as I failed to see what was so special about her. “Okay, and you would be?”
“Vanessa Marquez.” She smiled, extending her hand to me. Her smile not even falling a bit when I didn’t move to shake her hand and instead moved to open the door for her exit.
“Really. I’ve never heard of you.”
Still smiling she said, “That’s because I’m not signed yet.”
“Then how…”
Answering my question before I could fully ask it, she said, “Justin heard about me through Pharrell. I’m on their Neptune Presents… joint.”
“Aight.” I nodded, signaling the end of the conversation as I opened the door for her.
Pageant smile still perfectly in place, she said, “It was nice to meet you, even under these poor conditions.”
“Yeah, whatever.” I said, too tired, too through with the situation to bother with manners.
“Bye Justin.” She said, grinning a little too wide for my liking as she sauntered out the door waving as she went. “I’ll talk…” was all she managed to get out before I slammed the door in her face and skipped up the stairs and into bed ready to go into hibernation.
Twenty minutes later, the bed sank in one side, Justin’s side. Opening one eye, I peeked out of the cover cocoon I’d made for myself to find, Justin hovering nearby with a small smile on his face.
“You didn’t have to slam the door in her face.” He said; nuzzling up close to me, his bristled in need of a shave cheek scraped across my smooth one.
“Yes, I did. She was too tall.”
Laughing, he said, “What?”
“Did you hear that dig she took at you? Like she’s too good for you to try to steal you from me.” I grumbled, rolling my eyes.
“So you’re mad that she didn’t try to sleep with me?” He said, sitting up and straddling my waist now.
“No.” I smiled as his fingers entwined with mine which he’d already pinned above my head. His lips grazing my neck ever so gently. “Are you?”
“Honestly?” He murmured; his voice muffled from his lips still dropping feather-light kisses on my neck.
“Yeah,” I laughed, feeling his kisses wondering south. “That would be nice.”
“Yeah.”
“I hate you.” I groaned—another headache coming on, as I shoved him away from me and rolled over, turning my back to him.
“I was joking!” He said, empathetically, reaching for me again.
“Whateva.” I muttered, shrugging his touch off.
“Aww, you’re seriously mad over that.” He said, his voice sounding so patronizing that it made my fists clench. “What do I gotta do to make it up to you?”
“Besides shutting up and letting me sleep?” Rolling onto my back again, my mind drifted from violence to its favorite subject lately: food. “Get me some sugar cookies and dill pickles.”
“Sugar cookies and dill pickles?” He frowned.
“Did I st-st-stutter?”
Laughing, he playfully pinched me in the side. “Okay, but I don’t think we have any sugar cookies.”
“Looks like you’re going to the store then.” I said, rolling over to my side again and pretending to snore when he started to complain until the time he walked out muttering to himself as he went.
Hearing the door open again, I peeked out of my cover cocoon to see that Justin had poked his head back into the room with a knowing smile on his face. “Oh and if you were wondering what took me so long to get up the stairs at first, I would have been up here sooner if it wasn’t for the fact that Vanessa’s car got mysteriously towed and I had to call her a cab. At least that’s what we’re hoping happened since it was just up and disappeared like that. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, now would you?”
Smiling to myself, I just snored louder.
