So I had been talking to Britney somewhere down the line when she told me about the book she was going to write. First, I laughed. But that didn’t go over well because she was actually being serious. Then I laughed harder, which seems to always be the case when I’m trying my hardest not to laugh to begin with. That only served to piss her off even worse. So after a few days of letting her brood and pout, I apologized. And this time I was sincerely sorry because I really did understand. She forgave me for being an ass again and we continued on with our entirely too public relationship and plastered fake smiles on our faces.

Okay, so I plastered a fake smile across my face. I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that her smiles were nothing but real. Now, don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I don’t love the girl to death. Because I do. Honestly, I do. Just not like… you know… that. But the world doesn’t need to know that. More than anything, Britney doesn’t need to know that. That’s just the way the cookie crumbles.

Anyway, I’m going way off topic here. One night I was sitting on the bus. Don’t ask me where we were. I wouldn’t be able to tell you even if I tried. I know for sure we were in the U.S. Wait… no, maybe it was Canada? Ahh, shit. I know it was North America. That’s good enough. We had just put on a performance in front of another sold out arena. It still amazes me that we can put on a show in front of that many people. It’s like a big huge ocean of waving hands. I’m just glad it’s so dark that I can’t really see anyone past the first few rows. If I could see the faces of everyone in there, I think I’d have a heart attack from stage fright. Ugh. There I go again. I let my mind wander too much. I really do.

All right, back to the issue at hand. I was so wired that night that I couldn’t fall asleep. Even after annoying the hell out of Chris and Joey for hours I couldn’t wind down. (By the way, getting on their nerves is one hell of a hard thing to do. They’re usually as jumpy as I am.) So then I found myself in front of my laptop. (God bless wireless Internet connection.) I was bored and wide-awake. I figured, what the hey, I’ll go check out some fan sites. Most of them amuse the hell out of me and it’s always nice to see what the fans are thinking. Okay, maybe that’s a bit of a lie. What I really like to do is check out the profiles of the people behind the websites. I used to surf the web for hours in search of fan sites and really, they’re all the same. All of them. Well, that’s what I had thought. That changed though.

I think I had been online for about an hour when I stumbled across one of those fan-fiction sites. Usually, those are all the same too. I know because I used to laugh at how incredibly cheesy, redundant, and blatantly obvious most of them were. Then I found slash, which, if you don’t know, is male/male fiction. And hot damn, those were good. I mean real good. It was really rare to find bad slash. Really, really rare. Maybe I got lucky or something. On top of that, it was as addicting as cocaine. Uh… not that I would know. Honest.

So anyway, after that I became a regular reader. When the concerts were over and I couldn’t sleep, I would plunk down in front of that laptop and read for hours on end. It was really eerie how on-point some of those writers were. I mean, some of them knew that Lance was gay. I suppose he didn’t hide it as well as he wanted to or whatever. I, for one, wasn’t really shocked when he came out to us. But he hadn’t come out to the public and they still knew.

I found tons of stories with me in them. Usually I was paired with Chris or Lance. Ha! If only they really knew with whom I had hooked up with behind everyone’s back, including Britney’s. I know I found like, two or three stories with him and me in them. But those were a bit rare.

Sometimes, when I was reading a new slash story, I would literally groan at the thought of leaving my laptop to go do some promotional event. That’s how good they were. Soon enough I caught the writing bug myself. I suppose that’s how most people start writing fiction. They read so much of it and then want to take a stab at it themselves.

So I made up some overly tacky screen name, a pseudonym if you will, and went at it. I’d send my stories to different slash lists and such and get all sorts of really cool feedback. In retrospect it’s really quite funny. They all thought I was some 24-year-old girl from Massachusetts. *snort* That had turned out to be a lot of fun though. I ended up making some pretty awesome friends on those lists. Too bad I couldn’t tell them who I really was. I figured somewhere down the line management would’ve found out and shit a brick. So I kept that little factoid to myself.

I did tell him about it though. I figured he’d understand and all that jazz since he showed me songs before he showed anyone else. I, however, didn’t expect the reaction I got. I honestly didn’t. He was all, “Shit, you’re just now catching on? Where the hell have you been?”

I had tried to hide the mirth out of my voice. The both of us had this innate ability to pout over the dumbest things, one of the major things we had in common. And we’d get pissed off really easy too. Maybe that’s why we ended up together, or whatever.

“Shut the hell up. Just because it took me a while don’t mean jack shit. Point is, I found it now.”

I know he couldn’t see me stick my tongue out at him, we were on the phone after all.

“Put that thing back in your mouth unless you plan to come over here and use it.”

Shit, he knew me better than I thought he did. Fuckin’ eerie.

“Kiss my ass.”

“Gladly.”

Fucker.

“Okay, anyway. Did you wanna read what I wrote? I mean, it’s JC and Lance and all…”

“Oh hell yeah. I’d like to see if you’re as good at this as you are at giving head.”

Ugh. “Oh fuck you. Could you try to be a little more serious?”

“Gladly, my schedule is free for the day. And, no. I can’t be. Dude, we’re talking about slash. How the fuck do you expect me to be serious?”

Fucker. I was pouting again.

“And stop that damn pouting. No wonder the guys are always getting on my case about it. I mean, shit that’s annoying.”

I could see him rolling his eyes on the other end.

“Anyway. Have you ever read the story with us in it written by CurlyGirly?”

The question threw me off. I tried to remember if I had.

“You mean the one where you and I fucked in the bathroom at an Award’s show? Oh hell yeah, I read that! Scared the shit outta me too. I would love to know how this girl knew what you yell when you come.”

“Simple. I’m that girl.”

Damn. He’d been writing too. Damn. Why the fuck hadn’t he told me? DAMN. That had been one of my favorites. I think my brain decided to shut down then, at least momentarily. It took me a little while to realize he was yelling my name through the phone line.

“Wha? Oh… shit. Yeah. I’m still here. Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

I knew he had shrugged before answering. “I don’t know. I guess it just never came up.”

Then something else registered. His screen name was CurlyGirly. I found myself clutching my sides and laughing uncontrollably.

“What the fuck is so funny, Timberlake?”

Between gasps of air I managed to answer. “Your… your screen name. It… it’s CURLY. GIRLY.”

Then I was laughing hysterically, again. I didn’t catch my breath until the tears were streaming down my face. By that point, he had joined in and that was it. I think the two of us lost it for a solid half hour. He’s got one of those laughs that’s so fuckin’ contagious that you can’t help but laugh right along with it. Besides, if you really thought about it, the situation was really amusing. I think at some point I had even sent him feedback.

Fuckin’ freaky.

I know that Britney and I hadn’t told the public about our relationship at that point. A lot of people speculated anyway. But it still wasn’t public knowledge. When I had told him about her and I, he didn’t really get upset. I guess that’s because he was doing the same thing. Her name was Amanda, if I remember correctly. I know I got jealous though, which is probably why I didn’t pay much attention to anything that dealt with her.

Then at some point the both of us had a free day. He was all excited, especially since we really didn’t get to see each other nearly as much as we wanted to. Sometimes I really wish that neither of us were celebrities. But, I suppose we wouldn’t have met had it not been for that. We planned on meeting up at some non descript location and hanging out all day. I couldn’t wait.

And then Britney wanted to do something with me on the same day. I didn’t want to. I wanted to be with him. But she can be really persistent if she doesn’t get her way. So I had to beg off from my date with him. Then he got pissed, which was completely understandable. I don’t even want to know how I would’ve reacted had the shoe been on the other foot. I hadn’t realized just how upset he had gotten though. The next thing I knew my publicist was calling me on the cell phone in hysterics. It seems he used that free day to be a guest Dee Jay and got two people that sounded like Britney and me to go along with some prank. Then I got pissed. I mean, I’m all for making it look like we couldn’t stand each other so that no one would catch on. But really, that was beyond necessary. I think the both of us stopped talking for about a month after that, which really wasn’t all that much time considering we were always so damn busy.

A little bit after that whole… thing, Britney told me about the book. And I hadn’t meant to laugh. I knew just how much fun writing could be and all. So I really shouldn’t have laughed. But, shit, the thought of her writing something cracked me the hell up. Then I started thinking some more about it, and it honestly wasn’t that bad of an idea. Soon enough I found myself wanting to write a book too. People on the net kept telling me how good I was at the slash I was writing. They kept insisting that I should write for real. Publish something. I hadn’t really paid much mind to that, until now, that is.

For obvious reasons I can’t write a book with slash in it, which seems to be my niche, although I really want to. I can’t. Even if I did use a pen name, I know that somehow, someone would find out. That would never go over well. Never. So I pretty much settled for the next best thing. Goodness, that sounds so horrible. Anyway, I figured I’d just write about sports and race and movie stars. Why not? You know? We’ll see how it turns out.

When I told Nick, he had a reaction very similar to the one I had with Britney. The thing is, he really didn’t have a leg to stand on. He did help his mother write part of that book she wrote, after all. *snort* The Heart and Soul of Nick Carter. Shit, if she only knew…