Ten 

“Chris? Can you get that?” JC yelled. He heard no answer, so he poked his head out of the studio. “Chris?” He was answered by a loud thumping from the second floor, so he assumed that Chris was listening to music and had not heard the doorbell. “Figures,” JC muttered. He wiped his hands on his jeans and went to the front door.

“Hey, C,” Joey said.

“Hey, guys, come on in,” JC said in surprise. “What's up?”

“We brought dinner. Doesn't it smell good?” Justin waved the bags of Chinese food in front of JC's face as he walked by.

“Hey, Nicky,” JC said, giving him a half-hug.

“You've been hiding away here for so long we weren't even sure you lived here anymore,” Joey said. “I haven't seen you in almost a week.”

“I've been painting.” JC shoved Chris' dirty lunch dishes to the side to give everyone room around the table. “CHRIS!” He screamed. “DINNER!”

“Huh?” Chris poked his around the landing. “Oh, good. Be right there.”

Nick busied himself arranging the boxes of food on the table. He didn't look at Chris as he came downstairs, but Chris made sure to pinch his ass as he went by. “Chris!” Nick yelped. Chris simply grinned. Nick blushed and sat down quickly.

“So…are you done pouting over Lance Bass?” Justin asked, sitting across from Nick. Joey put a can of soda in front of him, and made sure his silverware was where he could easily reach it.

“I wasn't pouting over him,” JC protested, carefully watching Nick. Nick studied his fork, playing with the tines.

“He was at the beginning,” Chris said, serving Nick before he served himself. “But now I really think he's over it.”

“How would you know? You're never here. And what the HELL is going on between you two?” JC demanded, slapping the table. Nick jumped.

“We're…well…” Nick began weakly.

“We're fucking. And it's incredible. Pass the fried rice,” Chris said.

“Who's fucking?” Joey asked.

“Nicky and Chris, babe. Even I could see that,” Justin said, then laughed. “You can hear it in Nick's voice when he talks to Chris.”

“You and him?” Joey asked Nick in disbelief.

“When did this happen?” JC asked.

“Well…we ran into each other one day at the deli by Chris' store,” Nick said finally. “I had just totally blown an audition and was really down, and Chris invited me out for dinner.”

“And then we had the best sex I've had in years,” Chris added.

“Do you really need to go there?” Nick asked quietly.

“Nicky, you need to learn that Chris isn't very good at discreet,” JC informed him. “Well…I guess you're two grown adults, so…”

“It's not your job to approve of Nick's boyfriends, JC,” Chris said.

“If it was, I sure wouldn't approve of you, Chris,” JC retorted.

“Are you? My boyfriend, I mean,” Nick said suddenly. Chris put down his plastic fork and thought for a minute. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

JC looked at Joey and Justin sitting close together. He then looked at the way Nick was smiling at Chris, and sighed. Suddenly he felt very alone. 

“Brian, I have to run out to the post office for a second,” JC lied. “Can you watch the shop?”

“Sure. Is that one of your paintings?” Brian asked.

“Yeah. It's, uh, for my mom,” JC said. “I'll be right back.”

He hefted up the package and maneuvered his way out the door of the studio. He headed for the Montgomery Towers Hotel. JC knew that it was Lance who had paid for Justin's surgery, and he owed him some sort of thank you. He would never tell Justin, or Joey, but he felt in his heart that it was Lance. Justin really reminded Lance of the man named Will from his past, and it just seemed like something Lance would do.

JC had read everything he could about the town where Lance had grown up, and where his parents still lived. He had painted what he thought the area had looked like, ignoring the fact that he was putting every ounce of his heart and soul into it, putting his feelings for Lance Bass onto the canvas.

“Can I help you?” The desk clerk looked down her nose at JC. “Deliveries are around back.”

“Actually, this is a gift…for Lance Bass.” JC said foolishly.

“I'm sorry. He's not staying here.”

“He left?” JC gasped.

“No, no one by that name is staying here,” she said coldly.

“Uh, Tex Ritter?”

“I'm sorry, sir.”

“Tom Mix?” JC racked his brain for names of aliases that Lance might use.

“I'm sorry, sir.”

“Michael Jordan,” JC said in desperation, remembering the conversation he had had with Lance about changing his alias to an athlete's name.

“I'll make sure Mr. Jordan gets it, sir.” The clerk finally took pity on JC and smiled at him. He smiled back and handed her the package.

“Thank you.” 

Two days later, JC was counting books when Brian called him to the phone. “Brian, I'm in the middle of something. Couldn't you handle this?” JC hissed.

“No…this is personal,” Brian said, waving the phone at him.

“Joey, I'm really busy. Can't this wait?”

“Is this Joshua Chasez?” A strange voice asked.

“Yes, it is.” JC sat down hard, envisioning his mother or father lying ill in a hospital room.

“My name is William Thacker, and I am the manager of the Montgomery Towers.”

“Oh…” JC felt only slightly relieved. “Is this about Lance's alias? I hope the woman at the counter didn't get in trouble.”

“I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, sir. I am calling regarding the painting you did for Mr. Bass.”

“The painting?” JC felt lost.

“You did a landscape as a gift for Mr. Bass, am I correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I noticed it yesterday when I was making a routine visit to Mr. Bass to make sure everything was going well with his stay,” the man continued. “He has taken down one of our own paintings and hung it in his suite.”

“Really?” JC knew exactly which painting had come down.

“Yes, sir. He speaks very highly of your work, and I was curious if you had any other work we could see and perhaps buy for the hotel.”

“You're kidding.” JC's mouth fell open.

“No, sir.”

“Well…I don't…” JC suddenly remembered the work he had done in his “pouting stage.” “Actually, Mr. Thacker, I do.”

“I understand you have a small gallery. Perhaps I could stop by tomorrow to see your work?”

“That would be fine.”

“Tomorrow at three, then, Mr. Chasez.” The manager hung up, and JC stared into space, still holding the phone to his ear.

Eleven