My Surprise Romance

Hi again everyone (aren't you getting sick of me yet?),

This is chapter seven, eight and nine of my continuing story. I know it's a little longer than usual, so I hope no one minds :) Since all the feedback I've received so far has been encouraging and incredibly positive, I've decided to forge on and keep writing. I really do thank all of you who have sent me your kind words on my writing and plot and everything. Ya'll are a really sweet bunch who keep my spirits up! And if you haven't sent me any mail yet or need the address again (hint, hint ;)-- its sweetheart_stories@hotmail.com. I love hearing from people who read my stuff.

DISCLAIMER: This is a fictional ( I repeat, fictional) story about `N Sync and is not meant to imply the sexuality of any of its members or Lance Bass. This story involves a m/m relationship and to read this you should be 18 or 21 years old depending on where you live (unless you live on a different planet--then I'm not sure what the age is. (Does anyone even read these disclaimers that I spend so much time writing? ) Anyways, here I go....

My Surprise Romance

Chapter Seven

My alarm clock went off the next morning and I sleepily opened one eye up. I noticed that my room was still dark with traces of the morning light barely seeping through the blinds, but the birds...oh, those birds. They were chirping away happily in the morning air like idiots.

I just wanted to go back to sleep. Sleep for me was the ultimate vacation away from reality. And today, I wanted to get as far away from reality as I could. Lance was leaving tonight and to be honest, I just wanted to keep the memory of last night fresh in my mind. It's not that we did anything (get your minds out of the gutter, folks--all we did was kiss a couple hundred times or so). No, it was more of the fact that I was with someone who wanted to be with me. Rarely in my life, have I met someone whom I wanted to be with every waking moment. As I pulled myself from the warm bed into the cool air, I realized that I had never met anyone like that.

And maybe that's why I was dreading today the most. I knew that no matter how much I would be enjoying Lance's company today, there would be the little voice in my head and the sinking feeling in my stomach that would remind me that Lance would be leaving that night and even if we kept in touch by phone and e-mail, it wouldn't be the same as seeing each other in person.

I made my way into the shower, not only depressed by the state of things, but by the fact that I had become a miserable person,. Wasn't being in love supposed to make you feel ecstatic twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week? Well, I certainly wasn't feeling that way. For me, being in love was more comparable to having nails pounded in my chest.

I finished showering and stepped into the steam filled bathroom. I wrapped a towel around the lower half of my body , dried my hair and shaved. It was a typical morning for me...'oh shit,' I thought as something very important struck my mind. Work.

I had conveniently forgotten about work once more. I knew I was scheduled to work a three to eight shift, working in the resident dining room and pulling carts of food on the elevators. Ever since Lance had entered my life, everything that was once important to me, now paled in comparison. How could I go back to a life of painting portraits and landscapes and serving meals to the elderly, without thinking how exciting these past two days had been?

Was I insane?' I asked myself as I quietly padded into my bedroom, careful not to wake my sleeping mother up. With robot-like motions, I picked up the telephone and dialed the phone number of my workplace. I went through the motions of asking for the kitchen and telling my supervisor (not Denny, but this other supervisor who absolutely loathed my presence) that I wouldn't be in that day either. I barely heard her as she chewed me out for not showing up yesterday and today and asked me where my sense of priorities were?' I gave her some lame answer and then hung up the phone, not bothering to even say good-bye. Something had snapped inside of me, and I'm not sure what it was...

I had made it to the airport just in time to see Cynthia coming out of the tunnel with a big smile on her face. That girl could stick out in any crowd, I thought to myself, waving at her. Her once auburn colored hair was now a honey blond, and as I imagined, her clothing had changed from retro to incredibly sleek and modern. But her outside appearance didn't belie her personality.

"Stevie!" Cynthia squealed once she caught sight of me. She began running at full speed, and once she reached me, she jumped onto of me, wrapping her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist.

"I can't believe I missed your ugly face," she laughed as she gave me a big kiss on the cheek. I felt my face turn warm, as passers by smiled at us. I could tell that by the warm smiles and wistful expressions on their faces, they assumed we were a couple.

"Oof, Cynth," I gasped, as I held her tightly so she wouldn't slip and land on her butt. "Been gaining those college pounds, huh?" I laughed. Cynthia tilted her face up to give me a scowl and then jumped off of me, her feet landing firmly on the ground.

"Thanks a lot, you big queen," she said, giving me a smile to let me know that she was teasing.

"Yeah, whatever, hussy," I shot back. She laughed and engulfed me in another big hug, nearly breaking my neck in the process. Then she pulled away and looked around.

"Okay," Cynthia said. "Where is he?" I felt the pit of my stomach drop straight to the floor. I was hoping that Cynthia would forget about my new friend. Yeah, right Stephen' I thought to myself, And maybe Cynthia will be able to stop drawing attention to herself for once. And hey, while you're at it, maybe Lance will decide to quit `N Sync and settle down for a life with you.'

"He'll be coming over later," I told her. She gave me a little frown to let me know that she was disappointed, but the look was quickly replaced by another grin.

"Come on, Stevie, we have to get my luggage," Cynth said, pulling me by the arm. We walked over to that luggage carousel thing and retrieved her bags. I think the girl had brought along her entire wardrobe, I noted as she picked up suitcase after suitcase after suitcase. And you know who the lucky person was to be weighted down with all of that luggage. I don't know how I made it to the car without my arms falling off.

We made it home safely, and I attempted to catch up with what had been going on in Cynth's life lately. But it was like fighting a losing battle: my cousin's motor-mouth wouldn't stay shut, as she ranted the whole time about her lousy ex-boyfriend, who dumped her one day before exams ended.

"He told me that a long-distance relationship would never work," Cynthia complained, her eyes filling with tears. "He said that it would be impossible to be there for each other." She reached for a tissue. "Bastard," she added, before wiping her eyes and blowing her nose. This only made me feel more uneasy about my current relationship situation, and I didn't answer her. Luckily, I rounded the street corner and my house came into view.

It took awhile to unload all of Cynthia's belongings, but once we did, she turned towards me and peered at my neck. Then she began to grin.

"Aw, Stevie," she cooed. She reached up and touched the middle of my neck. "I know what you and your friend were doing last night," she said in a singsong voice. I leaned over and looked in the side mirror. On my neck was a bright red spot. I felt my face turn that same color and I ignored her, instead heading into the house. My mother was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking her morning cup of herbal tea. She was still clad in her bathrobe and her hair was done up in curlers.

"Morning, Stephen," she said, shortly. "How was yesterday." It came out as a statement rather than a question, I had noticed. I watched my mother take a long sip of her beverage.

"Fine," I answered and began to make myself a cup of coffee. She turned to me with a knowing look, and her eyes fell onto my neck. I tried my best to ignore her as her mouth began to open with a question, but thankfully, Cynthia came bouncing into the kitchen, her tears from before forgotten.

"Hi, Aunt Patty!" she said, brightly. "How have you been? I've haven't seen you in so long! There's so much I want to tell you..."

I slipped out of the kitchen, hot coffee in hand, thankful for once in my life that my cousin had such a talkative streak in her.

Around eleven a.m., I reached the hotel. This time I had enough sense to park in the back of the building, and took the service elevator. I was stopped by a guard when I reached the twentieth floor, but once I said my sister's name, he apologized profusely (in the same manner of the clerk from the previous day) and granted me access. I felt as though I was part of a government conspiracy project and that if I slipped up, I would be killed.

I walked to the suite and knocked on the eggshell white doors. I stood there for a few seconds and then knocked again when no one answered. I heard heavy footsteps approach, and then the door swung open. Chris had answered it, a smile on his face, but when he saw that it was me standing there, the smile disappeared quickly and an expression of nothingness replaced it.

"Hi, Chris," I said politely. "Is Lance here?"

"Yeah," he said, in the same short voice that made me think of my mother. When it was clear that he wasn't going to say anything else, I persisted.

"Well, can you get him? We have plans to hang out today," I said, my voice desperately trying not to waver. Chris didn't look especially friendly, and I had no desire to hang around him any longer. Thankfully, as though an angel had intervened, Lance appeared from an adjacent room, buttoning up the black shirt that he was wearing. He looked up and saw me standing there.

"Hey, Stephen," he said, giving me a wave. "I'll be out in a few seconds--promise," he said, giving me a grin. It took all of my composure not to let my face melt into a swoon, for fear that Chris would beat the living crap out of me. Lance disappeared from where he came from and almost immediately, Chris looked at me.

"Can I speak to you outside of here, Stephen?" he asked me curtly. I nodded, and stepped further into the hallway. Chris closed the door behind him and then cleared his throat.

"Look, Stephen," he began. "I don't know why Lance is spending all of his free time with you. But let me tell you one thing...'N Sync isn't just four members. It's five."

"I know that," I said, feeling as though I was being treated like a child.

"Good, but can you explain to me why Lance missed an interview yesterday?" Chris's expression grew angrier and I felt myself growing nervous.

"Look, Chris..." I began. "I didn't know he had one until it was too late. He asked me if I would show him around town. And I agreed. If I knew that he had an interview, I would have never done it."

"Would you like to explain why he's missing another three today?"

The words hit me like a slap in the face. "Today? Three?" I repeated in shock. Chris nodded grimly.

"Today--with the newspaper, another TV station and one from some music website," he said. "Lance had promised that he would field the newspaper and the website." Chris let out an uncomfortable laugh "We don't call Lance, `Scoop' for nothing, y'know."

"Look, Chris--I had nothing to do with that. Lance didn't tell me that you had these appointments and interviews..." I was shocked. I couldn't believe that Lance would've ditched his schedule just to spend time with me. I mean, yeah, I did that with my own job, but I wasn't the one with adoring fans all over the world, making millions of dollars and what not. Just then, Lance opened the door and poked his head out, grinning,

"Ready?" he asked, emerging from the room. Just then he saw Chris standing across from me and his face fell. Chris just looked away in disgust and then turned back.

"When are you gonna be back?" he called out as we started our way down towards the service elevator.

"When I have to be back--eight o' clock sharp," Lance answered over his shoulder, not looking back towards his bandmate. As we entered the elevator, we both cringed at the sound of the suite door slamming.

"He's really mad," Lance said nonchalantly, as the silver doors shut before us. He pressed the `B' button, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"And he has every right to be!" I hollered. "Why didn't you go to your interviews today? Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you--"

Lance quieted me down by quickly kissing me. And while I won't deny that I enjoyed it, I was still angry at him.

"I missed you," he said simply when we parted. He took one of my hands in his and entwined our fingers together. "I thought about you all night and then this morning." He grinned at me and I felt my anger slowly draining.

"Lance, I know. I missed you too, but you cannot be missing interviews and stuff like that. Your fans are waiting for you--they expect you to be at those interviews. I don't want to hold you back," I argued. A `ding' sounded, signaling that we had reached the basement floor. We dropped each others hands like they were on fire and watched as the doors of the elevator opened. Bright sunlight quickly replaced the fluorescent glow of the dim lights. We blinked at the change and I pulled out my car keys, while Lance pulled on his hat and sunglasses.

"Stephen, I missed those interviews because I want to stay with you today. Think about it--after today, we'll be apart for awhile," he said once we were in the car.

"Two months, one week, four days, thirty eight minutes and twenty seconds, but who's counting?" I quipped as I started the engine up and pulled away from the service entrance of the hotel.

Lance let out a deep laugh. "Really?" he asked, a bit uncertainly.

"You are naive, aren't you? I couldn't have figured that out if my life depended on it. I was terrible in math in high school," I shuddered, remembering my final grade of a forty percent in trigonometry class.

"I loved math," Lance answered. I sighed.

"Handsome, talented and you can do math--what's next? I find out you're a brain surgeon in your spare time?" I bemoaned, as I headed the car towards my house.

"Maybe not a brain surgeon, but I can do other things," he began, raising his eyebrows seductively. "And if you're good, you just might find out."

When we arrived at my house, I was relieved to find that my mother's car was gone. I had totally forgotten about her being home and how she would react if she would see Lance Bass standing there in her house. Right then, I was more concerned about my musically snobbish cousin. Cynthia's opinion mattered the most to me and if she couldn't be happy for me, I'd be crushed. Granted, I wouldn't dump the man standing next to me, but I would be disappointed if Cynthia couldn't look past the public persona of `Lance from 'N Sync'.

We went through the backyard. "Ready to meet my cousin?" I asked him. He took a deep, mocking breath as though he was ready for the adventure of his life and looked at me.

"Ready, sir. Yes, sir" he barked in military style, giving me a salute.

"Sir, eh? Is that how you see me?" I said coyly, which made Lance's face as red as a fire engine. I loved it when he blushed. I leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before unlocking the back door. "Stay here and I'll signal you when I'm ready."

I entered the house and called out my cousins name. "Cynthia! Get your butt down here!" I screamed. I heard the pounding of footsteps and Cynthia appeared in front of me, breathless and excited. "There's someone I want you to meet."

"Oh my God, is he here?" she screeched, clearly enthusiastic to meet my new `friend' as she kept calling him. Her eyes were all aglow with excitement, and I swear, you'd think she was introducing me to her boyfriend.

"Yeah, he is." I turned around, walked to the door and knocked on the window. Lance looked at me and I motioned him to come inside and opened the door for him. He stepped inside the house and nervously looked at my cousin. The look on her face was completely priceless. She stood there, with a look of shock on her face.

"Cynth," I said. "This is my fri--my boyfriend," I corrected myself, shyly sneaking a look at him. "This is Lance."

Lance swallowed, staring at my cousin as though he was completely shaken up. He must have been more nervous than I had imagined. Of course, Cynthia proudly wearing her, `I Hate Boy Bands' shirt, didn't help out any. He extended his hand to her like a true gentleman, and to my surprise, she reached out and shook it.

"Hi, Cynthia," Lance said, "It's nice to meet finally put a face to the image in my mind." His accent grew deeper as he continued. "Stephen's told me a lot of good stuff about you."

My cousin was staring at him in awe, her mouth agape. "Thanks..." she trailed off. For the first time in her life, she was rendered speechless. A first for Cynthia. I would have to mark that one in the record books. She finally came to her senses, "You're from..."

"'N Sync," he finished up for her. "Ever hear of us?"

Embarrassed, Cynthia looked down at her shirt, and slapped a hand over the logo, as if Lance hadn't read it already. "Oh my God--you're famous. You're on TV and magazines and stuff."

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," he said modestly. "I like your shirt a lot." Cynthia blushed furiously, and I'll give Lance credit, not only was he the first guy to make her mute, he was also the first guy to ever make my cousin blush.

"Oh, this thing," she said with a carefree laugh. And to my surprise, she yanked the shirt over her head and stood there in the kitchen, clad in nothing but her jeans and her bra. I slapped a hand to my head, and Lance turned away, not because he was shocked--but because he had broken out in an uncontrollable fit of giggles.

"Cynth," I said, gently, rushing over to her. I grabbed the shirt from her hand and placed it over her chest. "He knows you make them. I told him already, dear."

Her face turned even redder. "Oh God, why do I make such a jack ass of myself all the time," she moaned, pulling the shirt back on. Lance turned back around, wiping tears from his eyes.

"You make great first impressions," he gasped. "It must run in the family."

"Hey," I said offended. "I didn't whip my shirt off when I first met you," I protested. He slipped an arm around my waist.

"Maybe you should have--I would have liked you even more then I do now," he said, ready to give me another kiss, only to be stopped by Cynthia clearing her throat.

"Ahem." She stared at a spot over our heads, and then looked at me. "Stevie, can I see you? In the living room please?"

"Uh, yeah," I said, a bit uncertainly. I looked at Lance, who shrugged at me. Who could read Cynthia? One second she was starstruck, the next second she was all business. I followed my headstrong cousin into the living room, and waited for the volcano to erupt.

But like normal, Cynthia shocked me. "Oh, Stevie," she squealed, once again throwing her arms around my neck in her usual death grip. "I love him...I mean not in that way, because you love him in that way, but...oh you know what I mean!!!" She jumped on me like she did in the airport, except that this time I didn't catch her and she fell flat on her butt. But she bounced right back up again. "I'm so sorry about all the things I said! I take it all back."

"Cynthia, Cynthia," I said, trying to calm her down. She reminded me of a newborn puppy who had to go outside to do their duty. "You only know him for about two minutes."

"Oh, but Stevie, I know....I can tell," she said, her voice softening. "I don't care if I hate his music, I think he's wonderful." She gave me another hug. "I've never seen you happier in my life."

"How can you tell?" I asked her.

"It's in your eyes," she said knowingly. "I've never seen them sparkle like that. And if its Lance that makes you happy, then so be it. I just want to see you happy, that's all. You deserve it so much."

I had always thought my favorite cousin was goofy, silly, and fun. She had never been serious like this before. I looked at her with an admiring gaze.

"It takes a lot for you to back down, Cynth. Usually you stick to your guns."

"I know, I know--just don't ever tell anyone again," she said in a low voice, darting her eyes back and forth. "How long is he in town for?"

"Until tonight," I said, my voice cracking. "He has to leave tonight."

Cynthia's face fell. "Oh, Stevie...I'm sorry. How long will you two be apart?"

"I don't know his tour schedule," I muttered. "I never asked--I guess I've been avoiding the inevitable. I don't know if I making a huge mistake, Cynth..."

"Stephen," Cynthia began and I knew she was being serious. She rarely called me by my full first name unless she needed to borrow money. "You gotta follow your heart."

"But you and Michael--" I said, remembering her conversation in the car. She shook her head.

"Don't take my bad relationship as advice. Just do what you feel is right," she said, touching my heart. "I'll be in my bedroom if you need me." She gave me a gentle smile, and I watched my cousin in awe as she disappeared up the stairs. Count on the crazy one to give the best advice, I thought with a chuckle, as I headed back into the kitchen.

Chapter 8

Later that afternoon, Lance and I headed to the back of the house where I had set up my own painting `studio' (if a cold concrete room with a secondhand futon, and dozens of painted canvas take up residence counts as a studio). The place was in its usual state of disarray. Tubes of paint, curled up and mashed around to get the last drops out, were covering the metal table in the middle of the room, paintbrushes soaking in turpentine filled tin cans were sitting on the floor. I actually liked my studio--except when it rained and in the winter-to-spring transition, when certain sections of the ceiling leaked. It was the only place that my mother refused to come in because she said the fumes and the mess gave her a headache.

Lance looked around the place in wonder. "Wow, Stephen...I know you said that you were a painter, but I wasn't expecting this." He began to lift the stacks of canvases that were lined up in towering piles against the walls.

"Those are the old ones," I said, shying him away from them. "My favorite ones are over here," I said, walking over to a stack of paintings leaned against the wall.

Lance began to flip through the stack of paintings, lifting one of them from the bunch. "Hey, it's Natalie--and it looks exactly like her!" he said in surprise. He had found the portrait that I had done of my sister when she had just turned ten years old. It was one of my favorite portraits that I had ever done, because I had somehow managed to capture my sister perfectly.

He pulled another one from the stack and smiled when he saw who it was. "Cynthia?" he questioned, turning it towards me. I laughed--it was her, when she was in her movie star phase. I had painted her in one of her satin, halter dresses with a feather boa draped around her shoulders.

"Yeah--she thought she was Marilyn Monroe," I explained. "She was only seventeen. That was a final project and she was dying to be a model for one of my paintings."

"She's very, uh, photogenic," Lance said, searching for the right word.

"Cynth's a ham--she's like a sister to me. We used to live two houses apart until she was fifteen and her family decided to move to Wisconsin."

"So you basically grew up together?" Lance asked, thumbing through the rest of the paintings. I nodded, fiddling with a bunch of paint tubes on the counter. I moved them aside and hopped onto it. I watched Lance as he examined the canvases with obvious interest. It made me feel good that he was doing this.

"She was the first one to figure out I liked the same people as she did," I remembered with a laugh. "She tried to set me up with all of her girl-friends, but when she realized that I had no interest, she put two and two together and figured it out."

"Very attentive," Lance remarked, still examining the paintings

"Don't you miss your friends?" I suddenly blurted out. Lance looked up at me and the expression on his face clearly said that he wasn't expecting my question.

"You mean the guys?"

"Yeah."

Silence. "I don't know--we're together all the time since the tour started. And...sometimes they get on my nerves." Lance let his fingers roam over the edge of the paintings, and looked around the room. He looked back at me. "You know the guys were giving me a hard time about hanging out with you," Lance admitted.

"Yeah, Chris was giving me the third degree in the hallway," I concurred. "That's when he told me about the interviews that you were missing today. I'm assuming that he thinks that I'm the one forcing you to stay with me." I pressed on. "Do the guys know..."

"About you? Yeah, they remember who you are."

"No, no, no. I mean do they know about you being--"

"Gay?" Lance shrugged. "I don't know. I think they know something is wrong, but none of them will say anything. I have to tell them sometime."

"You better `cause I think Chris thinks I'm forcing you to stay here with me." Lance's lips formed into a grin.

"So you're keeping me prisoner, eh?" he asked flirtatiously. "Somehow the thought isn't so unappealing," he said, tipping his head up to kiss me. "I kind of like it," he murmured when we parted.

"Speaking of unappealing," I said drolly, "What do you find so appealing and attractive about me?" I asked curiously, as Lance hopped on the table next to me.

"Oh, there are a lot of things I like about you," he said, running a finger up and down my thigh. "You're not arrogant--"

"You mean I'm not concerned about my appearance," I deadpanned.

"You don't care that I'm famous--"

"Horribly out of touch with what's up to date."

"I really like your nose."

I looked at him in amazement. "You've got to be kidding me. My nose is so crooked, I'm surprised that people don't look at me with their heads tilted when they speak to me." Lance laughed at my little quip and moved my face towards his to examine it.

"I think it's cute. In fact, it's one of the first things I noticed about you when you first sat down next to me," he reminisced, kissing the tip of it. He snuggled his head against my chest and let out a content sigh.

"Oh that--sitting next to you was a mistake, I didn't know any better!" I exclaimed in mock horror. "If I knew any better, I would have sat next to JC instead. That's one handsome boy there," I said dreamily. Lance looked up at me and swatted my kneecap.

"Okay, okay--I give. I guess you're not that bad looking," I said, staring at him in his dazzling green eyes. Everytime I looked into them, I felt as though I was fading into something that I had never experienced before. How could you not get lost in them, I thought as I attempted to memorize every detail of his face.

"Not that bad looking?" Lance asked, amused, as he brushed a stray lock of hair out of my eyes.

"Okay, I give," I said, leaning over. "I think you're the most handsome person I've seen," I confessed, as I closed my eyes and kissed him. The one thing, I noticed, every time we kissed, was that it got better and better. There was never a disappointing kiss with Lance. The only disappointment I ever felt was when our mouths parted.

I shifted closer to him on the table, and felt my arms embrace his body. I wanted to feel him--I didn't care if he was clothed or undressed--I just wanted to have my arms around him. There was some comfort factor in it, of not being alone, but part of it was that I suddenly desired him. Blood rushed frantically through my veins as our tongues intertwined. Lance's hands cupped my face, while I ran my hands through his short blonde hair .

Suddenly, Lance became overcome with desire as he pulled my t-shirt off my body in one swift motion. I hadn't been expecting it, so it caught me off guard. He laid me down on the table, knocking tubes of paint onto the floor in the process and the cold metal of the table pressed against my warm skin. However, I didn't really notice this, as I concentrated more on the feeling of his tongue slowly licking a path down my neck. Lance looked up at me, a hesitant smile on his face, before he softly let his tongue linger over my Adams apple.

I lied there, experiencing feelings that I had never felt in my life. Nothing I felt before could compare to it, as Lance's tongue drifted down to my nipples, where he lazily circled around one and then the other. Exhilarating shocks raced throughout my body as he slowly sucked on one of them, flicking his tongue over the erect bud and then slowly kissed his way back up to my lips.

"Are you okay, Stephen?" he asked me breathlessly, as he shifted his groin against mine. I couldn't speak, so I just nodded as Lance kissed me again, reassuring that we both felt the same way.

I let my hands drift upwards and began to awkwardly unbutton his shirt. Once I had succeeded in my task, I pushed the material off his shoulders and he managed to shake his arms out of it. It fell softly onto the floor and I became enthralled with the feeling of his bare skin against mine. I could feel his hardened nipples pressing into my chest, and a thin layer of sweat begin to form between our bodies. Then I managed to roll him over onto his back and I smiled down at him.

I let my hands slowly run down his chest, feeling the smooth muscularity of his frame before placing a trail of kisses down the middle. He let out a soft whimper, as my hand fell down to his crotch as I began to massage him through the material of his pants.

I placed my lips next to his ear. "Do you want me to go any further?" I whispered. Wordlessly, Lance answered me with a soft, but eager kiss, and I continued, beginning to unbutton his jeans. My trembling fingers pulled down the zipper on them, as I felt the hardness of him through the fabric. While I let my fingers explore, I couldn't believe that I had garnered enough nerve to do this--I had fallen so deeply into lust, all that mattered was the man under me. I didn't care that we only knew each other for three days, or that he was leaving tomorrow. All that mattered was now, the moment that we had become trapped in and each other.

I had managed to pull his pants halfway down and had just hooked my thumbs under his boxers, when the door to my studio flew open. It was Cynthia, who promptly screamed when she saw Lance and I half-naked and in a horizontal position on the table.

"Oh my God!!!!" she shrieked as she spun around. She had placed her hands over her eyes. Lance had sat up suddenly, a shocked expression on his face. And I fell off the table.

"Jesus," I muttered as I pulled myself off the floor. Lance jumped off the table, neatly sliding his pants up over his hips and rebuttoning. I walked over to Cynthia and spun her around.

"God, Cynthia--didn't you ever think of knocking? I mean, if the door was closed, and you didn't hear us, don't you think you should've knocked?" I screamed, taking her by the shoulders.

"Stephen, stop it ," Lance warned, but I ignored him. Instead, I kept yelling at my cousin, who had begun to cry hysterically.

"Where is your brain?!?" I yelled, shaking her. "Or are your such a ditz that knocking on a door is too hard of a concept for you?"

Just then, Lance strode over, coming between Cynthia and I. "Stephen, stop it already, for God's sake. She didn't mean it, she didn't mean to do it!!! Enough is enough." Lance looked Cynthia in the eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked gently, putting his arm around her.

She wiped tears away from her eyes and avoided looking at me. "I'm fine, I just wanted to know when you had to leave, Lance."

"Leave?" he repeated, as though the concept was foreign to him. And then he realized what she was talking about. "Oh, you mean go back to the hotel? I have to be back by eight."

"That's all I wanted to know. I thought I would tell you when it was about six so you could get ready. That's all," Cynthia snapped, giving me one last dirty look, before spinning on her heel and walking away.

I shut the door and then went over and sat on the futon. Lance picked his shirt up off the floor and slipped it on, not bothering to button it. Then he came and sat next to me, placing one hand on my back.

"You okay?" Lance asked softly, rubbing my back in slow, gentle circles. I looked up at him and nodded.

"I guess I got too wrapped up in what we were doing," I said, ashamed of myself. "I've never screamed at Cynth like that before."

"I can believe that. You don't seem like the screaming type--I'm sorry she interrupted us though," Lance said. "I was enjoying it. Just bad timing that's all."

"Yeah, bad timing," I repeated in a monotone voice. Lance looked over and gave me a soft kiss on the lips.

"It wasn't meant to be," he said simply. "I believe in fate. It just wasn't supposed to happen for us today." He grinned. "But at least I have a sneak preview of what to look forward to when I come back."

I laughed at that. Lance laid down on the futon and pulled me into his arms, embracing me. He held me there for awhile, slowly stroking my hair away from my face. That was the last thing I remembered before I fell asleep.

Chapter 9

"Wake up, Stephen." I heard Lance's voice enter my sleeping subconscious and opened my eyes to find him looking down at me. I had fallen asleep on his chest (which I will admit, wasn't a bad pillow) and had accidentally drooled on him during my cozy slumber.

"Whoops," I said, gently wiping his chest off where my spit had collected. "Didn't mean to do that."

"Keep it up," Lance murmured, as he ran a hand through my hair. I could have laid there all night, holding onto him. But we both knew that reality awaited us, and that Lance's main priority was to make it back onto that tour bus and into the next city. And as much as we didn't want to acknowledge it, we knew it was going to happen.

I sat up, pulling myself off my boyfriend and found my shirt on the floor. I pulled it on over my head and then turned around, only to find Lance's eyes following my every move.

"Hey, you," I laughed, trying to ease the "Don't you know that peeping isn't free?" I pulled him off the futon and into my arms. Just then, Lance and I heard a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" I called out.

"Cynthia." My cousin yelled back, "Its almost seven o' clock, you two lovebirds. Time to get the show on the road."

"Yeah, fun," Lance muttered as he disengaged himself from my embrace. He began to button up his shirt and then he walked to the door to my studio and let himself out. I stood there, a bit stung by Lance's hasty exit. And then I exited the studio myself.

We were back on the road around twenty minutes later. Cynthia had said a long, somewhat sappy good-bye, despite the fact that she barely knew him and even gave Lance one of her t-shirts as a parting gift. He laughed at her thoughtfulness and said his good-byes. And then we got into my car and headed back to the hotel.

The car ride was pretty quiet. No radio, no talking, no little jokes. Nothing except the questions that were floating around in our heads. I wondered why I had met a wonderful man who had to leave almost the second I discovered that. Life was like that, I thought as we approached the hotel. I felt like I had traveled ten years back in time, after Natalie had been born and then my father died. It was almost the same case scenario, except that my personal happiness was now being taken away, while my father's death had affected everyone in our family.

I drove up to the back of the hotel, where the tour bus was already waiting to go off to its next destination. Lance looked at me then, and I realized that he had tears in his eyes.

"I wouldn't leave you if I didn't have to," he whispered, brushing my hand with his. "This is hurting me as much as it is you--maybe more." Lance paused. "Maybe it's because I'm the one causing the hurt."

"Don't blame yourself. It my fault for liking you so much." I said attempting to make a feeble joke. Lance gave me a weak smile. "I want to kiss you good-bye," I continued. "But I know I can't."

"Same here," Lance said sadly. "Do you still have the numbers I gave you?" I nodded, remembering the sheet of paper that was sitting on my desk in my room. I had Lance's cell phone number--every teenage girls dream. He had also given me a detailed tour schedule so I would know where he was every night.

"Do you still have my phone number?" I asked him. He nodded and placed a hand over the pocket of his shirt.

"Wouldn't lose it for the world," Lance said. "Well..." Just then we saw Justin climb down the steps of the tour bus and run over to my car.

"Lance, man, we thought you weren't gonna show up," he said, with a grin on his face. Justin looked at me and gave a wave. "What's up, Stephen?"

"Hey," I said, afraid that if I said more than one word, I was liable to break out crying. Lance got out of the car then, somewhat reluctantly. Lance had waited for Justin to head back to the bus, when he grabbed my hand.

"I'll call you every night," he promised, crossing his heart. "I'll be back soon." I just nodded and squeezed his hand back and then let go of it--and Lance ran to the bus, pausing briefly to stop and wave at me. And then he was gone.

I've never experienced a broken heart before, but I do believe that night I had one. I drove off before I could see `N Sync's tour bus drive off and I headed back for home. I didn't even realize that I was crying, until I stumbled through the front door of my house and into Cynthia's waiting arms.

"I knew you'd be a wreck," she said, cradling me in her arms. The screaming that I had done earlier was now forgotten, as she wiped my tear-streaked face with a tissue, and just then, I was really glad that she was there.

"Where's Natalie?" I asked, finally returning to real life once my own wall of self-pity had crumbled. I hadn't seen her all day and I that I realized was not a good sign.

"I called up one of her friends mothers and asked if she could sleep over. I told her that we were having a crisis here." Cynthia attempted to make me smile. "I figured I'd try to save her virgin eyes from the sight of you two horny boys going at it, in case the studio couldn't contain you anymore."

"God, Cynth,--how the hell did Aunt Florence and Uncle George raise you?" I remarked in amazement, while stretching out on the couch, placing my legs over Cynthia's lap.

"Like a truck driver," she said rather proudly, reaching over and wiping my face free of wetness. "Isn't it great?"

"Lovely," I said, rolling my eyes. "It's just lovely when my female cousin is more vulgar than a guy." I stared at the living room ceiling, since there was nothing else to do, when Cynthia finally spoke up. Thoughts were whirling around my head, and I squeezed my eyes shut, causing more tears to roll down my face and neck.

"You're afraid that he'll find someone else, aren't you?" Cynthia remarked suddenly. My eyes flew open at the directness of her question. There was a reason why we had always gotten along so well--and this was one of them. I swear she could read my mind, and this time proved no exception.

I looked at her. She was right. I was worried about that. Lance was on the road all the time, and he could have any guy he wanted. Why the hell should he wait around for me?

I slipped into the little world of thoughts that I occasionally dipped into. I guess I should explain something here...I've never had this great amount of self-esteem throughout my life. I don't know what factors throughout my life attributed to this feeling. In fact I had once seen a t-shirt that said, `Nothing Special' written on it and almost bought it. From that point on, that phrase became my motto: Nothing Special.

So imagine how I was feeling now. Lance had made me, for once in my life, feel special. And now that he was gone I felt even lower that low. Funny how a persons feelings can all depend on the basis of someone else, I thought.

I shook myself out of my little self-psychoanalysis therapy and saw that Cynthia was still staring at me, waiting for an answer.

Finally, I did. "Yeah," I answered. "Yeah. I am." And we dropped it at that.

Two weeks later, I found myself still waitng to hear something, anything from Lance. Not a phone call. I had called his celluar phone a few times, but all I got was a pre-recorded message: "I'm sorry, but the number you have dialed is out-of-calling range..." I called his beeper and recieived no answer.

I spent my time during those two weeks the way any insane person would: work, work, work. Everytime I'm upset, I find myself throwing myself into my job. Picking up extra hours, working overtime shifts and volunteeering for even the most henious tasks. I actually began to enjoy scrubbing the pipes under the sinks, because I all was concentrated on was trying to get the grime off of the metal, instead of why I hadn't heard from Lance. It became fun for me to go into the dining room with the desert cart after lunch and throw myself into the madness that is handing out desert to sixty, hard-of hearing elderly ladies. I acted like I was fiercely competing for the employee of the month award.

But you know what they say about the people who look like they have their lives together--that's right, they're miserable on the inside. And miserable didn't even describe me. I spent my remaining non-work hours cooped up like a caged animal inside my bedroom and studio. I painted like a madman, and most of those paintings (which I've now entitled, `The Angry Period"), were crap. I wouldn't even listen to the radio, heaven forbid the phone would ring. Cynthia even tried to get me to go out with her numerous occasions.

"Come on, Stephen" she pleaded, one night. She was all dressed up, planning to hit the clubs with some old friends. You gotta get out. You can't mope all the time." But I didn't answer her, instead slipping on my headphones and ignoring her. She shrugged and just left my room, shutting the door behind her.

I fell asleep later that night. Only to be awaken by rude banging on the front door that reverbiated through out the house. I looked at the clock. It was three-thirty in the morning. It couldn't be my mother, my sleep addled brain reasoned, because she was working the overnight shift. Natalie was sleeping over at Angela's house. One person was left...

"Cynthia," I muttered under my breath, getting out of my bed. I ran down the stairs, in nothing but my boxer shorts. "I'll kill her, she's always forgetting her fucking keys."

I walked to the door and threw it open ready to start screaming at my cousin. Instead I got the biggest shock of my life.

"Lance?!?!" I exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

Cliffhanger ending--I think I'm learning from all of these season finales on tv! I will try to get the new installment out as soon as I can, but I'm not making any promises (big weekend coming up!) As always, any and all comments (good or bad) are very welcomed at sweetheart_stories@hotmail.com. I love getting mail and feedback on my writing! Thanks for reading--Gabriella.