Riley was a drama queen. No doubt about it. I’m sure her hair looked fine. She always looked fine. Period. As usual, she was making a mountain out of a mole hill. She was always like that. She loved attention. And it was apparent in everything she did. The way she dressed, acted, all of her relationships– all based on the sole function of attracting attention. She craved it.

And perhaps that’s why she decided to subject herself to JC… Okay, maybe subject wasn’t the right word. Because deep down, part of her, it loved him. He was good to her in a way that most men hadn’t been. And he was safe.

She loved him for other reasons as well. He showered her with gifts. Sent her roses to her work, or full outfits in the mail, left jewelry in her drawers– little romantic notions that made her feel like a queen. Took her places: to dinner, movies, a walk in the park– normal stuff…for most people.

But not people like us.

Riley, JC, the rest of us, we weren’t like most. We didn’t have time for dinner on the town or a night by the fire. We were slaves to our job…not only because we were passionate about what we did, but because we didn’t know how to stop. JC and Riley gave one another something that wasn’t a commodity. That you just couldn’t put a price on.

I, on the other hand, I didn’t have that someone to make me stop. There was no one for me to live for…just my work. And while that was okay, it wasn’t good enough. I wanted that someone to work for. Someone who made me want to get through the day, made me want to live. Right now, it just wasn’t clicking. And it seemed as though I was destined to not have someone. Because of my job. Which was somewhat ironic, I suppose. I couldn’t date because of my job, because of Ashleigh. And it seemed as though I were running out of time. Yeah, I was young. But theoretically, it seemed as though you should go "through" a few "soul mates" before you found the right one. How would you truly know what you wanted in a mate without dating? It didn’t really seem to make sense to me.

But then again, I was a pop star. I was in a boyband. At least two of us needed to be fucked up. They could write one of those E! True Hollywood Stories about us, and we could sit around and talk about what really happened. I figured Lance and JC would lead pretty normal lives, they were usually the stable ones. Maybe JC would try to marry Riley; yeah that’d be interesting. Joey and Chris were marginal for the most part, sure there were some shady situations, but that was understandable. Fame was a bitch. Yup, I’d be the screw-up. The one that they played that tragic soap opera music in the background for, while they showed pictures of what I used to be. Maybe even Riley Chasez could talk about the good old days, when I was actually semi-normal.

Yep, my future looked bright.

"KILLER SPAGHETTI!!!" growled Chris as he streamed down the main corridor of the bus. He threw a few spaghetti noodles onto JC who flinched, then dropped a few more onto Lance and I as he passed. At least there was no sauce on it this time.

Joey approached us through the main room, a Cheshire grin on his lips. "We all know what time it is…time to honor this week’s Man Of The Week!" All five of us stood at attention as one of our PR guys, Nick, journeyed into the room, holding the piece of paper which held the name of the sacred one.

Man of the Week had been founded two years ago. Any one of us could be selected as the previous week’s "man" for a number of reasons, usually pertaining to our love/sex lives. We had a plaque on the wall with interchangeable names and pictures honoring the chosen one.

"And this week’s man is…" we all paused holding our breath, "JC!" A collective exhale was let out as JC jumped up, celebrating with a little victory dance.

"JC is awarded this week for again having the hottest girlfriend out of all five of y’all. Sorry, J" Nick laughed, jabbing me as I shook my head comically, "your girlfriend was the hottest until she started talking," he kidded.

"Justin also gets half Man of the Week because the hottest girl on tour wants you to bone her bad, making you a honorary stud." Casey. Casey was the resident makeup artist on the tour, and honestly, I thought she was beautiful. She had something about her, something so approachable, something so wonderfully wholesome…it made me remember home. Those bright blue eyes, that strawberry blonde hair, the freckles that were dabbed over her nose and cheeks. She was adorable.

Riley and Ashleigh were beautiful in another way. They were wildly gorgeous– both tall, thin, and intimidating as hell. They knew they were beautiful, and carried themselves that way; they were a prize, something to be coveted.

Riley had a sheer exotic sensuality to her, a fact which she often used to her advantage. She was dark-skinned, her flesh always tinged with a shade of deep bronze, her arched cheek bones lit by a lively rose flush. Her eyes were fittingly dark and frequently stormy, two orbs derived from the darkest of ash. Her hair was stunning and swirled about her like long spools of ebony silk, rippling in waves that fell beneath her shoulders. There was something inherently sad about Riley, perhaps it was her eyes, or the sliver of a smile that seemed permanent upon her lips. In that regard, her beauty was surreal.

Ashleigh was more of a bombshell, comprised of sheer elegance and sexual appeal. She had tresses in the lightest shade of brown, an almost honey infused hue, the perfect counterpart to her large hazel eyes. There was something about Ashleigh that lured you in. Perfect curves on a tiny frame, and that beautiful hair. She had this sweet, unassuming smile, one that you knew would never be emitted by the likes of Riley, nor any other woman who had experienced the inner turmoil of Hollywood. In that respect, I admired her.

The guys were bringing out the beers, and passing them around. I snapped back into reality as a cold bottle landed in my hands, the frosty glass shocking my skin. I laughed as I popped off the cap, puffing out my chest like any man would in reaction to my honor. "What can I say, all the ladies love the Timberlake charm." But really, there was an attraction. Most definitely. Sure I had Ashleigh, but Casey, Casey held the promise of something else. And I liked that possibility.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," JC muttered good-naturedly, shaking his head. "Just remember who got the girl." He laughed, pushing me playfully, his eyes assuring me he was only kidding.

I almost laughed.

JC shifted as Casey worked on his mop of waves, his eyes diverted down towards the two-way in his hands. There was a strange rift between Casey and JC. It was a tension, one that had oddly developed from the bud of a friendship, and rather than blossoming had managed to wither and rot.

"You’re done," she said impersonally as she diverted her eyes from the mirror as he inspected his hair, to prevent eye contact. "Is it okay?" She tapped her hand nervously against her side, shoving her straw-colored hair out of her eyes with her free hand.

"Yeah," he nodded, swallowing deeply, "it’s fine. It looks great. Thanks." He got up aburptly from the swiveling chair and exited the room, leaving an awkward tone to still loom.

"Hey, Case," I smiled as I took a seat in the chair, letting a playful little smile roll over my lips. I winked at her which prompted a rose tinge to creep over her cheeks. She chuckled sheepishly, turning to rummage through the box of make-up and hair supplies behind me.

"Hey, Justin," she answered coolly, as she ran her slim fingers through my hair, her eyes meeting mine via the mirror in front of us. She smiled, those bright blue eyes of hers lighting as she scrunched her hands through my curls, her full lips pressed into a thin but concentrated smile. She stopped and turned me, spinning the chair to face her as she worked on the front of my hair, her hands tarrying to work on one unruly set of curls in the front.

"How has your day been?" I asked softly as my eyes ran over her appreciatively. I involuntarily licked my lips as I watched her, her voluptuous curves hugged by the dark denim of her jeans. She winked as she dipped back into her box of tricks and produced a clear, plastic tube of foundation which she proceeded to rub over her palm.

"It was pretty okay," she answered as she began to apply the makeup onto my face with the tips of her fingers. I hated the way it felt. I always felt semi-degraded when people put makeup on me, like a part of my manhood was in question. I scrunched my nose in distaste as I felt the cool, paint-like mixture spread over my skin. She pushed my shoulder playfully to make me stop, a short laugh coming from deep within my throat.

"You look tired, Justin," she said softly as she bent forward into me, her fingers still running over my face. I sighed softly. When didn’t I look tired?

"I know," I answered softly shaking my head as she disappeared behind me again. This time she produced a tube of goo for my eyebrows and eyelashes. Fun times. This was far from my favorite part. "I haven’t really been sleeping well recently," I conceded as she began to brush my eyebrows. A man should never have his eyebrows brushed, it just felt wrong.

"Your girl, Ashleigh has been keeping you up, eh?" she laughed as she winked, her deep sapphire eyes twinkling as she pressed her fingers over my brows to smooth them. She sighed as she said this, shaking her head ever so slightly. "I don’t know, Just," she said softly, a slow grin taking over her lips again. "I’d wish you’d just give me a chance. Us girls from Montana know how to do it right."

"And which ‘it’ might you be referring to?" I asked raising an eyebrow. She smirked as she let the tube drop from her fingers and slip onto the carpet below us. She lowered herself before me and licked her full, pink lips.

"You get the idea."

I laughed, and blushed slightly as pictures that men only imagined raced through my mind. "Maybe some other time, Case, I’m pretty worn out," I kidded as she got back up. I sighed as she turned again back to her makeup kit. Yeah, maybe some other time.

Amazingly beautiful. That’s what Ashleigh was. Always. Perfect in every way. Sculpted and toned, accentuated and painted, processed and fixed. She had to be. Besides her marginal voice, she had nothing to take pride in besides her beauty. She wasn’t overly talented, or skilled, nor was she the best at anything. She was the prettiest, the one whose body was a Barbie’s built to scale.

Those were the thoughts floating through my head as I saw her in the doorway of the bathroom, her silhouette outlined by the soft, golden light. She was dressed in relatively casual wear: a burgundy angular skirt– one end ending upper-thigh, the other well past her knees– and a shimmery, patterned halter. She smiled, pushing a few strands of her honey-colored hair away from her beautiful eyes, the rest of her tresses swept up into a neat chignon (Yes, sadly, I knew what a chignon was).

"Do I look all right?" she questioned softly, her eyes begging for my approval. I swallowed deeply, adjusting my button-down shirt collar before answering.

"Yeah," I nodded, letting a slow grin sweep across my lips, "I’d say that. I’d even go as far as to say you look beautiful…amazing. Ravishing…glorious. Shall I continue my dear? Because I’m pretty sure there aren’t enough words to describe your splendor." Yes. I was the man. I totally deserved Man of the Week for that one. I finally reached her, pressing a soft kiss on her cheek. I got down on my knees, my eyes looking up at her playfully and rested my head against her stomach, listening to her breathe before I slowly stood.

"You’re too much, Justin Randall Timberlake. But that’s why I love you so." I leaned into her, kissing the side of her neck, then behind her ear, before my lips finally met with hers. She giggled at my touch, her hands straying into my hair, her nimble fingers entangled in my curls.

"Shall we go?" I asked as I took her hand into mine and led her towards the door. She nodded as I opened the door for her, pausing before we left to place another kiss onto my lips.

Picture perfect as usual, we journeyed towards the awaiting limo. She smiled and waved towards the fans that lined either side of the hotel exit, the obnoxious screaming almost deafening. I took the position of resident asshole, waving a hand and nodding my head in response to their agonized cries.

"You could at least be a little nicer," she muttered as we got into the limo, straying away from me. "They adore you Justin," she said as she looked me over with disgust, "I would think that would be right up your alley." She looked out the window after that, probably too appalled to even look at me.

I’d admit it. Year after year, show after show, the screaming became too much. It was more than obnoxious, it was almost pathetic. The screams symbolized people that I didn’t know, who didn’t know me. People– girls– who would do anything just to say that they had fucked me. And it was degrading. I never signed up for this. I wanted to make music, to be successful, to live my dream. The one that I had surmised when I was only a little boy. But so much of this "dream" wasn’t what I thought it would be. I didn’t think I would be forced to lie when all I wanted to do was come clean, or to sing when I couldn’t conjure up another note. I didn’t know that I would be on everything: pillows, lip gloss, stickers, bears, dolls. That girls would actually spend their time fantasizing about what I smelled like or how my lips felt like against their skin. It surpassed my dream. Journeyed past my mind’s boundaries into something else, into a demon. A monster. Something that wasn’t mine anymore.

"Don’t you ever get sick of it, Ashleigh?" I asked her softly as I watched her. "Don’t you ever wish the screaming would stop? That they would all just go away?" I took a deep breath and sighed. "Maybe I have gotten too used to this. I’m sure I’m an ungrateful bastard, that I deserve to go to hell. But I don’t know how you can still love what you do."

I swallowed, I felt tears coming into my eyes. "It tears you apart, Ash. It rips you up inside. Just seeing those girls, it drives me insane. I just want to be normal again. I want to just be Justin." I waited for her answer, for once actually caring what she thought.

"Justin," she said finally turning. "Put things in perspective. It’s more than a just a job. It’s who we are. It’s what we are. We chose this. You can’t just be Justin anymore, you’ve always known that. You’re something to someone else. Just seeing you gives someone else an immense amount of joy. I love what I do and I know that it’ll all die down someday and then, then I’ll miss it more than the world."

She took my hand in hers and pressed a kiss on the top of it as I smiled meekly. "Thank you."

"I think I’m sick," she sniffled over the phone.

"That’s good-–"

"Huh?"

"…because you’ll have the five men you love the most all there to take care of you," I answered with a chuckle. "We’re coming into town last minute. We’re hosting TRL tomorrow and then doing a little more promo and then spending the night at casa de Riley," I answered as I flipped through some itineraries that laid out the schedule for the next few days. TRL usually equaled hoards of screaming girls, but never had we hosted. I knew to be prepared for anything.

"Who says I want five men crashing my house and eating all my food?" she asked dryly, a little chuckle trailing off the end of her words.

"We know you love us. And there’s no other hostess we’d rather have than our little ol’ Riley Jane." She emitted a short laugh followed by a cough and a bellowing sneeze before she finally spoke.

"Oh, is that right?"

"Yes. Yes, it is."

"Fine," she sighed, "I’ll make the beds."

"Aren’t they already made?" I asked skeptically as I watched Ashleigh enter the room, bustling about. She scrunched her nose as she realized who was on the other end of the phone and started to pack, overturning her entire suitcase onto the bed space beside me, her previously worn clothes scattered onto the sheets.

"Yeah but I have to change the sheets," she answered, matter-of-factly. "Mom always taught me that you have to change the sheets when people stay over."

"I thought you change the sheets after somebody leaves, not before," I pointed out, shaking my head. Ashleigh grunted, flipping her golden hair over her shoulder, probably upset about the lack of affection I was showing her.

"I didn’t change them last time you guys left." Just like Riley to remember that and worry about it. She’d stress about it for the next three hours before falling asleep and doing it an hour before we arrived. Classic Riley.

"You do know that we don’t care, right?" I laughed. "As long as I don’t get the last bed Joey slept in, I think I’m in the clear. Shoot, maybe you could just wash those sheets. I’d like to know that I am safe from all his dirty whore germs. You can never be too careful." I shook my head as I watched Ashleigh start to fold her clothes out of the corner of my eye, her eyes glaring at me as I pretended not to notice. This would be a long night.

"Safe from whore germs? Where’s Ashleigh? As long as she’s anywhere near you I wouldn’t deem you safe from anything. I’d get myself tested if I were you," she laughed at her own joke and then let out another cough which proceeded in a dry coughing spell.

"Hey, that was uncalled for. I happen to know where I put my junk. Not just anyone can get a piece of this poster boy," I chuckled then laid my head back onto the pillows, my eyes connecting with Ashleigh’s. She was not a happy camper. Not in the least.

"Right. Like it’s so hard to get you to put your shit in some chick. You’re not so unlike Joey. Don’t deny it. All five of you are horny fuckers, not the little angels you claim to be. You like getting ass just as much as the next guy."

"Fine, fine. I’m a man-whore, I’ll admit it. I think I’m addicted to sex or something, it’s a condition. I’m pretty damn sure you’ve got it too." Ashleigh glared at me. I sighed, I was tired. And sick of all this bullshit. Fuck. When would it all end? Sometimes I wanted to die and resume my life in twenty years like nothing had happened. But never would I be that lucky.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. I know I’m a slut. But I’m changing my ways," she laughed. "JC’s gonna make me a one-man woman…" she paused. I could hear her smirk. "Okay, maybe not, but so far it’s been nice…" she sighed lowly, letting a moments silence pass between us before she spoke again. "I’m going to bed." Good. Good plan. I wanted to do the same. Just go to bed. But I knew there was something, some punishment, waiting for me. Although she had proved she wasn’t an idiot, Ashleigh wasn’t always so unforgiving. Even about the little things.

"Okay, night, Riley," I answered softly.

"Night, Jus. Love you," she whispered. "Don’t stay up too late, okay?"

"Okay, sweetheart. Love you, too." I turned off the cell phone and set it onto the bed side table, running my hands over my face.

"I’m sorry, Ash," I said sweetly, looking up at her.

"For what?" she asked, frowning, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. Innocent my ass. As if she didn’t know. Because I obviously didn’t. But I knew I was supposed to apologize. As the man, it was my job. Damn her. Just like her to draw this whole damn process out. What was with women anyways? Couldn’t just take the fucking apology and let it go? This wasn’t even a big deal. Damn it all to hell.

I know you’re mad at me," I answered simply, watching her as she continued to pretend she wasn’t. She looked down at me with those damn innocent eyes and licked her full, pink lips before she sighed. I watched her as she turned, shaking her ass as she sauntered across the suite. Damn. She turned her head slowly and shrugged. Yeah. Just pulling me along by my dipstick. Fun times.

"I don’t know where you get that impression from," she said impersonally, shaking her little head as she headed back towards the bed. She zipped her suitcase up and set it down beside the bed before crossing her arms across her chest. "I’m not mad at you."

Fuck. I wanted to open that damn window and jump out of it. I had had enough. I was tired; it was frigging two in the morning and I’d just done a two hour show. Did we have to play these games right now? I really wasn’t in the mood. I wanted to go to sleep. But she couldn’t leave mad. The make-up act would be much more severe. I might even have to fly somewhere, do something that actually took thought. Shit. I figured I’d use my standard procedure for these kinds of situations. Groveling, compliments, and then makeup sex. That always did the trick.

"So how’s the whore?" she asked nonchalantly as if the word was interchangeable with many other less-offensive ones. "Still up to her whore ways? Or has she decided to lay off the sex for a while and stick with JC? I hear he’s amazing in bed."

I ignored the last comment, which was only designed to enflame me, make me say something that I didn’t want to say. I knew how she worked, Riley had taught me the basics. I was a frigging pro. "She’s good."

She huffed again, this time flipping her hair as walked to the other side of the bed. "That’s nice."

Time to put my plan in action. In 5…4…3…2.. I got up onto my knees and crawled to her side of the bed, trying my damnedest to look lustful. It was a stretch. "Damn, Ash," I growled as I snuck up behind her, my lips playing over the tender skin on her neck. She held in a giggle. Bingo. I was in. "You look so damn hot when you’re mad at me. Have a little mercy, baby, you’re driving me crazy."

She turned slowly, her hazel eyes connecting with mine, a clearly playful look holding them. "Really? Well, you don’t look so bad yourself." She leaned in, pressing a slow kiss onto my lips then starting to unbutton the top of my jeans. "In fact, you look good enough to eat," she whispered, biting at my neck.

I let out an exaggerated moan and kissed her forehead before I pulled her camisole over her head. She bit her lip as I revealed her bare stomach and then her pink lace bra, her gold cross necklace centered between her full breasts. She giggled softly as she pulled my jeans down, which left me in my red boxer briefs, the elastic rim set low on my hips. She bent down onto her knees and kissed my stomach, leaving a trail of kisses down the center of my torso. She stopped at the rim of my underwear and stood, lifting my beater from my chest and slowly kissing the tops of my shoulders.

I smiled as she pushed me onto the bed and stripped me off my boxers, snaking herself down my naked frame. I felt her start to please me, her lips moving slowly across my flesh. I let out an uncontrollable moan, my hands gripping the sheets as she teased my growing hard-on. God, she was good.

Sometimes when I was having sex with Ashleigh, I pictured myself. What we looked like. How disgusting it was. Me, pretending to love her, and her, pleasing me because of it. That’s what our relationship looked like to me. And in it’s essence, it was. Just another honorable thing for me to add to the list of things I could be proud of. I corrupted children and made millions doing it. I sang syrupy sweet songs of love and pumped out pelvic thrusts, fueling teenage girls’ fantasies. And I faked love. Ah yes, as usual, I felt damn proud of myself.

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