Eight 

“Good morning, Justin,” JC said as he answered the phone.

“How did you even know it was me? Did you get caller ID in the shop?” Justin asked.

“Well, first of all, it's eight-thirty, and I know you don't have early appointments in the studio today.” JC sipped at his tea. “And I also know that one by one, you and Joey and Nick and maybe even Chris are gonna call to find out how things went with Lance Bass after we left last night.”

“You're good,” Justin said, laughing. JC heard him stretching, and could imagine him lying in bed, his curls golden against the burgundy of Joey's favorite flannel sheets.

“Besides…Joey already called and there is NO way Nick would be up this early,” JC added, and Justin laughed again.

“How DID it go? I hoped that maybe you'd be sleeping the sleep of the recently laid up in Lance's penthouse.”

JC began to make a joke, the way he had with Joey. It was easy to distract Joey when it came to things you were trying to hide. “It was a nightmare,” JC said finally. He knew he could trust Justin to keep a secret, and not to pick on him about it.

“Baby, what happened?”

“He asked me to stay over. And I actually said yes. It just felt…right, you know?”

“Yeah,” Justin said, sighing. “Go on.”

“We open the door, and there's AJ McLean.”

“AJ McLean?”

“He's a supermodel…and Lance's boyfriend.”

“Lance has a boyfriend?”

“C'mon, J, I know you know about this. Anyway, yes, he has a boyfriend, and he showed up to surprise Lance.”

“And instead of fighting for your man, you turned and ran,” Justin said.

“He's NOT my man, Justin.” JC went over and flipped the “closed” sign around. “He's AJ's man, if we're going to get technical. Lance Bass is a dream that I've finally awakened from.”

“I'm sorry, Jayce,” Justin said sadly. “I really liked him, you know?”

“So did I,” JC said. He took a deep breath. “I gotta go. I need to get SOME work done before Nick calls to grill me.” 

JC let out a short scream as he unlocked the door to his apartment. Paint cans and paint brushes and easels and canvas and palettes were piled in the hallway. “Christopher Kirkpatrick!”

“Hey, Jayce! I hope you don't mind, but I'm gonna use your studio to store my records,” Chris said, peeking over the landing. “That asshole Johnny dropped the lease on the warehouse.”

“You will do NO such thing,” JC said through clenched teeth. “Find somewhere ELSE to store them. Put them in your room, for fuck's sake. They will NOT be going in my studio.”

“What climbed up YOUR ass?” Chris asked, clomping down the stairs. “It's not like you paint all that much, anyway.”

“My FOOT will be up YOUR ass if you touch my stuff again, Chris,” JC said. “This is MY apartment, and I rent YOU a room. That studio is the ONE place I can go to relax.” JC bent down to pick up a few cans of paint. “Now get this shit back in there.”

“Fine, fine…grumpy…” Chris muttered, picking up an easel.

JC carried the paint cans into the studio and was leaning down for more when the doorbell rang. He sighed. He was NOT in the mood to talk to anyone. He'd get rid of them, move everything back into the studio, then relax with a blank canvas and a glass of wine. “Can I…help you?” JC stumbled over the words as he opened the door.

“Hi.” Lance Bass looked very uncomfortable as he shivered on JC's doorstep. “Can I come in?”

“Uh, sure.” JC stepped aside. Lance wore a brown leather bomber jacket and blue jeans, and he looked absolutely beautiful. “How…”

“Phone book,” Lance said. “Your last name isn't all that common.”

“Oh, God,” JC said, looking at the mess that was his foyer. “Um…”

“I think we're missing a paintbrush. It must be up your ass, Chasez,” Chris snapped as he entered the hallway. “Oh, uh, hi. You're the movie star, right?”

“Right,” Lance said with a smile. JC wanted to melt into the floorboards. “And you're the record store roommate.”

“Hey, I'm famous, too!” Chris said happily. “I was just helping JC…”

“You were just going up to your room, dammit,” JC growled, and Chris actually took a hint, for once. He turned back to Lance. “I was going to have a glass of wine. Would you like one?”

“No, I can't stay,” Lance said. “I have a dinner thing.”

“With AJ?” JC couldn't help asking.

“Look, Josh, I'm sorry. I had no clue he'd be in town,” Lance insisted.

“Don't bother, Lance. It was a mistake, anyway. He's your boyfriend. We both knew you had one,” JC said.

“I thought it was pretty much over. I swear,” Lance said. “I never would have asked you in if it wasn't.”

“Look, Lance. I'm so far out of your league I can't even wear the uniform,” JC said. “We just weren't meant to be. I'm glad I met you, and I had a nice time with you, but…”

“But I'm a celebrity, and you're just a gallery owner, right?”

“I have paint on my socks,” JC reminded him gently. Lance smiled, but it didn't reach my eyes.

“Then you're just like all the rest, Josh.” Lance held out a hand. “Thank you for dinner last night. I'm glad we met.”

“Yes,” JC said, shaking the outstretched hand. Lance zipped up his coat and left the apartment without another word.

Nine