| Stumbling around his home he couldn’t shake the delicious feeling that washed over him. He knew it was insane -- crazy even. This girl was someone he didn’t know. But he felt that he could trust her. For whatever reason. Debating on who to call to break the news -- JC or Justin. Neither would take the news well. Fuck ‘em. Lance checked his kitchen clock. He calculated the time zones in his head and figured it was still a reasonable hour to call. Padding into the living room clad only in boxers and white socks, he jumped onto the couch and dialed Justin first. “Yo, speak.” Lance chuckled. “You have any manners left?” he asked lightly. “Lance, man, I am the top of the world. I don’t need manners,” Justin teased. “So, ready for LA?” “That’s why I’m calling,” Lance started as he bit his nails. “I’m bringing someone.” “Like security?” “No,” Lance paused as he thought of Theresa. “Like a girl.” Silence forced it’s way across the country and slipped into his ear viciously. He realized Justin was not pleased. “Justin? You there?” “Yeah. What girl? Like your cousin? Or your sister?” Justin struggled to hold on. “No, like this girl Theresa I met. She’s really cool and...” “Lance! No. Come on, man. This was supposed to be just the three of us hanging out doing guy things. Shit. Fuck!” Lance could hear Justin slamming around his home and cringed. He didn’t want to piss anyone off, but time had come for him to live the way he wanted to -- to enjoy life in a manner he craved. Theresa was the beginning of that. And Justin was being a prick. “Justin, look. She’s staying in a hotel. It’s not a big deal. I’ll still see you guys and we’ll catch a game or whatever but I really like her. I mean, I really like her okay? So I need you and C to be nice.” “Nice? To a star fucker? I don’t think so.” Lance swallowed hard as his stomach lurched in anger. “That’s fucked up, Justin. Really fucked up. Thanks for understanding, asshole.” He clicked the phone off before he had time to regret his words. But he was livid. After all the years of sitting by watching each of his friends find some kind of happiness with the opposite sex, he had always been supportive -- and more than helpful. He’d given up his bunk in the early years and slept on the lumpy couch in the back lounge for Joey’s girl. He’d shared his conditioner with their girlfriends and even helped hide them back in the day when they were not accepted. So fuck Justin. And if JC wanted to be the same, then he’d take Theresa and stay in the hotel with her. So why, Lance wanted to know, did he feel so miserable? And why did his body roll nervously. The phone rang and he glanced at the ID. Unknown and he was guessing it was Justin. “What?” Lance barked into the phone. “Sorry,” Justin muttered. “I am. Just talked to C and he said I was a fuck head, which I am. So of course bring her and we’ll hang out when we can.” Lance pressed his lips together because what that meant was “JC made me apologize and sure, I’ll hang with you but don’t dare bring that star fucker around me.” “So, you still coming?” Justin asked as Lance simmered. “Maybe,” Lance replied tersely. “I’ll let you know. I’m beat. Talk to you later.” He hung up before Justin could say anything else -- turned off his ringer and went to bed. He was exhausted both mentally and emotionally and sleep came without problem. And when he woke in the morning, things seemed to be better, except he jumped in the shower and didn’t realize Theresa’s phone number had washed away. Panic flooded him as he cut the water and squinted at his palm. Cursing didn’t help as he shoved the shower curtain aside and stuck his hand into the light. “Dammit!” he screamed, trying to make out the now blurred and barely there numbers. His luck. Lance grabbed a towel and quickly dried himself off. He threw on jeans and a tee shirt and sat down barefoot on his couch armed with the phone book and his phone. Dialing Foxy Rox he chewed on his lip in a state of dread. Surely someone at the bar would give him her number. It would all be okay, he tried to convince himself. But that wasn’t the case. After several rings the owner picked up only to inform Lance that Theresa had up and quit the previous evening. And that he could under no circumstances give out her phone number or her address for privacy reasons. Lance slammed the phone down, completely crushed. He realized he didn’t even know her last name. And he hadn’t even given her his number. Being Lance Bass would deter her from tracking him down. “Fuck and SHIT!” he yelled as his brows furrowed. He dropped his head into his hands and laughed bitterly. It was unbelievable to him that he could have messed something so uncomplicated up so badly. A moment or two of pity only caused more torture so he snatched his sneakers and headed out. He wasn’t exactly sure where to start -- the city was huge -- but he knew he had to try. It was his last hope at freedom. ************************ Lance searched until nightfall -- his identity hidden beneath a baseball cap and sunglasses. Anxiety attacks prevented him from going very far very quickly. His body came and went into minute states of alarm and his feet carried him to every possible place he could think of. Nothing. No sign of her anywhere. He almost laughed when he passed a store and spotted a promotional ON THE L poster because it rivaled his situation. Ironic was what that was. Only in the movie he’d had a happy ending written in. And life was not a movie where fairy tale endings came true. Depression settled in as he kicked a soda can across the sidewalk. Grabbing his cell, he made his way into Starbucks and stood on line. “This is me. You know the drill.” “C, it’s me. I’ll be out in the morning. Solo. Tell J he got his wish.” Lance clicked off angrily. Not that it was Justin’s fault but still. The guy could have been more kind about things. Star fuck. Lance sighed as he placed his order. He’d never know now. |
| LITTLE WING 3 BY DESTINY |