Oreos for Breakfast: Chapter 28

Oreos For Breakfast: Chapter 35
By the Paperbag Princess and Pumpkin Coach

"Looks like your ex is so desperate she's dating her lawyer," Cynthia said, tossing a newspaper in front of me.

I just looked at the cover for a second. Rachel wasn't making the cover of the New York Post, was she?

Cynthia rolled her eyes. "Page six, Nick."

Anna grabbed it away from me before I could open it. "Do you need to see this?"

"See what?" I held out my hand for the paper.

"It's funny," Cynthia said. "Justin was obviously a publicity stunt, and now she's bringing her lawyer to events. Her camp must be freaking out that you're dating Paris Hilton now."

I wasn't 'dating' Paris Hilton. Okay, we'd been out a couple of times. But I hadn't even slept with her. One of the tabloids had said I'd bought her an engagement ring for Christmas.

Why would I marry someone I hadn't even fucked yet?

"Let me see it, Anna. What's the big deal?"

"You don't need to see it."

I grabbed the paper from her. "I'm over Rachel. So what if she's out with her lawyer?"

Before I saw the picture, I thought I was over her. But I was wrong.

She looked gorgeous, as pretty as I'd ever seen her, even in a newspaper picture. The dress she was wearing was perfect, showing off her curves and her nice legs. Her hair was up, curls piled up on top of her head so that I could see her neck.

I loved it when she wore her hair up. She'd only done it a couple of times when we were together, for really special occasions.

Why was this occasion so special? It was the opening of some opera on Broadway.

Opera? Rachel hated opera. It had to be special because of the guy she was with. He was tall, good-looking with dark hair and eyes, in a good suit. He had his arm around her and a huge smile on his face.

"That's not her lawyer," I said, handing the paper back to Cynthia.

"He's an entertainment lawyer, according to the caption," she told me, and I shrugged.

"I know her lawyer. He's an older guy, and he did the new deal with EMI, so they love him, and they weren't getting rid of him. Besides, she'd never date someone she was working with."

"It's a publicity stunt, Nick. They're not really dating." Cynthia said, obviously proud of herself for winning the publicity war with Paris and me. No one got more publicity than Paris Hilton and Cynthia loved that. Meant her job was easier.

"Yes they are," I said. I was sure of it. Rachel would never do that just for the publicity. Justin was one dinner, right after we'd broken up. She liked Justin. They were friends. After the pictures of me with Paris that broke the news that Rachel and I were over, she got a date with Justin fucking Timberlake. I hated it, but I could give her that one. I'd done a shitty thing, going out with Paris the night after Rachel had walked out of my life.

But this guy was real. I could just tell by the way she was leaning into him as he held her close.

"It's pathetic. She can't get a real date, so she…" Cynthia continued.

"Stop it," I said. "Why are you here? I have sound check in five minutes. I thought the interviews were later."

I was sick of interviews. I'd tell them that Backstreet hadn't broken up, but they'd still call me an ex-Backstreet Boy. Then they'd ask how I felt about Justin's album doing so well when mine had tanked. If they were really good, they'd ask how Justin stole Rachel from me.

That question usually ended the interview.

"They are," Cynthia said. "I just thought you'd like to see how far Rachel has fallen."

"Whatever."

I slammed the door behind me as I walked out into the hallway, but it opened a second later. "Anna…" I warned, but she was next to me in a minute.

"That guy is real, isn't he?" she asked me quietly, and I just shrugged, trying to walk faster than her.

It didn't work, as she ran to keep up with me.

"Nick, don't do this."

"Do what, Anna? We have sound check. Big fucking deal if Rachel found the safe stable stockbroker she always wanted. I have an album to sell."

"He's a lawyer."

"Same fucking thing!" I yelled, turning to face her. "He's a normal guy with a normal job who already fucking adores her, I can see it on his face. That's what she's always wanted. She wants someone without drama and publicity, and she found it. Good for her. That's why we broke up, so she could get what she wanted."

The thing I'd never be able to give her. I could give up the business and I'd never be normal. Even without the business, my family alone would provide enough drama for the rest of my fucking life. This guy probably came from a happy, normal family, just like she did, and they'd have happy, normal kids and live a happy, normal life.

"That's not why you broke up."

"Right. We broke up because I'm an asshole. Thanks for reminding me. Leave me alone, Anna."

I stalked down the hallway.

But I went the wrong way, and the door I opened went to the parking lot. Damnit.

"The stage is this way, Nick," Anna said, and I kicked the wall.

"I know! I wanted to get some air."

She appeared next to me and held open the door. "Okay, then we'll go outside."

"Fuck you, Anna."

"What? I'm just holding open the door so that we can go outside."

"Alone!" I yelled. "I don't want you!"

She shrugged. "Okay. But we have sound check in three minutes. You'll have to see me then."

I grabbed the door handle and pulled it shut, then started towards the stage. At least I hoped I was going towards the stage.

"I can get another fucking bass player."

"Not one with my persistence, though."

I growled at her. I couldn't even find words to express how much I hated her.

I hated her even more when she laughed.

"Get another bass player. Whatever. I'll still be around, though, bugging you to talk about your feelings."

"What feelings? I don't have any feelings! Rachel's moved on. So have I!"

Anna snorted. "One-night stands and Paris Hilton don't count. They're not real. This guy that Rachel was with looks real. He looks nice, and perfectly average. He's like the anti-you."

"Fuck you, Anna."

I raised a hand to tell her to stop, but she just kept talking, ducking a little. "I mean, I guess that Paris fucking Hilton is the anti-Rachel. She's blond, and tall, and a fucking idiot."

"I'm not with Paris."

"I do thank my higher power for that every day. If I had to share a tour bus with her, I'd lose my mind."

"I'm losing my mind sharing a tour bus with you!" I said, climbing the stairs to the stage.

"Whatever," she said, following me up the stairs and then going over to her equipment. She needed to stay away from me tonight or I'd break her damn bass. I didn't really need a bassist, did I? We could probably just run her lines through the keyboard or something.

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