Chris and I made it backstage just about when they did, and it was as chaotic as any of our shows. The four of them were huddled in the middle of room, all of them talking at once, as various hangers on swirled around them. I knew how that felt, everyone trying to tell you what you did right, when you had to tell the others what you did wrong before you forgot.

"Joshie!"

Damnit. Too late. I so thought I might be able to get out of here without Willa spotting me. No such fucking luck. She did not have an intuitive bone in her body, did she? She had no idea that I only had eyes for the tall guy in the middle of the room.

"I'm so glad you came. I didn't think you got my phone calls!"

I removed her arms from around my neck. "I didn't, Willa. I'm here with friends."

"So great that we get to see you too, of course," Chris saved me, smiling at her. "Surprised you're still here, actually. That was an energetic set we just saw."

"Oh, I have to stay and check out the competition," she giggled, flipping her hair over her shoulder and looking over at Sudden Silence.

As if, I wanted to scream at her. The only reason she had a career at all was because she brought Nick Carter's name into every conversation she could. Rachel tried to avoid doing that whenever possible.

Speaking of, we'd been spotted. Rachel caught my eye and grinned, grabbing James and dragging him over to us. "Hey, JC, glad you came. Didn't see you out there. Did you catch the set?" she asked, kissing my cheek.

"We were on the side. You fucking rocked. Love the Christmas song," I said, looking at James. He grinned and me and I could breathe again. Even yesterday, when we were on the phone, I could feel the distance I'd felt ever since New York. But he looked happy to see me. Maybe. "James, Rachel, this is Chris, I don't think you've met?"

They all shook hands and I looked over at Willa. "And you know Willa?"

"Yeah, we've been doing the Christmas shows together," Willa said. "Great set. Isn't that Christmas song a cover of some really old band?"

Rachel started to say something, but James dragged her up against his side. "A group called the Waitresses. Long before your time, I'm sure."

"Have you ever heard the original of 'Santa Baby'?" Rachel asked her sweetly and she giggled.

"Not really. Way before my time."

"Not even Madonna's version?" Rachel started, but we were interrupted by Jeremy and Darien. Willa ceased paying attention to Rachel, turning her charms to the new boys in the circle.

Rachel whimpered, looking up at James. "Remind me again why I can't kill her?"

James smiled down at her. "Nick would be so sad if you had to spend Christmas in the slammer."

"Right," she nodded. "Christmas in the slammer."

"You could hope that her stupidity catches up with her and she walks in front of a bus or something," I offered helpfully, and they smiled at me.

"We'll do that, Joshie," James teased, and I whacked him.

"Don't even."

"Even his grandmother doesn't call him 'Joshie,'" Chris informed him. "Justin does, but only when he really, really wants to piss him off."

"Which would be about 12 times a day," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Rache!" Jeremy barked. "Press."

She turned to him. "I thought it was you and Darien?"

"You and Darien."

"No, me and James," she protested. "You and Darien first."

"I never said you and James, you two are fucking impossible to understand. Too many goddamn in-jokes."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" She walked closer to him, still yelling, and I looked at James.

"What the hell is that?"

He shrugged at me. "That's Rachel and Jeremy. You've never seen them at their best, have you?"

I shook my head. Chris was already off schmoozing, I realized, and we were close to alone. "No, I haven't seen all of you together since that MTV thing." I didn't remember a fight then, but I wasn't really paying attention to anyone but James. I was flirting with Rachel and staring at James.

He motioned towards them. "This is my life."

"Have they always been like this?"

He started to say something, then shook his head. "Long story, Jace."

"Can you tell me later? I owe you dinner. I didn't forget."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "I've got-"

"Radio, James." Rachel told him, pulling him away and smiling at me. "I'll bring him back soon, promise."

I smiled at her. "I'll be here somewhere."

<James>

"He liiiiiikes you," she sang out, as soon as we were away from him.

"Rache!" I snapped, looking around, and she stopped walking, looking up at me.

"He likes you. His feelings are all hurt because you've been giving him the cold shoulder, and he wants you to like him again." She made little sad puppy noises and head butted me, making me laugh.

"Stop it, you goof." I pushed her away, and she smiled up at me.

"You trust me, right?"

"Sometimes."

She whacked me. "Go and do whatever he wants tonight, or his sad little puppy eyes might charm me into bed with him."

"But I-" I had a plan. Be strong, and avoid the cute little boy band boy. Don't get in over your head.

"Oh, James, you got cheated out of that last fuck. Take him up on it. And go back to his house and take pictures. I have to make sure when Nick buys a house out here, it's bigger than his."

Jeremy interrupted us before I could tell her she was a freak, and we went off to talk to radio people. Rachel kept grinning at me and looking over towards JC, who was always looking at us. Me, maybe. He'd smile and look away, go back to his conversation. But for the next hour, as I schmoozed with everyone we needed to schmooze with, I could feel his eyes on me.

Fuck, maybe she was right. Tonight would be it, and I'd enjoy every second of it. I'd had plans for that night in New York, dinner, candles, sex until the sun came up…

Finally I was free, and I found him at the bar. "Hey," he said, handing me a beer. "Free?"

"Yeah. Can I take you up on that dinner?"

He had a great smile. Rachel might say that Nick's smile lit up the whole damn world, but JC's was damn close. Or maybe it was just because I did that. One little sentence, and his sad little puppy eyes were gone. "Yeah. I know just the place."

I shrugged. "You know L.A. better than I do. I keep getting lost."

"My car is here. You ready now?"

I took a drink of my beer, considering him. "Can we do that? Won't everyone notice?"

"Chris will come with us," he said with a grin. "Which will only start easily deniable rumors of a three-way."

"Oh please," I told him, and he laughed, putting his glass down on the bar.

"I'll meet you at the stage door in ten minutes?"

"Sure." He melted into the crowd, and I looked around for Rachel. She gave me a high five when I told her where I was going, and slipped some condoms in my pocket.

"Rachel, your boyfriend is on the other side of the country. Why do you have condoms?"

"They are somehow in every pocket I own. Those might have gone through the wash, actually," she mused.

"Hopefully he has some, as you are no help to me whatsoever!"

Chris was at the stage door, and he held open the door when he saw me coming.

"He's getting the car."

"Shit," I whispered, stepping outside. "That's a car." Black BMW convertible. Sweet. And he looked hot behind the wheel, his hair falling into his eyes and that black turtleneck I loved.

Hey. I did love that sweater. I'd told him that a few times. Was he wearing it because he knows I like it?

"Can you get in before the fans catch up?" JC waved us over, and Chris hopped over the door into the backseat. I opened the door and jacked the seat back a bit. I hated little cars. I didn't fit in little cars. JC smiled at me as I folded myself into the seat. "Do you have to buy Caddys to fit those legs?"

"I live in New York. I don't own a car."

He threw the car into gear and pealed out. Shit, this was a sexy car. "You're a pop star now. It's a law- you have to own at least three cars."

Chris leaned forward to join in the conversation. "You need an SUV, a convertible, and something really shiny."

"That's a boyband rule, I think," I joked back. "I live in the middle of the city. I'm damn lucky to have one parking space."

"Dude, you have a parking space in New York? You should have a car out of principle!" JC exclaimed, cutting over two lanes to make a right. I fucking loved L.A.

"Rachel parks there when she's in the City."

"You are way too nice," he informed me, glancing away from the road to smile at me. "So, do Rachel and Jeremy fight like that all the time?"

I laughed. "That was fucking nothing. This was a good day."

"They dated, didn't they?" Chris asked from behind me. "Or was that Darien?"

"It was Jeremy. Four long fucking years."

"Is that what it is? Ex angst?" JC wondered.

"No, they were always like that. Well, the first year or so was all fuzzy kittens and roses, but then it was steadily downhill. At the moment, things are actually good. He hit a major low in the summer. He could be a bastard about Nick."

"Nick Carter brings that out in people," Chris drawled, and I turned around to look at him, smiling.

"Why do you all hate him? Is it just the Nsync versus Backstreet thing, or is he truly evil?"

JC and Chris exchanged a look via the rear view mirror, and I whined. "What? C'mon, my best friend is in love with him, tell me if he's evil!"

They both laughed. "He's not," Chris admitted. "He's just really easy to bust on."

"Well, yeah," I agreed. "You should see him play cards. He's a disaster. But he's far and away the best guy Rachel's ever been with."

"Is that saying much?" JC had to say.

"Justin has offered, if she's into the boyband thing," Chris offered, and I laughed.

"Yeah, has he mentioned that to Britney?" I had to laugh again, picturing Rachel and Justin together. "Man, I would almost like to see that. Rachel would make Justin her bitch so fast."

"Like Nick isn't?" Chris wondered, and we laughed.

"He's a tad whipped, yeah. She left him a couple of months ago, and you should have seen the groveling. I don't think he's going to cheat on her again any time soon."

"You mean it's not a repeat of the wonderful Willa?" Chris asked, poking JC. JC slapped his hand away, turning onto the highway.

"Fuck off. You know damn well I've never done anything to encourage her. Didn't she and Jeremy sleep together?"

I shrugged. "He won't say. Which could mean either. I think he was attempting to make Rachel jealous or something, and that fucking backfired big time. Shit!"

He had to be going 80. He was one of those crazy drivers that passed everyone, zig zagging in and out of traffic. He looked over with a smile. "Enjoy the ride, baby. Why the hell go the speed limit in this thing?"

"Dunno, maybe so we don't die?" I tried not to shriek, but I don't think I was successful.

He just laughed and leaned over, turning up the stereo. Christ, what kind of stereo was this that I could hear every note even with the top down going way too fast?

"Woo hoo!" Chris sang along from the back, and I laughed, realizing it was Blur.

"Damon will tell you that it's 'wah-hoo,'" I yelled back. "I do believe he used that as a pickup line on Rachel."

"And people say our songs have stupid lyrics," JC said dryly.

"I didn't know you liked Blur," I questioned, and Chris leaned towards us again.

"He doesn't," he teased. "But he knows that you like them."

JC started trying to whack him while still keeping his eyes on the road, and Chris laughed, ducking out of the way. "He's been subjecting us to Duran Duran, too."

"Duran is a totally underrated band," JC protested, hitting a button on the stereo. "Listen to this. They were way fucking ahead of their time."

"I Don't Want Your Love" suddenly started blasting out of the speakers, and I grinned. "Ten years ago they were ahead of their time. Right now they might be a little stuck."

He was listening to music because I liked it? Worse, Chris was teasing him about it? That would lead one to believe that his band knew about me. What the hell was going on here?

I glanced over at him, and he caught my eye with a grin. "I like the green," he told me, referring to my hair.

"Rachel has bright red. We're Christmas colors. Jeremy and Darien refuse to play the hair dye game."

"Their loss. It's cool."

"C, isn't this your exit?" Chris asked calmly from the backseat.

"Fuck!" JC yelled, cutting across three lanes of traffic to exit the highway. I didn't open my eyes until he whacked my shoulder. "Wimp. It's fine. It's LA, baby, we all drive like this."

"You are all insane." I looked around for a moment. "Where the hell are we?"

"The Hollywood Hills. Home."

I blinked at him for a moment. Home? I thought we were going out. Hell, I thought he lived in Florida. "You live here?"

"Sometimes. I have a place in Florida, too."

"That's another pop star thing, James," Chris offered. "Multiple homes."

"I'll put that on the list, but right now I'm in a rent controlled two bedroom in Manhattan, so I've got it pretty good."

"You could get hipper neighbors," JC teased, and I scowled at him.

"I like my neighbors. And since they're all seniors, they can't hear a thing when I have wild parties."

"But it's good to have neighbors that come to the wild parties!"

"Right, C, like you even know your neighbors?" Chris asked. "You've got gates and fences. I've never seen you talk to them."

"To the right of me are the Joneses. The wife works for Miramax, and the husband stays home with the two kids. They have a very nice cocker spaniel named Robin."

"You've had more conversations with the dog than the people, I bet."

JC looked in the rearview mirror to scowl at him, swinging the car onto a quiet street where all the houses were hidden behind hedges and gates. "I like dogs. The guy across the way has pugs."

"Am I going to have to deal with a dog at your place?" I asked warily, and JC looked at me.

"Mine live with my family, because I'm never home. Do you not like dogs?"

"I prefer cats."

Chris gasped in mock horror. "This relationship is doomed, Jace!"

"Shut up."

Relationship? Did he just say that?

"Dunno, a cat man and a dog man, that might be insurmountable odds."

JC hit a button on the dashboard, and the gates in front of us slid open. "Shut up, Chris," he muttered.

It didn't matter if I liked cats. This was just casual sex. Right? I tried to catch JC's eye, but I got distracted when I saw the house.

It was huge, orange and lemon and palm trees in the front yard. It looked like something straight out of 40s Hollywood, terra cotta walls and Mission-style architecture. It was fucking amazing.

"Does the entire band live here?" I asked, looking at him as he pulled the car into the garage. He just laughed.

"Just me."

"Shit. What the hell do you do with all that space?"

Chris answered. "He decorates it. Then he decides he hates it, and starts over."

"That back bedroom had bad feng shui!" JC argued, getting out of the car, and I followed him.

Chris opened the door of a red convertible. "I'm leaving. Have a good night, boys."

"Good to meet you, Chris," I told him, and he shook my hand.

"Excellent to meet you, James. I've heard a lot about you lately."

He has?

"Go away now, Chris," JC told him, pushing him into the car.

"Yeah, I've outlived my usefulness as a cover, great, send me away," Chris complained, getting into the car.

"Do you want to stay for dinner?" JC asked with forced politeness, and Chris laughed, starting the car.

"I know better. Bye!"

JC went into the house, and I followed him, staring at his back. What did Chris know better about? JC had been talking about me? He told me, the last time we were together, that his band would be surprised to know that he'd had more than a one-night stand with a guy. And now he's talking to Chris about me and listening to Duran Duran because they were my favorite group? What the hell was going on here?

"I thought he'd never leave." He flicked on a light, tossing his keys on a table next to the door and then turned to smile at me. "Welcome to Chez Chasez," he said, waving a hand at the room beyond us. "I just love saying that."

"Chez Chasez," I repeated, grinning. "It does have a ring to it." I started to reach out for him, but he stepped away from me.

"Dining room," he told me. What, was this a tour? Lifestyles of the Rich and Closeted? He walked through it, pausing at the staircase. "Foyer. Ballroom," he said, pointing at a dark room beyond the stairs.

He started up the stairs, but I went into the ballroom. It almost was, a long room that ran the length of the house. It was empty except for art leaning against the walls and a stereo system in the corner. The windows were floor to ceiling, and it looked like they opened out into the garden.

A light went on and I turned around, finding him standing in the doorway, smiling at me. "I haven't decorated this one yet."

"I like it empty," I told him, looking around. "You can feel the space this way. Do the windows open out?"

"Doors, really. I'm going to fix the patio. Right now it's a mess."

"Keep it empty," I said, nodding. "You can have parties, or mirror that wall and make it into a dance studio."

<JC>

"No. Not a studio. Too much like work."

James laughed, looking at me. "I will be terribly disappointed if you don't have a recording studio."

"In the basement," I admitted. But writing wasn't work. Learning dance steps, that was work.

His eyes lit up at the mention of the studio, and I wanted to kiss him. I loved that he told me to keep this room empty, no one had ever told me that before, but I couldn't stand the thought of furnishing it. I liked it big and open. I'd come in here and just sit in the middle of the floor sometimes. Just… sit.

"Can I see it?"

"I have a 50s lounge upstairs," I offered, and he grinned.

"You do?"

"It's got a bar and a pool table and recessed neon lighting." That room was the reason I bought this house. It was the first room I'd had done, even before my bedroom.

"OK, sometimes you're a good gay man," he laughed, heading for the stairs.

"Yeah, I can't ever do 'Cribs,' or my cover is blown," I joked, leading him up the stairs. I did perhaps care just a bit too much about interior design. But when you had a house like this, it was a sin to just let it sit there. I flicked on the neon in the lounge and James let out a low whistle.

"Wow. This is fucking amazing."

"It's the blue light special room," I told him. That was Chris' favorite joke about this room, and James laughed.

"It is very 50s. Well, except for the huge screen TV over there." I went over, sliding the doors closed in front of it with a flourish and he laughed again. It was a perfect room, 50s deco everywhere, and a state of the art entertainment system.

I spent most of my time watching TV in my bedroom or sitting in the empty ballroom, but it was good for guests. Speaking of which, we were on a sort of tour. I led him down the hallway to the guest bedrooms, then my office and bedroom.

He liked the bathroom. I liked the bathroom, too. Taking a shower was like being in the middle of rainstorm. I had literally spent hours in there, emerging completely waterlogged, but very relaxed. "So then what?" he asked when I told him that. "Do you go back to bed? Does it become this recursive loop? Wake up, shower, get relaxed, go back to bed? How do you ever get anything done?"

I laughed, pulling him into the bedroom. "Would you want to get out of this bed?"

He surveyed the bed, still letting me hold his hand. Everything was white and blue, it was serene and inviting, like I needed encouragement to sleep ever? It was only my favorite leisure activity.

"No," he admitted. "I would not want to get out of this bed. Especially if you were in it."

The smile just split my face in two, I could feel it. He'd been just a little bit distant all night, not really touching me, none of the little veiled flirtations that I'd gotten too used to. But there was that smile on his face, that tiny amused look that meant he knew me too well, and I had to kiss him.

It had only been about three weeks since I kissed him last, but it felt like three years, he'd been so weird recently. I melted into him, falling onto the bed and pulling him down with me. We might have kissed for hours, tongues and lips and the feel of his long, strong body against mine. "I was worried," he whispered against my ear, before moving to quickly nibble at my jawline. "I thought maybe this was just Lifestyles of the Rich and Closeted, not actually sex."

"Well, it's dinner. And I thought you'd like to see the house."

"And sex," he finished, making me laugh.

"And sex," I admitted. "But I owe you dinner, for running out on you last time… oh! I have something for you." I wiggled away from him, getting up to find his present. It was here somewhere… I'd very nearly brought it with me to the show, in case he didn't want to come back here with me.

I tossed him the sweatshirt, and when he looked at it, the expression on his face was truly priceless. "I thought I'd make it a bit more… special," I managed to tell him without laughing, as he stared at a Columbia sweatshirt now carefully covered in sequins and sparkles.

"That's special, alright," he said dryly, and I gave into my giggles, holding out his real shirt to him.

"Here. I didn't really defile your precious sweatshirt."

He smiled at me, relieved. "Hey, I like this shirt."

"I know," I told him. "Thank you for letting me borrow it."

He doesn't need to know that I wore it nearly every day, does he? He wouldn't answer my calls, but every time I put on that shirt, I remembered that day we had in New York. I loved that day. It wasn't about sex. It was just hanging out and wandering around the city and talking and talking and talking. We didn't shut up all day. He had a story for everything, and I wanted to know them all. I wanted to know every moment up until the day we met, and I wanted to know every moment we weren't together.

<James>

"Not a problem," I shrugged, folding the sweatshirt and placing it next to me on the bed. I held out my hand to pull him back to me, but he was a million miles away, that mind of his off on some tangent. "Jace!" I yelled, and he jumped, looking at me. "Where the hell did you go?"

"New York," he admitted. "That was a nice day before I ran out on you. Let's have dinner."

"Let's have sex," I countered, and he laughed.

"We have all night. Right?" he questioned. "When are you leaving?"

I sighed, shaking my head. "I think I have press at noon. I don't remember."

"Will… will you stay?" He sounded nervous, not quite meeting my eyes.

Hello! I am sprawled on his bed and he's wondering if I'm going to stay? Dude.

"Can I stay in the guest room with the bad feng shui?"

"No." He laughed. "I wouldn't do that to you. This is the only bedroom with proper feng shui. You might have to sleep with me." We shared a smile, then he turned, heading for the stairs. "Come on, let's eat."

Eat? Where is the sex? I got into this evening for the sex!

He was already gone, so I got up, following him. Maybe food would be good, then we could stay up all night fucking, and there would be no sleeping. Sleeping was bad. Sleeping led to tangled limbs and his skin all over mine and those little sighs he made when he snuggled up against me.

He slept. I laid there and watched him. I never wanted to miss a moment of him. I wanted to savor every second of his body next to mine. In sleep, he reached out for me, touching me, pulling me back when I tried to move away. Sometimes it hurt too much to feel that, because he would never be able to do any of those things when we weren't alone.

How did I let myself fall in love with him like this? I never should have slept with him that first time, because a crush was one thing, but the reality was more than I ever could have dreamed.

I caught up with him in the kitchen, where he was studying a piece of paper intently. I looked over his shoulder, realizing it was instructions for dinner. "I don't actually cook," he admitted and I had to laugh.

"Do you want me to do it?" I offered, but he shook his head.

"No. I'll figure it out. I told her it was a date, though, and she put candles and stuff outside… we can eat out there, it's nice."

A date?

He cares enough to call it a 'date' and arrange for dinner?

Since when does it go beyond sex with him?

"Who's 'she'?"

He opened the refrigerator. "My assistant. Well, ours. The band's. Rebecca."

"Does she-?" I let the question drop and he shook his head, emerging with a stack of covered containers.

"She doesn't ask questions like that. I tell her it's a date and and I get teased, but she didn't ask for names or genders."

"Would she think to ask about genders?"

He shrugged, glancing at the note again. "Everyone in the inner circle knows I prefer boys. But they all hope that I'll meet some nice girl, too, so who knows what she thought? It's lasagna. Is that OK?"

"It's great. I'll go see about those candles."

Shit. I loved this house. I fucking loathed L.A., but this house was amazing. There was a nice porch, with a table and a hot tub and I could see a pool through the completely overgrown garden. I lit the candles and in a moment, it was the most romantic place in the world, flickering candlelight and the smell of orange trees and magnolia.

This was going to be bad. I should make up an excuse now and leave, because if I have to sit out here with him and pretend to eat dinner, and look at him reflected in the candlelight, I might say things I shouldn't.

But Rachel told me to enjoy it, right? That's what I should do. I should pretend that he likes me back. Really, what are my choices? Stay here and have sex with the hottest guy I'd ever known, or go back to my hotel room and brood? I'll take what's behind Door Number One, please.

When I went back inside to find plates or something, I found him studying the directions again, looking studious in his glasses.

Fuck, why the glasses? That was just mean. He knew how hot I thought those glasses were.

"Dude, a girl so set that up out there, because it's romantic as fuck, and romance is not exactly your strong suit."

<JC>

I'm trying! That's why I asked Rebecca to help, because I suck at it. "Is it overdone?" I worried, and he laughed, leaning against the counter and stealing a piece of lettuce from the salad bowl.

"No, it's nice. We can just eat in here out of the pots if it makes you feel better, though."

I scowled at him. "It's not that I don't like romance. I'm just not very good at it."

"Her idea to bedazzle my Columbia sweatshirt, then?"

The microwave beeped and I opened it, pulling out the lasagna. Lasagna, salad, garlic bread in the oven. That was OK, right? It wasn't nearly as impressive as that dinner he was making the last time I saw him. I almost wanted to learn how to cook for him, but that would just be a disaster.

He asked me a question, didn't he? "No. I got her to get me one to ruin, but it was my idea."

Weren't we talking about romance? Bedazzling his beloved sweatshirt wasn't romantic, was it?

He was opening cabinets, looking for something when I turned back to him. "I'm impressed." He produced something out of the pantry and grinned at me.

"What are you doing?" I had to ask. I sorta wanted to finish the romance conversation, but that might get dangerous.

"Almonds," he answered, taking a frying pan off the wall and blowing the dust out of it. "You really don't cook, do you?"

"I stick to the microwave. I have almonds?"

"You have a rather well stocked kitchen, actually. Let me guess. Rebecca?"

I shrugged. "I guess." It was a standing order that when I came off tour I had stuff in the refrigerator. Beyond milk, cereal and frozen pizza, I never paid attention.

"You should pay that girl more. Romance and almonds, she's good."

"Why almonds?"

He grinned, tossing a handful into the pan on the stove. "For the salad. A little sugar, toast them a bit, very nice on spinach salad."

I should marry him. My mom said I should find a nice girl to cook for me, here's a nice boy, right here, toasting almonds for me.

Only I couldn't marry him. I couldn't even be alone with him in public or people might talk.

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