Date: Thu, 25 May 2000 02:46:49 EDT
From: Gabriella Morrison <sweetheart_stories@hotmail.com>
Subject: My Surprise Romance 7-8-9

Hi again everyone (aren't you getting sick of me yet?),


     This is chapter seven, eight and nine of my continuing story. I know
it's a little longer than usual, so I hope no one minds :) Since all the
feedback I've received so far has been encouraging and incredibly positive,
I've decided to forge on and keep writing. I really do thank all of you who
have sent me your kind words on my writing and plot and everything. Ya'll
are a really sweet bunch who keep my spirits up! And if you haven't sent me
any mail yet or need the address again (hint, hint ;)-- its
sweetheart_stories@hotmail.com. I love hearing from people who read my
stuff.

DISCLAIMER: This is a fictional ( I repeat, fictional) story about `N Sync
and is not meant to imply the sexuality of any of its members or Lance
Bass. This story involves a m/m relationship and to read this you should be
18 or 21 years old depending on where you live (unless you live on a
different planet--then I'm not sure what the age is. (Does anyone even read
these disclaimers that I spend so much time writing? ) Anyways, here I
go....



My Surprise Romance

Chapter Seven

My alarm clock went off the next morning and I sleepily opened one eye
up. I noticed that my room was still dark with traces of the morning light
barely seeping through the blinds, but the birds...oh, those birds. They
were chirping away happily in the morning air like idiots.

I just wanted to go back to sleep. Sleep for me was the ultimate vacation
away from reality. And today, I wanted to get as far away from reality as I
could. Lance was leaving tonight and to be honest, I just wanted to keep
the memory of last night fresh in my mind. It's not that we did anything
(get your minds out of the gutter, folks--all we did was kiss a couple
hundred times or so). No, it was more of the fact that I was with someone
who wanted to be with me. Rarely in my life, have I met someone whom I
wanted to be with every waking moment. As I pulled myself from the warm bed
into the cool air, I realized that I had *never* met anyone like that.

And maybe that's why I was dreading today the most. I knew that no matter
how much I would be enjoying Lance's company today, there would be the
little voice in my head and the sinking feeling in my stomach that would
remind me that Lance would be leaving that night and even if we kept in
touch by phone and e-mail, it wouldn't be the same as seeing each other in
person.

I made my way into the shower, not only depressed by the state of things,
but by the fact that I had become a miserable person,. Wasn't being in love
supposed to make you feel ecstatic twenty-four hours a day, seven days a
week? Well, I certainly wasn't feeling that way. For me, being in love was
more comparable to having nails pounded in my chest.

I finished showering and stepped into the steam filled bathroom. I wrapped
a towel around the lower half of my body , dried my hair and shaved. It was
a typical morning for me...'oh shit,' I thought as something very important
struck my mind. Work.

I had conveniently forgotten about work once more. I knew I was scheduled
to work a three to eight shift, working in the resident dining room and
pulling carts of food on the elevators. Ever since Lance had entered my
life, everything that was once important to me, now paled in
comparison. How could I go back to a life of painting portraits and
landscapes and serving meals to the elderly, without thinking how exciting
these past two days had been?

`Was I insane?' I asked myself as I quietly padded into my bedroom, careful
not to wake my sleeping mother up. With robot-like motions, I picked up the
telephone and dialed the phone number of my workplace. I went through the
motions of asking for the kitchen and telling my supervisor (not Denny, but
this other supervisor who absolutely loathed my presence) that I wouldn't
be in that day either. I barely heard her as she chewed me out for not
showing up yesterday and today and asked me `where my sense of priorities
were?' I gave her some lame answer and then hung up the phone, not
bothering to even say good-bye. Something had snapped inside of me, and I'm
not sure what it was...




I had made it to the airport just in time to see Cynthia coming out of the
tunnel with a big smile on her face. That girl could stick out in any
crowd, I thought to myself, waving at her. Her once auburn colored hair was
now a honey blond, and as I imagined, her clothing had changed from retro
to incredibly sleek and modern. But her outside appearance didn't belie her
personality.

"Stevie!" Cynthia squealed once she caught sight of me. She began running
at full speed, and once she reached me, she jumped onto of me, wrapping her
arms around my neck and her legs around my waist.

"I can't believe I missed your ugly face," she laughed as she gave me a big
kiss on the cheek. I felt my face turn warm, as passers by smiled at us. I
could tell that by the warm smiles and wistful expressions on their faces,
they assumed we were a couple.

"Oof, Cynth," I gasped, as I held her tightly so she wouldn't slip and land
on her butt. "Been gaining those college pounds, huh?" I laughed. Cynthia
tilted her face up to give me a scowl and then jumped off of me, her feet
landing firmly on the ground.

"Thanks a lot, you big queen," she said, giving me a smile to let me know
that she was teasing.

"Yeah, whatever, hussy," I shot back. She laughed and engulfed me in
another big hug, nearly breaking my neck in the process. Then she pulled
away and looked around.

"Okay," Cynthia said. "Where is he?" I felt the pit of my stomach drop
straight to the floor. I was hoping that Cynthia would forget about my new
friend. `Yeah, right Stephen' I thought to myself, `And maybe Cynthia will
be able to stop drawing attention to herself for once. And hey, while
you're at it, maybe Lance will decide to quit `N Sync and settle down for a
life with you.'

"He'll be coming over later," I told her. She gave me a little frown to let
me know that she was disappointed, but the look was quickly replaced by
another grin.

"Come on, Stevie, we have to get my luggage," Cynth said, pulling me by the
arm. We walked over to that luggage carousel thing and retrieved her
bags. I think the girl had brought along her entire wardrobe, I noted as
she picked up suitcase after suitcase after suitcase. And you *know* who
the lucky person was to be weighted down with all of that luggage. I don't
know how I made it to the car without my arms falling off.

We made it home safely, and I attempted to catch up with what had been
going on in Cynth's life lately. But it was like fighting a losing battle:
my cousin's motor-mouth wouldn't stay shut, as she ranted the whole time
about her lousy ex-boyfriend, who dumped her one day before exams ended.

"He told me that a long-distance relationship would never work," Cynthia
complained, her eyes filling with tears. "He said that it would be
impossible to be there for each other." She reached for a
tissue. "Bastard," she added, before wiping her eyes and blowing her
nose. This only made me feel more uneasy about my current relationship
situation, and I didn't answer her. Luckily, I rounded the street corner
and my house came into view.

It took awhile to unload all of Cynthia's belongings, but once we did, she
turned towards me and peered at my neck. Then she began to grin.

"Aw, Stevie," she cooed. She reached up and touched the middle of my
neck. "I know what you and your friend were doing last night," she said in
a singsong voice. I leaned over and looked in the side mirror. On my neck
was a bright red spot. I felt my face turn that same color and I ignored
her, instead heading into the house. My mother was sitting at the kitchen
table, drinking her morning cup of herbal tea. She was still clad in her
bathrobe and her hair was done up in curlers.

"Morning, Stephen," she said, shortly. "How was yesterday." It came out as
a statement rather than a question, I had noticed. I watched my mother take
a long sip of her beverage.

"Fine," I answered and began to make myself a cup of coffee. She turned to
me with a knowing look, and her eyes fell onto my neck. I tried my best to
ignore her as her mouth began to open with a question, but thankfully,
Cynthia came bouncing into the kitchen, her tears from before forgotten.

"Hi, Aunt Patty!" she said, brightly. "How have you been? I've haven't seen
you in so long! There's so much I want to tell you..."

I slipped out of the kitchen, hot coffee in hand, thankful for once in my
life that my cousin had such a talkative streak in her.



Around eleven a.m., I reached the hotel. This time I had enough sense to
park in the back of the building, and took the service elevator. I was
stopped by a guard when I reached the twentieth floor, but once I said my
sister's name, he apologized profusely (in the same manner of the clerk
from the previous day) and granted me access. I felt as though I was part
of a government conspiracy project and that if I slipped up, I would be
killed.

I walked to the suite and knocked on the eggshell white doors. I stood
there for a few seconds and then knocked again when no one answered. I
heard heavy footsteps approach, and then the door swung open. Chris had
answered it, a smile on his face, but when he saw that it was me standing
there, the smile disappeared quickly and an expression of nothingness
replaced it.

"Hi, Chris," I said politely. "Is Lance here?"

"Yeah," he said, in the same short voice that made me think of my
mother. When it was clear that he wasn't going to say anything else, I
persisted.

"Well, can you get him? We have plans to hang out today," I said, my voice
desperately trying not to waver. Chris didn't look especially friendly, and
I had no desire to hang around him any longer. Thankfully, as though an
angel had intervened, Lance appeared from an adjacent room, buttoning up
the black shirt that he was wearing.  He looked up and saw me standing
there.

"Hey, Stephen," he said, giving me a wave. "I'll be out in a few
seconds--promise," he said, giving me a grin. It took all of my composure
not to let my face melt into a swoon, for fear that Chris would beat the
living crap out of me. Lance disappeared from where he came from and almost
immediately, Chris looked at me.

"Can I speak to you outside of here, Stephen?" he asked me curtly. I
nodded, and stepped further into the hallway. Chris closed the door behind
him and then cleared his throat.

"Look, Stephen," he began. "I don't know why Lance is spending all of his
free time with you. But let me tell you one thing...'N Sync isn't just four
members. It's five."

"I know that," I said, feeling as though I was being treated like a child.

"Good, but can you explain to me why Lance missed an interview yesterday?"
Chris's expression grew angrier and I felt myself growing nervous.

"Look, Chris..." I began. "I didn't know he had one until it was too
late. He asked me if I would show him around town. And I agreed. If I knew
that he had an interview, I would have never done it."

"Would you like to explain why he's missing another three today?"

The words hit me like a slap in the face. "Today? Three?" I repeated in
shock. Chris nodded grimly.

"Today--with the newspaper, another TV station and one from some music
website," he said.  "Lance had promised that he would field the newspaper
and the website." Chris let out an uncomfortable laugh "We don't call
Lance, `Scoop' for nothing, y'know."

"Look, Chris--I had nothing to do with that. Lance didn't tell me that you
had these appointments and interviews..." I was shocked. I couldn't believe
that Lance would've ditched his schedule just to spend time with me. I
mean, yeah, I did that with my own job, but I wasn't the one with adoring
fans all over the world, making millions of dollars and what not.  Just
then, Lance opened the door and poked his head out, grinning,

"Ready?" he asked, emerging from the room. Just then he saw Chris standing
across from me and his face fell. Chris just looked away in disgust and
then turned back.

"When are you gonna be back?" he called out as we started our way down
towards the service elevator.

"When I have to be back--eight o' clock sharp," Lance answered over his
shoulder, not looking back towards his bandmate. As we entered the
elevator, we both cringed at the sound of the suite door slamming.

"He's really mad," Lance said nonchalantly, as the silver doors shut before
us. He pressed the `B' button, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"And he has every right to be!" I hollered. "Why didn't you go to your
interviews today? Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you--"

Lance quieted me down by quickly kissing me. And while I won't deny that I
enjoyed it, I was still angry at him.

"I missed you," he said simply when we parted. He took one of my hands in
his and entwined our fingers together. "I thought about you all night and
then this morning." He grinned at me and I felt my anger slowly draining.

"Lance, I know. I missed you too, but you cannot be missing interviews and
stuff like that. Your fans are waiting for you--they expect you to be at
those interviews. I don't want to hold you back," I argued. A `ding'
sounded, signaling that we had reached the basement floor. We dropped each
others hands like they were on fire and watched as the doors of the
elevator opened. Bright sunlight quickly replaced the fluorescent glow of
the dim lights. We blinked at the change and I pulled out my car keys,
while Lance pulled on his hat and sunglasses.

"Stephen, I missed those interviews because I want to stay with you
today. Think about it--after today, we'll be apart for awhile," he said
once we were in the car.

"Two months, one week, four days, thirty eight minutes and twenty seconds,
but who's counting?" I quipped as I started the engine up and pulled away
from the service entrance of the hotel.

Lance let out a deep laugh. "Really?" he asked, a bit uncertainly.

"You are naive, aren't you? I couldn't have figured that out if my life
depended on it. I was terrible in math in high school," I shuddered,
remembering my final grade of a forty percent in trigonometry class.

"I loved math," Lance answered. I sighed.

"Handsome, talented and you can do math--what's next? I find out you're a
brain surgeon in your spare time?" I bemoaned, as I headed the car towards
my house.

"Maybe not a brain surgeon, but I can do other things," he began, raising
his eyebrows seductively. "And if you're good, you just might find out."



When we arrived at my house, I was relieved to find that my mother's car
was gone. I had totally forgotten about her being home and how she would
react if she would see Lance Bass standing there in her house. Right then,
I was more concerned about my musically snobbish cousin. Cynthia's opinion
mattered the most to me and if she couldn't be happy for me, I'd be
crushed. Granted, I wouldn't dump the man standing next to me, but I would
be disappointed if Cynthia couldn't look past the public persona of `Lance
from 'N Sync'.

We went through the backyard. "Ready to meet my cousin?" I asked him. He
took a deep, mocking breath as though he was ready for the adventure of his
life and looked at me.

"Ready, sir. Yes, sir" he barked in military style, giving me a salute.

"Sir, eh? Is that how you see me?" I said coyly, which made Lance's face as
red as a fire engine. I loved it when he blushed. I leaned over and gave
him a quick peck on the cheek before unlocking the back door. "Stay here
and I'll signal you when I'm ready."

I entered the house and called out my cousins name. "Cynthia! Get your butt
down here!" I screamed. I heard the pounding of footsteps and Cynthia
appeared in front of me, breathless and excited. "There's someone I want
you to meet."

"Oh my God, is he here?" she screeched, clearly enthusiastic to meet my new
`friend' as she kept calling him. Her eyes were all aglow with excitement,
and I swear, you'd think she was introducing me to her boyfriend.

"Yeah, he is." I turned around, walked to the door and knocked on the
window. Lance looked at me and I motioned him to come inside and opened the
door for him. He stepped inside the house and nervously looked at my
cousin. The look on her face was completely priceless. She stood there,
with a look of shock on her face.

"Cynth," I said. "This is my fri--my boyfriend," I corrected myself, shyly
sneaking a look at him. "This is Lance."

Lance swallowed, staring at my cousin as though he was completely shaken
up. He must have been more nervous than I had imagined. Of course, Cynthia
proudly wearing her, `I Hate Boy Bands' shirt, didn't help out any. He
extended his hand to her like a true gentleman, and to my surprise, she
reached out and shook it.

"Hi, Cynthia," Lance said, "It's nice to meet finally put a face to the
image in my mind." His accent grew deeper as he continued. "Stephen's told
me a lot of good stuff about you."

My cousin was staring at him in awe, her mouth agape. "Thanks..." she
trailed off.  For the first time in her life, she was rendered
speechless. A first for Cynthia. I would have to mark that one in the
record books. She finally came to her senses, "You're from..."

"'N Sync," he finished up for her.  "Ever hear of us?"

Embarrassed, Cynthia looked down at her shirt, and slapped a hand over the
logo, as if Lance hadn't read it already. "Oh my God--you're famous. You're
on TV and magazines and stuff."

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," he said modestly. "I like your shirt a
lot." Cynthia blushed furiously, and I'll give Lance credit, not only was
he the first guy to make her mute, he was also the first guy to ever make
my cousin blush.

"Oh, this thing," she said with a carefree laugh. And to my surprise, she
yanked the shirt over her head and stood there in the kitchen, clad in
nothing but her jeans and her bra. I slapped a hand to my head, and Lance
turned away, not because he was shocked--but because he had broken out in
an uncontrollable fit of giggles.

"Cynth," I said, gently, rushing over to her. I grabbed the shirt from her
hand and placed it over her chest. "He knows you make them. I told him
already, dear."

Her face turned even redder. "Oh God, why do I make such a jack ass of
myself all the time," she moaned, pulling the shirt back on. Lance turned
back around, wiping tears from his eyes.

"You make great first impressions," he gasped. "It must run in the family."

"Hey," I said offended. "I didn't whip my shirt off when I first met you,"
I protested. He slipped an arm around my waist.

"Maybe you should have--I would have liked you even more then I do now," he
said, ready to give me another kiss, only to be stopped by Cynthia clearing
her throat.

"Ahem." She stared at a spot over our heads, and then looked at
me. "Stevie, can I see you? In the living room please?"

"Uh, yeah," I said, a bit uncertainly. I looked at Lance, who shrugged at
me. Who could read Cynthia? One second she was starstruck, the next second
she was all business. I followed my headstrong cousin into the living room,
and waited for the volcano to erupt.

But like normal, Cynthia shocked me. "Oh, Stevie," she squealed, once again
throwing her arms around my neck in her usual death grip. "I love him...I
mean not in that way, because you love him in that way, but...oh you know
what I mean!!!" She jumped on me like she did in the airport, except that
this time I didn't catch her and she fell flat on her butt. But she bounced
right back up again. "I'm so sorry about all the things I said! I take it
all back."

"Cynthia, Cynthia," I said, trying to calm her down. She reminded me of a
newborn puppy who had to go outside to do their duty. "You only know him
for about two minutes."

"Oh, but Stevie, I know....I can tell," she said, her voice softening. "I
don't care if I hate his music, I think he's wonderful." She gave me
another hug. "I've never seen you happier in my life."

"How can you tell?" I asked her.

"It's in your eyes," she said knowingly. "I've never seen them sparkle like
that. And if its Lance that makes you happy, then so be it. I just want to
see you happy, that's all. You deserve it so much."

I had always thought my favorite cousin was goofy, silly, and fun. She had
never been serious like this before. I looked at her with an admiring gaze.

"It takes a lot for you to back down, Cynth. Usually you stick to your
guns."

"I know, I know--just don't ever tell anyone again," she said in a low
voice, darting her eyes back and forth. "How long is he in town for?"

"Until tonight," I said, my voice cracking. "He has to leave tonight."

Cynthia's face fell. "Oh, Stevie...I'm sorry. How long will you two be
apart?"

"I don't know his tour schedule," I muttered. "I never asked--I guess I've
been avoiding the inevitable. I don't know if I making a huge mistake,
Cynth..."

"Stephen," Cynthia began and I knew she was being serious. She rarely
called me by my full first name unless she needed to borrow money. "You
gotta follow your heart."

"But you and Michael--" I said, remembering her conversation in the
car. She shook her head.

"Don't take my bad relationship as advice. Just do what you feel is right,"
she said, touching my heart. "I'll be in my bedroom if you need me." She
gave me a gentle smile, and I watched my cousin in awe as she disappeared
up the stairs. Count on the crazy one to give the best advice, I thought
with a chuckle, as I headed back into the kitchen.




Chapter 8


Later that afternoon, Lance and I headed to the back of the house where I
had set up my own painting `studio' (if a cold concrete room with a
secondhand futon, and dozens of painted canvas take up residence counts as
a studio). The place was in its usual state of disarray. Tubes of paint,
curled up and mashed around to get the last drops out, were covering the
metal table in the middle of the room, paintbrushes soaking in turpentine
filled tin cans were sitting on the floor. I actually liked my
studio--except when it rained and in the winter-to-spring transition, when
certain sections of the ceiling leaked. It was the only place that my
mother refused to come in because she said the fumes and the mess gave her
a headache.

Lance looked around the place in wonder. "Wow, Stephen...I know you said
that you were a painter, but I wasn't expecting this."  He began to lift
the stacks of canvases that were lined up in towering piles against the
walls.

"Those are the old ones," I said, shying him away from them. "My favorite
ones are over here," I said, walking over to a stack of paintings leaned
against the wall.

Lance began to flip through the stack of paintings, lifting one of them
from the bunch. "Hey, it's Natalie--and it looks exactly like her!" he said
in surprise. He had found the portrait that I had done of my sister when
she had just turned ten years old. It was one of my favorite portraits that
I had ever done, because I had somehow managed to capture my sister
perfectly.

He pulled another one from the stack and smiled when he saw who it
was. "Cynthia?" he questioned, turning it towards me. I laughed--it was
her, when she was in her movie star phase. I had painted her in one of her
satin, halter dresses with a feather boa draped around her shoulders.

"Yeah--she thought she was Marilyn Monroe," I explained. "She was only
seventeen. That was a final project and she was dying to be a model for one
of my paintings."

"She's very, uh, photogenic," Lance said, searching for the right word.

"Cynth's a ham--she's like a sister to me. We used to live two houses apart
until she was fifteen and her family decided to move to Wisconsin."

"So you basically grew up together?" Lance asked, thumbing through the rest
of the paintings. I nodded, fiddling with a bunch of paint tubes on the
counter. I moved them aside and hopped onto it. I watched Lance as he
examined the canvases with obvious interest. It made me feel good that he
was doing this.

"She was the first one to figure out I liked the same people as she did," I
remembered with a laugh. "She tried to set me up with all of her
girl-friends, but when she realized that I had no interest, she put two and
two together and figured it out."

"Very attentive," Lance remarked, still examining the paintings

"Don't you miss your friends?" I suddenly blurted out. Lance looked up at
me and the expression on his face clearly said that he wasn't expecting my
question.

"You mean the guys?"

"Yeah."

Silence. "I don't know--we're together all the time since the tour
started. And...sometimes they get on my nerves." Lance let his fingers roam
over the edge of the paintings, and looked around the room. He looked back
at me. "You know the guys were giving me a hard time about hanging out with
you," Lance admitted.

"Yeah, Chris was giving me the third degree in the hallway," I
concurred. "That's when he told me about the interviews that you were
missing today. I'm assuming that he thinks that I'm the one forcing you to
stay with me." I pressed on. "Do the guys know..."

"About you? Yeah, they remember who you are."

"No, no, no. I mean do they know about you being--"

"Gay?" Lance shrugged. "I don't know. I think they know something is wrong,
but none of them will say anything. I have to tell them sometime."

"You better `cause I think Chris thinks I'm forcing you to stay here with
me." Lance's lips formed into a grin.

"So you're keeping me prisoner, eh?" he asked flirtatiously. "Somehow the
thought isn't so unappealing," he said, tipping his head up to kiss me. "I
kind of like it," he murmured when we parted.

"Speaking of unappealing," I said drolly, "What *do* you find so appealing
and attractive about me?" I asked curiously, as Lance hopped on the table
next to me.

"Oh, there are a lot of things I like about you," he said, running a finger
up and down my thigh. "You're not arrogant--"

"You mean I'm not concerned about my appearance," I deadpanned.

"You don't care that I'm famous--"

"Horribly out of touch with what's up to date."

"I really like your nose."

I looked at him in amazement. "You've got to be kidding me. My nose is so
crooked, I'm surprised that people don't look at me with their heads tilted
when they speak to me." Lance laughed at my little quip and moved my face
towards his to examine it.

"I think it's cute. In fact, it's one of the first things I noticed about
you when you first sat down next to me," he reminisced, kissing the tip of
it. He snuggled his head against my chest and let out a content sigh.

"Oh that--sitting next to you was a mistake, I didn't know any better!" I
exclaimed in mock horror. "If I knew any better, I would have sat next to
JC instead. That's one handsome boy there," I said dreamily. Lance looked
up at me and swatted my kneecap.

"Okay, okay--I give. I guess you're not *that* bad looking," I said,
staring at him in his dazzling green eyes. Everytime I looked into them, I
felt as though I was fading into something that I had never experienced
before. How could you not get lost in them, I thought as I attempted to
memorize every detail of his face.

"Not that bad looking?" Lance asked, amused, as he brushed a stray lock of
hair out of my eyes.

"Okay, I give," I said, leaning over. "I think you're the most handsome
person I've seen," I confessed, as I closed my eyes and kissed him. The one
thing, I noticed, every time we kissed, was that it got better and
better. There was never a disappointing kiss with Lance. The only
disappointment I ever felt was when our mouths parted.

I shifted closer to him on the table, and felt my arms embrace his body. I
wanted to feel him--I didn't care if he was clothed or undressed--I just
wanted to have my arms around him. There was some comfort factor in it, of
not being alone, but part of it was that I suddenly desired him. Blood
rushed frantically through my veins as our tongues intertwined. Lance's
hands cupped my face, while I ran my hands through his short blonde hair .

Suddenly, Lance became overcome with desire as he pulled my t-shirt off my
body in one swift motion. I hadn't been expecting it, so it caught me off
guard. He laid me down on the table, knocking tubes of paint onto the floor
in the process and the cold metal of the table pressed against my warm
skin. However, I didn't really notice this, as I concentrated more on the
feeling of his tongue slowly licking a path down my neck. Lance looked up
at me, a hesitant smile on his face, before he softly let his tongue linger
over my Adams apple.

I lied there, experiencing feelings that I had never felt in my
life. Nothing I felt before could compare to it, as Lance's tongue drifted
down to my nipples, where he lazily circled around one and then the
other. Exhilarating shocks raced throughout my body as he slowly sucked on
one of them, flicking his tongue over the erect bud and then slowly kissed
his way back up to my lips.

"Are you okay, Stephen?" he asked me breathlessly, as he shifted his groin
against mine. I couldn't speak, so I just nodded as Lance kissed me again,
reassuring that we both felt the same way.

I let my hands drift upwards and began to awkwardly unbutton his
shirt. Once I had succeeded in my task, I pushed the material off his
shoulders and he managed to shake his arms out of it. It fell softly onto
the floor and I became enthralled with the feeling of his bare skin against
mine. I could feel his hardened nipples pressing into my chest, and a thin
layer of sweat begin to form between our bodies. Then I managed to roll him
over onto his back and I smiled down at him.

I let my hands slowly run down his chest, feeling the smooth muscularity of
his frame before placing a trail of kisses down the middle. He let out a
soft whimper, as my hand fell down to his crotch as I began to massage him
through the material of his pants.

I placed my lips next to his ear. "Do you want me to go any further?" I
whispered. Wordlessly, Lance answered me with a soft, but eager kiss, and I
continued, beginning to unbutton his jeans. My trembling fingers pulled
down the zipper on them, as I felt the hardness of him through the
fabric. While I let my fingers explore, I couldn't believe that I had
garnered enough nerve to do this--I had fallen so deeply into lust, all
that mattered was the man under me. I didn't care that we only knew each
other for three days, or that he was leaving tomorrow. All that mattered
was now, the moment that we had become trapped in and each other.

I had managed to pull his pants halfway down and had just hooked my thumbs
under his boxers, when the door to my studio flew open. It was Cynthia, who
promptly screamed when she saw Lance and I half-naked and in a horizontal
position on the table.

"Oh my God!!!!" she shrieked as she spun around. She had placed her hands
over her eyes. Lance had sat up suddenly, a shocked expression on his
face. And I fell off the table.

"Jesus," I muttered as I pulled myself off the floor. Lance jumped off the
table, neatly sliding his pants up over his hips and rebuttoning. I walked
over to Cynthia and spun her around.

"God, Cynthia--didn't you ever think of knocking? I mean, if the door was
closed, and you didn't hear us, don't you think you should've knocked?" I
screamed, taking her by the shoulders.

"Stephen, stop it ," Lance warned, but I ignored him. Instead, I kept
yelling at my cousin, who had begun to cry hysterically.

"Where is your brain?!?" I yelled, shaking her. "Or are your such a ditz
that knocking on a door is too hard of a concept for you?"

Just then, Lance strode over, coming between Cynthia and I. "Stephen, stop
it already, for God's sake. She didn't mean it, she didn't mean to do it!!!
Enough is enough." Lance looked Cynthia in the eyes. "Are you okay?" he
asked gently, putting his arm around her.

She wiped tears away from her eyes and avoided looking at me. "I'm fine, I
just wanted to know when you had to leave, Lance."

"Leave?" he repeated, as though the concept was foreign to him. And then he
realized what she was talking about. "Oh, you mean go back to the hotel? I
have to be back by eight."

"That's all I wanted to know. I thought I would tell you when it was about
six so you could get ready. That's all," Cynthia snapped, giving me one
last dirty look, before spinning on her heel and walking away.

I shut the door and then went over and sat on the futon. Lance picked his
shirt up off the floor and slipped it on, not bothering to button it. Then
he came and sat next to me, placing one hand on my back.

"You okay?" Lance asked softly, rubbing my back in slow, gentle circles. I
looked up at him and nodded.

"I guess I got too wrapped up in what we were doing," I said, ashamed of
myself. "I've never screamed at Cynth like that before."

"I can believe that. You don't seem like the screaming type--I'm sorry she
interrupted us though," Lance said. "I was enjoying it. Just bad timing
that's all."

"Yeah, bad timing," I repeated in a monotone voice. Lance looked over and
gave me a soft kiss on the lips.

"It wasn't meant to be," he said simply. "I believe in fate. It just wasn't
supposed to happen for us today." He grinned. "But at least I have a sneak
preview of what to look forward to when I come back."

I laughed at that. Lance laid down on the futon and pulled me into his
arms, embracing me. He held me there for awhile, slowly stroking my hair
away from my face. That was the last thing I remembered before I fell
asleep.



Chapter 9

"Wake up, Stephen." I heard Lance's voice enter my sleeping subconscious
and opened my eyes to find him looking down at me. I had fallen asleep on
his chest (which I will admit, wasn't a bad pillow) and had accidentally
drooled on him during my cozy slumber.

"Whoops," I said, gently wiping his chest off where my spit had
collected. "Didn't mean to do that."

"Keep it up," Lance murmured, as he ran a hand through my hair. I could
have laid there all night, holding onto him. But we both knew that reality
awaited us, and that Lance's main priority was to make it back onto that
tour bus and into the next city. And as much as we didn't want to
acknowledge it, we knew it was going to happen.

I sat up, pulling myself off my boyfriend and found my shirt on the
floor. I pulled it on over my head and then turned around, only to find
Lance's eyes following my every move.

"Hey, you," I laughed, trying to ease the "Don't you know that peeping
isn't free?" I pulled him off the futon and into my arms. Just then, Lance
and I heard a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" I called out.

"Cynthia." My cousin yelled back, "Its almost seven o' clock, you two
lovebirds. Time to get the show on the road."

"Yeah, fun," Lance muttered as he disengaged himself from my embrace. He
began to button up his shirt and then he walked to the door to my studio
and let himself out. I stood there, a bit stung by Lance's hasty exit. And
then I exited the studio myself.

We were back on the road around twenty minutes later. Cynthia had said a
long, somewhat sappy good-bye, despite the fact that she barely knew him
and even gave Lance one of her t-shirts as a parting gift. He laughed at
her thoughtfulness and said his good-byes. And then we got into my car and
headed back to the hotel.

The car ride was pretty quiet. No radio, no talking, no little
jokes. Nothing except the questions that were floating around in our
heads. I wondered why I had met a wonderful man who had to leave almost the
second I discovered that. Life was like that, I thought as we approached
the hotel. I felt like I had traveled ten years back in time, after Natalie
had been born and then my father died. It was almost the same case
scenario, except that my personal happiness was now being taken away, while
my father's death had affected everyone in our family.

I drove up to the back of the hotel, where the tour bus was already waiting
to go off to its next destination. Lance looked at me then, and I realized
that he had tears in his eyes.

"I wouldn't leave you if I didn't have to," he whispered, brushing my hand
with his. "This is hurting me as much as it is you--maybe more." Lance
paused. "Maybe it's because I'm the one causing the hurt."

"Don't blame yourself. It my fault for liking you so much." I said
attempting to make a feeble joke. Lance gave me a weak smile. "I want to
kiss you good-bye," I continued.  "But I know I can't."

"Same here," Lance said sadly. "Do you still have the numbers I gave you?"
I nodded, remembering the sheet of paper that was sitting on my desk in my
room. I had Lance's cell phone number--every teenage girls dream. He had
also given me a detailed tour schedule so I would know where he was every
night.

"Do you still have my phone number?" I asked him. He nodded and placed a
hand over the pocket of his shirt.

"Wouldn't lose it for the world," Lance said. "Well..." Just then we saw
Justin climb down the steps of the tour bus and run over to my car.

"Lance, man, we thought you weren't gonna show up," he said, with a grin on
his face. Justin looked at me and gave a wave. "What's up, Stephen?"

"Hey," I said, afraid that if I said more than one word, I was liable to
break out crying. Lance got out of the car then, somewhat
reluctantly. Lance had waited for Justin to head back to the bus, when he
grabbed my hand.

"I'll call you every night," he promised, crossing his heart. "I'll be back
soon." I just nodded and squeezed his hand back and then let go of it--and
Lance ran to the bus, pausing briefly to stop and wave at me. And then he
was gone.

I've never experienced a broken heart before, but I do believe that night I
had one. I drove off before I could see `N Sync's tour bus drive off and I
headed back for home. I didn't even realize that I was crying, until I
stumbled through the front door of my house and into Cynthia's waiting
arms.

"I knew you'd be a wreck," she said, cradling me in her arms. The screaming
that I had done earlier was now forgotten, as she wiped my tear-streaked
face with a tissue, and just then, I was really glad that she was there.

"Where's Natalie?" I asked, finally returning to real life once my own wall
of self-pity had crumbled. I hadn't seen her all day and I that I realized
was not a good sign.

"I called up one of her friends mothers and asked if she could sleep
over. I told her that we were having a crisis here." Cynthia attempted to
make me smile. "I figured I'd try to save her virgin eyes from the sight of
you two horny boys going at it, in case the studio couldn't contain you
anymore."

"God, Cynth,--how the hell did Aunt Florence and Uncle George raise you?" I
remarked in amazement, while stretching out on the couch, placing my legs
over Cynthia's lap.

"Like a truck driver," she said rather proudly, reaching over and wiping my
face free of wetness. "Isn't it great?"

"Lovely," I said, rolling my eyes. "It's just lovely when my female cousin
is more vulgar than a guy." I stared at the living room ceiling, since
there was nothing else to do, when Cynthia finally spoke up. Thoughts were
whirling around my head, and I squeezed my eyes shut, causing more tears to
roll down my face and neck.

"You're afraid that he'll find someone else, aren't you?" Cynthia remarked
suddenly. My eyes flew open at the directness of her question. There was a
reason why we had always gotten along so well--and this was one of them. I
swear she could read my mind, and this time proved no exception.

I looked at her. She was right. I was worried about that. Lance was on the
road all the time, and he could have any guy he wanted. Why the hell should
he wait around for me?

I slipped into the little world of thoughts that I occasionally dipped
into. I guess I should explain something here...I've never had this great
amount of self-esteem throughout my life. I don't know what factors
throughout my life attributed to this feeling. In fact I had once seen a
t-shirt that said, `Nothing Special' written on it and almost bought
it. From that point on, that phrase became my motto: Nothing Special.

So imagine how I was feeling now. Lance had made me, for once in my life,
feel special. And now that he was gone I felt even lower that low. Funny
how a persons feelings can all depend on the basis of someone else, I
thought.

I shook myself out of my little self-psychoanalysis therapy and saw that
Cynthia was still staring at me, waiting for an answer.

Finally, I did. "Yeah," I answered. "Yeah. I am." And we dropped it at
that.



Two weeks later, I found myself still waitng to hear something, anything
from Lance. Not a phone call. I had called his celluar phone a few times,
but all I got was a pre-recorded message: "I'm sorry, but the number you
have dialed is out-of-calling range..." I called his beeper and recieived
no answer.

I spent my time during those two weeks the way any insane person would:
work, work, work. Everytime I'm upset, I find myself throwing myself into
my job. Picking up extra hours, working overtime shifts and volunteeering
for even the most henious tasks. I actually began to enjoy scrubbing the
pipes under the sinks, because I all was concentrated on was trying to get
the grime off of the metal, instead of why I hadn't heard from Lance. It
became fun for me to go into the dining room with the desert cart after
lunch and throw myself into the madness that is handing out desert to
sixty, hard-of hearing elderly ladies. I acted like I was fiercely
competing for the employee of the month award.

But you know what they say about the people who look like they have their
lives together--that's right, they're miserable on the inside. And
miserable didn't even describe me. I spent my remaining non-work hours
cooped up like a caged animal inside my bedroom and studio. I painted like
a madman, and most of those paintings (which I've now entitled, `The Angry
Period"), were crap. I wouldn't even listen to the radio, heaven forbid the
phone would ring. Cynthia even tried to get me to go out with her numerous
occasions.

"Come on, Stephen" she pleaded, one night. She was all dressed up, planning
to hit the clubs with some old friends. You gotta get out. You can't mope
all the time."  But I didn't answer her, instead slipping on my headphones
and ignoring her. She shrugged and just left my room, shutting the door
behind her.

I fell asleep later that night. Only to be awaken by rude banging on the
front door that reverbiated through out the house. I looked at the
clock. It was three-thirty in the morning. It couldn't be my mother, my
sleep addled brain reasoned, because she was working the overnight
shift. Natalie was sleeping over at Angela's house. One person was left...

"Cynthia," I muttered under my breath, getting out of my bed. I ran down
the stairs, in nothing but my boxer shorts. "I'll kill her, she's always
forgetting her fucking keys."

I walked to the door and threw it open ready to start screaming at my
cousin. Instead I got the biggest shock of my life.

"Lance?!?!" I exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"


Cliffhanger ending--I think I'm learning from all of these season finales
on tv! I will try to get the new installment out as soon as I can, but I'm
not making any promises (big weekend coming up!) As always, any and all
comments (good or bad) are very welcomed at
sweetheart_stories@hotmail.com. I love getting mail and feedback on my
writing! Thanks for reading--Gabriella.