"You're welcome. I'm glad you like it," JC whispered back. He pulled Morgan in closer and gently leaned his forehead in against hers as the woman on stage began to sing.
The very thought of you and I forget to do . . . The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do . . .
They moved in time with the music, eyes closed, completely enraptured by each other. Morgan ran one hand through JC's hair as he gently traced the thin strap of her short, black dress. She moaned softly when his hand slowly slid down the length of her body to rest on her hip as he kissed her collarbone. She gently massaged his neck, savoring the feel of his soft lips on her bare skin.
The mere idea of you, the longing here for you . . . You'll never know how slow the moments go till I'm near to you . . .
"Mmm . . . What time is it?" Morgan whispered, eyes still closed and fingers still playing across JC's neck.
"Not sure . . . Probably close to midnight," he spoke between kisses. "Why?" he asked, his eyes meeting hers. "Are you going to turn into a pumpkin?" He smiled softly and ran his fingers through her strawberry-blonde locks.
She looked down before answering him. "No, I have to go. Kingston scheduled a very early meeting tomorrow morning to go over something or other . . ." She looked up at his disappointed expression. He groaned, but took her hand and led her out of the club, the music slowly fading.
It's just the thought of you . . . The very thought of you, my love . . .
JC looked straight ahead as the two left the club and stepped out onto the Boston sidewalk in search of a cab. "I wish you'd end this stuff with him," he said quietly.
Morgan stopped walking. She brought a hand up to his face and directed his gaze towards her, looking at him apologetically. "I haven't been out with him in a week, JC. And it's not like I can avoid him. I mean, he's still my boss."
"Yeah, well, bosses don't look at you the way he does." He looked out into the street for a cab so she couldn't see the hurt and pain her less-than-professional relationship with Kingston was causing him.
"I have an obligation--"
His head snapped to look at her, eyes filled with a mixture of hurt and anger. "You have an obligation to me."
Morgan sighed and rubbed her temples before meeting JC's gaze and responding. "He helped me land this job. He . . . he could take me out of it."
"And then that would be sexual harassment. You could sue his ass."
She gently shook her head. "I'm not going to sue him."
"Then I'll handle it for you--"
"No. I'll handle it myself, JC," she said, taking a step in and reaching out to gently place a hand on his cheek.
He quickly took a step back. "When, Morgan? When will you handle it? This has been going on for months. Ever since we started rehearsing for the tour." He crossed his arms in front of his chest and frowned when she lowered her gaze to the sidewalk. "I'm beginning to think you don't want to end things with him," he said in a low voice, a hard expression on his face.
Her head snapped up, tear-filled eyes meeting his. "You think I enjoy this? You think I enjoy being with him? Not being with you, and sneaking around when I am?" She rubbed her tired eyes. "I have never done anything more disgusting, and I hate it, JC. I absolutely hate it. I want it to end. I want it to end so badly. But . . . I don't know how. I've never been in a situation like this before. I don't know what I'm doing. All I know is I want to be with you." A shaky breath passed through her lips and her bottom lip quivered. "I just want to be with you," she whispered.
JC's expression softened and he took a step in, wrapping his arms around Morgan. She began to cry softly, and he slowly rocked her back and forth. "I'm sorry. I know you don't enjoy being with him," he said, gently kissing the top of her head and then resting his chin on it. "I could still handle this for you, though. Put an end to it all. I promise you won't lose your job."
She shook her head and pulled away so she could look up at him. "No, I'll do it. It has to come from me. I got myself into this, and I'll get myself out."
"You sure?"
She nodded her head. "Yes, I'm sure." Morgan took a deep breath and wiped away a few stray tears. "Do you think . . . Do you think we could just go now? I . . . I don't really feel like being out anymore."
"God, I am so sorry," he breathed, wincing at the slight ache in his heart. If only he had kept his mouth shut, she wouldn't be crying, wouldn't be in a hurry to go back to the hotel.
"Don't be. You had every right to ask me to end things with Kingston. I haven't exactly been fair to you. To us."
"Us?"
"Well, there is an 'us,' isn't there?"
A smile crept up on JC's face. "Yes, Morgan. Yes, there is an 'us.'"
She stood on her tiptoes and delivered a gentle kiss to JC's lips. Morgan pulled away, grinned, and hailed a cab.
When Cassandra checked the flight schedule at Logan International Airport, Melissa's flight had been running an hour late, so she searched her backpack for her notebook and pen. Cass chose to write in a seat as close to the flight gate as possible, wanting to greet Melissa and then head to the hotel soon after. She'd had time to finish up a scene in her novel when Flight 5796 announced its arrival.
Cass stood and put her books away, slinging the backpack across her shoulder and moving in and around the crowd to find a spot. Melissa was one of the first off the plane, and Cassie shook her head at the sight. Her identical twin had gone at lengths to set herself apart from Cass in style. Her wild mass of red waves hung down her back, several inches longer than Cassandra's. Only Melissa could wear those skin tight zebra stripped pants and get away with it.
Melissa squealed and gave her sister a hug, keeping her long, Canary yellow pained nails out of the traps of Cassandra's curls. "Melissa!" Cass shouted, shaking her head. "You look like a hooker!"
"And you look like you're forty!" Mel answered, looking her twin up and down.
Cassie laughed and shook her head. "I've missed you so much."
"I've missed you, too, sis," Melissa nodded and grinned. "So . . . what do you think Joey will say when he sees me?" Cassandra grabbed Melissa's carry on and led her to the baggage claim. "Will you at least pretend you're here to see me and not Joey?"
"Well, I could, but I've never been much of an actress."
"Melissa!"
"I'm just kidding, Cass! I really have missed you. But I didn't buy these pants for you."
"I can tell . . . Seriously, though, Joey has been planning some kind of scheme for tonight."
"A scheme?"
"Some kind of romantic dinner for two."
"Oooh, I wonder what Mr. Fatone has in store!" Melissa grabbed her suitcase and the sisters left the airport for the Ritz Carlton.
JC and Morgan left the cab hand in hand, and stood on the sidewalk in front of the Ritz Carlton. She sighed, gently squeezing his hand. "Isn't it amazing?" she whispered, directing her gaze towards the velvet sky. "I can clearly see every star. It's beautiful."
"Yeah, it is," he said softly. Only, he wasn't looking at the sky. He watched Morgan look at the sky intently. Her long hair flowed down her back in waves. She gently bit her bottom lip as she got lost in her thoughts. Her long, slender neck still held the faint sent of her perfume. The glow from the street lamp next to her surrounded her, illuminating the serene expression on her face.
Feeling his eyes on her, Morgan turned to JC, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly. "Didn't your mama ever tell you it's impolite to stare?"
"Yeah, but sometimes I can't help myself," he said, taking a step towards her. His one hand rested on her hip while the other caressed her cheek. He dipped his head to gently press his lips against hers. "I'm sorry about before," he whispered the apology.
She quickly put a finger to his lips to silence him. "I told you, you have nothing to be sorry for."
JC kissed her finger. "Okay. Then I'm sorry for nothing." He took two more steps toward her so her back was pressed against the street lamp. Then he left a trail of kisses from her lips down to her neck.
Morgan held onto the street lamp with one hand to brace herself, while the other combed through his hair. Her head rolled back to lean against the lamp post as his lips continued to play across her neck. She moaned softly while her fingers slowly traced their way down his spine, only to end their journey at the back pocket of his slacks, slowly sliding in.
JC looked up at her, his one hand still on her hip, the other gripping the lamppost just above her head. He looked down at her slightly parted lips, just a mere centimeter from his own, which were now releasing small, shallow gasps of breath. "Am I forgiven?" he whispered, directing his eyes once again towards hers.
Morgan's eyes slowly closed as she felt his hot breath on her skin, making her feel dizzy. "God, yes," she said in a hoarse whisper.
His hand released the lamppost and rested on her shoulder for a brief moment. Then it slowly slid down her arm, his fingers making just enough contact to send a tingling sensation throughout her body. His fingertips followed her arm behind his back and gently circled her wrist. Her eyes fluttered open when he slowly pulled her hand out of his back pocket. Smiling coyly, he took her hands in his and led her into the Ritz Carlton.
Into the evening, Justin Timberlake rested on Diana Breen's bed as she showered. Having lured him into the privacy of her suite with more tequilla, she was beginning to make a habit of their nightly company. With a show in Boston the next night, he knew he wouldn't have the privilege of losing all his inhibitions with his new drinking buddy. He'd have to have enough fun tonight to last him over.
When the water stopped running, Justin sat up in anticipation, flipping through the TV channels to find something that would take his mind off of what was to come. "Yo! Sex and the City! Shit, yeah," he sat back on the bed, watching Sarah Jessica Parker whore herself out in the city that never sleeps. Come to think of it, none of the shorties on that show ever found time to sleep.
Diana came out in her white terrycloth hotel robe, after hearing the familiar voices on the television set. "Which one is this?" she asked, Justin, anxiously hopping onto the bed with him.
"Which one is what? Oh this show?" Justin bit his lip. "I never watch this trash, yo."
Diana smugly grinned as she watched Justin become enthralled in the show. "She's really hot," she said, watching Parker's character. "There are some girls that turn me on . . . and she's one of them."
Justin jumped as she said it. Whoa. Fantasy much? "You talkin' 'bout Carrie? Yeah, she's a fly honey . . ."
She squealed as she caught him in the lie. "I see you know the characters' names. Says a lot for a boy who doesn't watch HBO 'trash.'"
"Eh, says a whole hell a lot of nothin'." Justin grumbled. "So . . . you think she's sexy?"
Diana laughed at the curly haired blonde beside her. "Of course I do. Look at her. Plus, she's got a lot confidence. That's a really, really sexy thing . . . to be able to show your body, like that, and not be weary of it."
"But you're not into girls?" Justin asked, curiously.
"Well, no, not really. But there are some girls I find sexy."
"Oh, I see. You wouldn't want to . . . you know . . . with her or anything, would you?" He fumbled across his words, interest peaked.
"Hmm. I don't know, maybe. I'd definitely be into kissing her and touching her and you know . . . seeing where that leads."
Justin gulped. "Any other girls on your to do list?"
She had him just where she wanted. "Well, don't tell anyone else this . . . but . . . Britney Spears. I find her so gorgeous. I'd sleep with her, no questions asked."
Justin jerked up on the bed, immediately at attention. Sitting Indian Style, he excitedly began talking and record pace. "I know Britney! Oh my fucking God. I could hook you two up. Oh God, I could watch. Bitch, do you realize how fucking hot Britney is? Damn, we used to take advantage of touring together. Britney is like 'da bomb diggity. Oh my God!" He fell back on on the bed, taking a pillow and covering his face with it. He jumped back up to say, "Two girls. Together. Oh my God, you and Britney," before falling back on the bed, in complete and utter satisfaction.
Diana was on him like white on rice when she said, "Could you really get me the hook up with Miss Spears? She's a busy woman." Her voice went low and moved richly like honey in his ears. "And are you kidding? I wouldn't want you just to watch . . . full audience participation."
Justin let out a squeaky Peter Brady sound, before closing his eyes, dying, and going on to Heaven.
Joseph Anthony Fatone Jr. set about the hotel room, in preparation for Melissa's arrival. He'd set the suite table, himself, dimmed the lights, Zinfandel wine chilled, and flowers decorating the table. The hotel had sent up his special request of calamari with marinara sauce in a silver platter, hidden underneath an elegant silver lid. He left the shrimp scampi main course in its special platter in the kitchen, resisting the urge to steal a bite, before his guest arrived. No use having seafood breath at first meeting.
Stepping away from his table, he admired his work, before jumping to place his precious Marvin Gaye CD in the stereo. Almost perfect. Lighting the center piece candles, he smiled contentedly, checking his watch. Seven o'clock on the dot. She'd be there any moment, and if things went as planned, she'd be under his Italian Stallion spell until breakfast time.
Which, of course, he'd arranged. Frosted Flakes with two percent milk, fresh squeezed orange juice, and coffee, just in case it was difficult rousing out of bed. Yes, he was a big spender, but he didn't try to attempt to miss his Frosted Flakes. They were greeeaatttt.
A knock on the door brought Joey out from his thoughtful imagination. He grinned to himself, when he realized how shocked she'd be when she opened up that silver platter to see the wonderful food he'd arranged for the date. She'd be floored! Back in Orlando, they'd eat the shrimp scampi during Happy Hour at Red Lobster all the time, but it was nothing like this. And if the two had undeniable chemistry back when he was playing Wolfie, he had to admit she'd be all over him, now. Of course, he didn't know how she'd react to his lack of false fur, but once the initial awkwardness was gone, he was positive she'd adjust.
Stopping to calm himself and strike a "You Know You Want Me" pose, he suavely opened the door and took in Melissa Tate, the genetic copy of her sister, Cassandra, their only difference was the length of their ultra wavy auburn locks. Mel's, which reached far down her back, matching the wildness of her outfit, was just as he remembered. "Mellie," he grinned and she shrieked.
Jumping up to throw her arms around him, she giggled, trying to get a look into the hotel room. God, he'd really pulled out all the stops this time. Marvin Gaye crooned from the stereo, "Oh mercy mercy me, oh things ain't what they used to be . . ." He swung her around, closing the suite door and welcoming her in.
Looking around, she gasped, "Roses? Candles? Dear God, Joey, did you think I was going to fuck you on my first day back?" He let go of the embrace and wrinkled his thick eyebrows.
"Well . . . the thought had crossed my mind," he confessed.
She laughed, deeply in her chest. "You haven't changed! You've still got that sense of humor I love about you! And you can say things that are absolutely crazy, but keep that straight face. Oh my goodness. You sure know how to treat a girl."
"Well I was thinking--" he bit his lip, and held the thought in. "I mean . . . how are you?"
"Oh my gosh, Joe! I'm wonderful!! As are you, I see."
"Oh, no you don't. I asked about you," he said, leading her by the small of her back to the dinner table. Pulling out her chair, he sat her down, and went to his seat, anxious to hear of news from Florida.
"Well . . . there's not much to tell. I suppose Cass told you that I've got my own salon, now, back home?"
"She did mention that."
"Well it's great. Performing was a lot of pressure for me, you know that, right? So I said goodbye to my dolphin trick days at Sea World and left for my shop. It's called 'Cut it Out,' and we do good business. I like cutting hair. It's relaxing."
"Oh yeah? I might have to get you to do my hair, sometime. I was thinking of going all red again, you know? Only this time, with orange in there, so it looks kinda' like fire!"
Her eyes twinkled and she grinned, "You're joking again aren't you?? That's my Joey Joe! Always a kidder." He sat back in his seat, hoping she'd continue to take his earnest ideas for humor.
"Well . . . how would you do it, then?"
"Never die it all red again! You're not Bozo, you're Joey! The tips are very hot, but keep it short. I'd cut that shit off and show off your dark hair. You have great hair, Joe, black as midnight. No need to wear out those strands with dye. One day, it'll just fall out."
Horrified, Joey's mouth dropped. "Fall out?" His hands fled to his scalp. "Oh no . . . my hair's stayin' right where it's at. I'm not Chris' age, yet. I got a ways to go."
"It's so nice to see you, Joey . . ." she changed the subject, abruptly. Those big chocolate brown eyes. You could just lose yourself in them, and she'd missed that feeling so much. He grinned at her, loving the blush of her cheeks as she made the confession.
"I've missed you, too. But here we are . . . with a wonderful dinner that's going to get cold if we don't eat."
"You're right. You do the honors?" Joey lifted the silver lid up, proudly showcasing the fried calamari appetizer. It's delicious aroma wafted to his nose, and he could actually taste the seafood on his tongue. Looking up to see her reaction, he immediately jumped in surprise.
Sure, he knew she'd be floored, but . . . as the red head started to cry, he felt stuck in quicksand. Yes, it was true; occassionally dates with Joey ended up in tears, but that usually didn't occur until the latter portion of the evening. Never before had a date started boohooing this early. "Melissa!"
The tears only intensified, and a mournful sound escaped her throat as she fought hard to breathe. "Melissa, Mellie . . . what's wrong? Did I do something wrong? Honey, it's just food. Are you allergic to--"
"Joey!! Calamari is fried squid." The word squid made Joey wince.
"Yes, I know it's squid, Mel, but you're not supposed to say that. That makes it seem icky, when it reality it isn't. Calamari, honey. It's delicious. Here, just have a bite--" As he reached over to put a serving on Melissa plate, she only cried harder. "Geez . . . is it that bad? I mean I don't like anchovies on my pizza, but you don't see me--"
"I . . . I just . . . I don't . . ." sniffling into her napkin, Joey gave an exasperated sigh and placed the lid back on the platter.
"You don't want, Mel? Come on. I closed the lid. The squid's not there, anymore. You can't smell it . . ."
Her tears gradually seceded as she no longer had to stare the squid in its fried face and she began to explain. "Ever since Free Willy, Joe. Ever since Free Willy, I haven't touched any seafood, whatsoever. If it comes from the sea, it's not on my plate. It's why I don't ride those dolphins anymore, either, Joey. Didn't Cass tell you that? I just . . . I just see that seafood on the plate and it makes me think of that poor whale. Remember, Willy, Joey? Remember him and the boy and the boy who had to learn to set him free. They can't be caught like this, Joey . . . it's not good for them. They're swimmers, sure, but they can't fight those nets and just imagine . . ."
Joey's gaped in surprise, before standing up to comfort her. "I'm so sorry, Mellie. I didn't know. Don't be traumatized because of me, baby . . ." She sniffled in and sucked up her pain, as she hugged him.
"It's okay, it's okay. I'm fine. I just . . . I'm okay."
He let out a worried breath and they stood up, together, getting out the wine and pouring two glasses. "Here you go. Just enjoy this and we can get something else to eat."
"Something else?" she interrupted, stepping towards the kitchen where the second platter rested on the counter. "No, that's okay. We'll just skip the appetizer and go straight to the main course. Hmm, wonder what this is. Spaghetti . . . alfredo, I wonder . . ." she tapped on the platter, concealing an abundance of fresh shrimp scampi, inside. "Guess I'll just have to see!"
"No, Mel! DON'T OPEN THAT PLATTER!" Too late. As she lifted the lid, she was taken aback by the second serving of seafood and the waves of sadness floated back in.
As she erupted in tears a second time by the counter, Joey froze, paralyzed by the coming round.
Lance's cell phone interrupted his paperwork. Going through his briefcase, he had been looking over a myriad of Free Lance Inc. finalists, picking and choosing who he'd want showcased on an MTV special. His eyes had about glazed over when the phone call broke him out of the work trance, and he jumped to answer it. "Lance Bass," his low voice answered.
"Hey . . ." the feminine voice spoke and he knew at once that it was--
"Renee! How are you? Where are you?"
"Well, I'm doing wonderfully. I got back home, safe and sound, but then I did something outrageously impulsive, Lance."
"What'd you do?" he grinned, pushing away his briefcase and spreading out on the suite's loveseat.
"Well . . . I flew to Boston."
"What??" he gasped, jerking back up again. "You came to Boston. What on Earth? Renee, where are you? At the airport, do you need me to pick you up, because I can go or send someone and--"
"That sounds great. I want you to pick me up, though."
"All right, that's fine. I can be down in fifteen minutes."
"I bet you can pick me up sooner that that," she hinted and his heart raced with excitement.
"Renee, where are you?" he asked again and she laughed lightly across the wire.
"Try, right outside your door? House recognized me, but he's still standing right behind me, as if I'm going to rape you, so . . . Do you think you could come on out?" Lance jumped to his feet and opened the door, his eyes meeting with a set of hazel ones and directly above her to a set of deep brown.
"It's okay, House. Renee's a friend of mine," he allowed and the bodyguard nodded, before stepping back into the hall. Lance shut the door behind her and gave her a strong hug, inviting her in. "How on Earth did you manage to fly back?"
She grinned. "Being a travel agent does have its advantages, you know. I just . . . I didn't know if I'd get to see you again, and I wanted to ensure that . . . I don't know! I got home, I washed my clothes, I packed again and got back on the plane. I had to see you again."
He chuckled. "You just said that." Amazed and excited, he grabbed her hand. "I wanted to see you, too. In fact, I was going to call, as soon as I finished with this work," he gestured toward the suitcase overflowing with resumes and pictures.
"Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt."
"You're not interrupting, anything. You're far more important," he gushed. "I didn't have anything cool planned to do, tonight, though. It's kind of late. Was there anything you had in mind?"
"Actually, I just wanted to stay in with you. Just to talk and hang out. I've seen Boston many times, so there's nothing I--"
"Wonderful. Get comfortable and I'll order us some popcorn or something. Pay per view movies sound okay with you?"
She smiled. "Sounds great."
"Are you sure you're okay?" Joey sympathetically sat down on the love seat, beside Mel.
"I'm fine. I'm sorry. You must think I'm crazy," she moaned into his handkerchief and then handed the soiled fabric back.
He waved his arms before she could hand it back. "No! You keep it. Just in case . . . you know . . . you accidentally look in the fridge and there happens to be a can of tuna or something." He attempted a joke, and she smiled, but was visibly unamused.
"Let me just call room service again and get them to take this stuff back. I've got some Pepsi's in the fridge, if you want."
She nodded her head and he grabbed the two canned drinks out and handed one to her. Let's see. What else do I have in here. Hmm. He closed the ice box door, unsatisfied with the poor selection, but a blue Kraft box resting on a shelf caught his eye. "What about . . . mac and cheese?" he offered, pulling the box down.
"I'd love some macaroni, Joey. Thank you."
He shook his head with a laugh, "You'll be happy to know it's just your regular old, everyday macaroni, as well. None of that shells and cheese stuff."
"Fabulous! You going to cook for me?"
"Well . . . I happen to be a master at pasta, you realize . . ."
"I can imagine," she answered, joining him in the kitchen to watch the chef at work.
Diana was stretched out on her side, prone to the bed, beside of Justin, still amazed as his brain surged with thoughts of the two girls, together, lips pressing against each other, hands rushing through lengths of hair. He snapped out of the Buddhist "at one with the earth" state when Diana lifted her hand to run it through his brown and blonde curls, sending a current of shivers down his spine.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked seductively, trying to get Justin to look at her, rather than out in space.
"You and Britney," he admitted quietly.
"Does it turn you on?" Di asked, honestly and Justin's voice caught in his throat. He could only nod a yes. "It turns me on, too," she admitted. "I can just imagine us in bed, together, just like this, her lips on my neck . . ." She scooted closer to Justin. Her hands opening my robe and touching my chest . . ." Grabbing Timberlake's hand, she separated the white fabric, giving him easy access to her naked body.
She rolled to her back, untying the belt, and shimmying her way up. The robe found its way to the floor and Justin explored her breasts with his fingers, kneading, tickling, running his fingers across the skin. Her lids, thick with desire, she managed to keep them open long enough to pull his shirt from his chest, unzipping his jeans and letting him maneuver the barrier off. His boxers fell in the clothes heap and the two began to roll together until she'd situated herself on top, their lips tangled in desperate kisses.
The glow of the television set cast an unnatural glow on the couple as they engaged in their private passion . . . the wardrober and the boy she made a living to dress up. She could only imagine what her next secret note would be. Perhaps, "I couldn't imagine anything else looking better on you than me . . . so I suppose this'll have to work."
Melissa sat on the kitchen counter, watching Joey work his magic with the Kraft cheese and macaroni. "Want to taste the sauce?" he joked, after squeezing the flourescent orange cheese sauce out of its silver packet.
"Oh, that's quite all right," Melissa said. "I trust that you'll make the mac and cheese to perfection."
"Al dente," he grunted, stopping his stirring to pop open his can of Pepsi. "I suppose this is as good as any sort of fancy shrimp scampi," he confessed.
"Oh yes. And plus it means more, when you cook it," she snickered. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to be any trouble or anything, but I took one look at that Calamari and it brought me back to those days at Sea World and I--" her words stuck in her throat and Joey dropped his spoon on the counter to get to her as quickly as possible.
"Don't cry again. Please don't cry." He wrapped his arms around her soothingly. "They took that bad stuff away, and here we are, getting ready to eat some of the Fatone secret recipe pasta. None of this fish stuff." He backed away, taking her hands in his. "Besides! We had fun back in the day in Orlando."
"Wolfie," she smiled, nostalgically. "You were so funny, with that costume and the makeup."
"People don't realize how difficult a role it is to play Wolfie. It's not about putting the costume on or anything. It's a state of mind, really. It's a--"
"Yes," she interrupted what could erupt into an acting spiel. "I remember. You were good." He smiled, proudly, reaching into the shelf to retrieve two small bowls. He scooped the macaroni out into the bowls, grabbing a couple of forks.
"Cheers," he said, and they clinked the cans of Pepsi against each other.
"To reuniting with old friends," she toasted.
"Yes, to reuniting with old friends . . . and old lovers."
"Morgan! So glad you could make it!" Mr. Kingston said, rising to his feet as the young woman entered the conference room on the VIP floor of the Ritz Carlton. "I hope you're hungry 'cause I took the liberty of ordering breakfast," he said, crossing over to her, embracing her.
"I've suddenly lost my appetite," she muttered under her breath.
"What did you say?" he asked, looking at her curiously.
"I hope they got the order right," Morgan said, covering her tracks. "You know room service, as unreliable as the weatherman." She flashed her boss a cheesy grin for good measure.
"Oh, never fear. They did." He took her hand and kissed the back of it. "Shall we?" he asked, eyebrows raised, tone flirtatious, and lips in a devilish grin.
Morgan pulled back her hand and walked over to the table, taking a seat. "Sure. But do you think we could make this as short as possible? There are some things I have to go over with the other choreographers and work on. Lance's spacing is constantly off and Justin upstages, well, everyone."
Mr. Kingston nodded and sat in the chair next to her. "True, but I wouldn't worry about it. It's not your problem."
"Well, as long as I'm the choreographer, it is my problem," Morgan said, pouring herself a glass of orange juice.
"Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about," Kingston said, adding a packet of sugar to his cup of coffee.
"Oh?"
"Yes. You see, dear," he said, taking hold of Morgan's free hand. "Once Darren is fully recovered he'll be off gallivanting . . . er, I mean touring with Miss Spears. JIVE has hired Wade to replace him."
"Wade?" Morgan asked in disbelief, unable to believe her ears and quickly pulling back her hand. She had just been replaced.
"Yes, Wade. He's young, but by no means wet behind the ears. He knows his stuff, a real dance prodigy."
"Prodigy?" Morgan took a moment to calm herself. "Exactly how young is he?" she asked through gritted teeth.
"Seventeen. But he's amazing. He'll work wonders with the guys."
"Seventeen!" Morgan jumped up from her chair. "You're replacing me with a child! For God's sake, the boy is younger than Justin!"
"Now, now, would you please calm down. There's more," Kingston told her, placing a bran muffin on his plate.
Reluctantly she sat back down, resting her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. "I don't think I can take much more."
"Another position on this tour has become available, and I'd like to offer it to you," he told her, cutting the muffin in half and buttering it.
"Oh, what the Hell? I'll bite," she mumbled to herself, raising her head to meet his gaze. "And what position would that be?"
"My personal assistant."
"Your personal assistant? Mr. Kingston, I don't want to be your personal anything."
"Morgan, be reasonable. You and I both know that in the dance business, you're not exactly a spring chicken."
"You really know how to flatter a girl."
Kingston ignored her and continued. "And I'd like you stay on this tour. Working as my personal assistant would give you that opportunity."
"So would going back to being assistant choreographer."
"But do you really want to do that?" He took both of her hands in his. "Do you want to take a step down?"
She pulled her hands away from his. "I fail to believe you're all that concerned about my welfare. What are you really up to, Mr. Kingston?"
"If you must know, I enjoy your company, Morgan. You're young. You're beautiful." He flashed her a devilish grin. "I love the way you make me feel, as if I can do anything. And I do mean anything," he said in a low voice.
"Oh, boy! Strike up the gland!" Morgan said, rolling her eyes. "Sorry, but I don't have a position open for Sugar Daddy. This meeting is over," she announced, standing up. "I have a rehearsal to get to. Enjoy your bran muffin and prune juice."
As she walked away Kingston reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her close to him. "Please, reconsider. We could be so good together."
Morgan laughed aloud. "Oh my God! You have got to be kidding me! That line is about as cheap as the rug on your egotistical head." Kingston's hands instinctively went to his head, checking to make sure his toupee was secure. "My answer is still no. Now, if you'll excuse me, the other choreographers are waiting on me." She turned and walked towards the door.
"Morgan, you walk out that door and that's it. It's over."
"I want it to be over," Morgan said, releasing the doorknob of the conference room. "I want our relationship to be strictly professional."
"Fine. If you want a strictly professional relationship, you got it," he said, breaking his gaze on her to bend down and shove some papers in his briefcase.
She breathed a small sigh of relief. "Thank you, Mr. Kingston." She turned around and grabbed a hold of the doorknob once more, turning it.
"Oh, Morgan. One more thing."
She closed her eyes before turning around. "Yes?"
"Don't think that ending things with me will make it any easier."
"Excuse me?" Her eyes widened, taken aback by his statement.
"You heard me. It's not gonna be any easier. With every female over the age of 12 lurking in the shadows, you and Mr. Popstar will still have to sneak around." He snapped his briefcase closed, grabbed the handle, and crossed the conference room towards her. He leaned in close, his mouth next to her ear, whispering the words, "I'm the least of your troubles. Trust me." And with that, he brushed past her and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Morgan walked to the middle of the room, staring out the window overlooking Boston. A few seconds later, the door opened again. She closed her eyes and then opened them before speaking. "Kingston, give it up. I have nothing more to say to you."
"It's me, Morgan."
"JC?" she said, turning around.
He nodded. "Well?" he asked expectantly.
"Well what?"
He rolled his eyes. "Well, what happened? How did it go? Did you end things with him?"
"Yeah, it's over," she told him, her gaze once more focusing in on the door.
"And?" he prompted her, blue eyes filled with curiosity.
"And it was relatively painless."
JC stepped in closer and brought one hand to Morgan's cheek. "Relatively painless, huh? Then how come he slammed the door when he left? And how come you look like Hell?"
At that her eyes snapped away from the door to zero in on his face. "I look like Hell because this entire relationship has been one roller coaster ride from the very beginning. And in case you hadn't noticed, it didn't exactly come with an instruction booklet, either." She let out a tired sigh and looked down to collect her thoughts before speaking. "I'm sorry, JC. I didn't mean to snap at you," she apologized, gently placing a kiss on his lips. "I'm just tired, and it didn't help that I had to get up early this morning . . ."
"I know," he said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in close. He placed a kiss on the top of her head. "I hate it when I wake up to find you gone," he said softly.
"Well, I can't promise you that there won't be any more early meetings, but I can promise you that they will all be strictly professional."
"Really?" he asked hopefully. She had already told him it was over between her and Kingston, but he needed to hear it again.
"Really. You're the only man I have less than professional meetings with," she said, a small smile forming on her lips.
"Good to hear," JC said, placing a kiss on her lips, then moving on to her slender neck. "What do you say we--"
"JC, no," she said, pulling away. "I'm tired. I had to get up early this morning and it didn't help that last night . . ." A blush rose to Morgan's cheeks as her mind wandered back to last night's events and she smiled. "Last night was amazing," she said softly, gently resting her forehead against his. "But this morning . . . It took a lot out of me, JC. I'm drained. And on top of it, I gotta meet with the choreographers in . . . " She checked her watch. "Fifteen minutes. We have to discuss strategy to get Justin to stop upstaging everyone."
JC chuckled. "Good luck. All right, then. You go to your choreographer pow-wow, and I'll call you in a couple of hours."
"You don't mind?"
"No, of course not. Go ahead," he said, gently pressing his lips against her forehead. "I got some things to take care of anyway."
"Things? What things?" she asked, her curiosity aroused. She knew the guys had the morning off today. She also knew that gleam in JC's eyes. He was up to something, no doubt.
"You'll see," he replied, smiling coyly. He opened the door to the conference room, and the two walked out. "Go ahead," he reiterated the instruction, giving her a nudge in the direciton of the elevator.
Morgan nodded her head. "I will. And I'll see you later," she told him, quickly kissing his cheek before walking down the hall.
"Oh, you most definitely will," JC said under his breath, watching her walk away. Once she stepped onto the elevator he turned to Lonnie, who had been standing outside the conference room, waiting for him. "I need you to come with me. There are a few things I have to pick up . . . "
American Movie Classics had yet to be turned off the television, located above the Lance's king-sized bed. Covers tossed in every direction, Lance turned to his side, feeling a chill across his body. Exactly as he'd expected . . . Renee was a cover hog. She had all of the sheets and comforter wrapped around her, leaving Lance an inch of a corner to wrap himself in. Lance watched her with a goofy grin on his face; she was snoring to high heaven in her Mickey Mouse pajamas.
Stealing part of the sheet back, he stirred her awake, the snoring coming to an abrupt halt. "Huhhghh," she groaned.
"Not a morning person?" Lance laughed, as her form rose up to a seated position on the mattress. Her hair was highly disheveled, a rat's nest of sorts, and she wore a grim, "touch me and die" expression upon her face.
"It was the flight. I was tired," she answered curtly. Lance secretly arched his fingers to resemble an angry cat.
"Rawr," he mumbled. Chuckling as he noticed a piece of popcorn lodged in her hair, he took it out, tossing it onto the floor. "Like the movie?"
It took her a moment to understand the question, but once she got it, she answered. "Yes, it was wonderful." A smile crept upon her face at the memory. "I've seen it about a hundred times, but it always gets better."
The two had stretched out, watching An Affair to Remember, before falling fast asleep. "I've seen it a couple times. Mom's favorite movie," Lance answered.
"It's the absolute best. He's a celebrity and she's just a normal girl. And then she's too proud to show him that she's in love with him and that she's hurt. But he loves her anyway . . ." She sighed, happily.
"I like that. Meeting at the top of the Empire State Building. Really romantic . . ." Lance mumbled, realizing he had a full day ahead of him. He wanted nothing more than to go back under the covers and fall asleep again.
"Yes . . . incredibly romantic." She laughed when she saw him retreat under his one sheet. "Am I that much of a cover hog?"
"Yes!" Lance said, stiffly. "Now hand it over. You have to clutch the sheets with all your might around you." She giggled and threw more blankets over.
"Why don't we just go back to sleep for a little while longer? You don't have to leave the hotel until three, do you?"
"Yeah, three. Let's sleep until . . ." he checked the clock. "Eleven." Daylight threatened to force itself through the curtains of their bedroom, but the two squinched their eyes shut and went back to sleep.
Morgan rested her head against her hotel room door, fumbling through her dance bag for her key. She exhaled and closed her eyes, trying to get her bearings together. It just seemed like one thing after the other. First her less than successful morning meeting with Kingston, and now she was back to assistant choreographer. JIVE hiring Wade Robson, whose résumé including touring with Britney Spears, had been a slap in the face.
She had spent the rest of the morning with the dance prodigy, working on cleaning up some of the choreography, and wanted nothing more than to collapse on her bed. "Damn key!" she said, frustrated when the red light glowed, indicating the door to her room was still locked. "I must have grabbed the wrong key off JC's dresser this morning," she mumbled to herself. She tried the key one more time, but when the red light glowed once again, she kicked the door in anger. "Damnit! Open!"
"Hey, now. What that door ever do to you?"
Morgan turned around to find Lonnie standing behind her. "It won't open, that's what. My key doesn't seem to be working."
"Allow me," Lonnie said. He pulled his copy of the master key out from his back pocket and inserted it in the lock. When the light glowed green, he opened the door. "There ya go," he said, holding the door open for her. "Want me to get you a new key?"
If Morgan gave the key she was holding to Lonnie, JC wouldn't be able to get into his room. "Um . . . no thanks. I can do it myself. I'll just go to the . . . uh . . . front desk . . . later and . . . switch keys."
Lonnie nodded. "Okay. I'll be down the hall if you need anything," he told her, pointing to the chair by the elevator he would soon be occupying.
"I'll be sure to give you a holler," she said, smiling. "See ya later, Lonnie."
"Later, Morgan."
She shut the door behind her, leaned against it, and dropped her bag to the floor. "King size bed, here I come," she said, walking further into her room. She stopped, though, when she thought she heard the creak of the bathroom door. She listened closely, but when the room remained silent she walked over to the dresser, placing JC's key on it.
And that's when she saw it. The shadow. Someone was in the room, standing behind her! Without thinking, she turned and kicked the intruder in the stomach.
"Oof!" said a voice as the body fell to the floor, head hitting the wall on the way down.
Morgan quickly dove for her purse and pulled out a can of pepper spray. "Stay right where you are!" she shouted, pulling the cap off the can.
"Don't spray, Morgan! It's just me!"
Her body relaxed when she recognized the voice, and she dropped the pepper spray to the floor. "JC?"
He groaned, one hand holding his stomach and the other was on his head where a bump was now forming. "Yeah, it's me."
"Oh, Honey! I'm so sorry!" she apologized, immediately dropping to her knees next to him on the floor and inspecting the bump on his head. "You scared me."
"I wanted to surprise you," he told her, wincing as she carefully touched the bump.
"Well, you certainly succeeded," she said, the corners of her mouth twitching, aching to be released into a full-fledged smile. "Shouldn't you be resting? We had a late night last night and you've got a sound check--"
"That's not for another couple of hours," he informed her. "And you had a rough morning, so I thought we could relax together."
"Sweetie, we never relax," she said, her lips forming a sly grin. "I shouldn't have to tell you that."
"You don't," he said, his own lips returning her sly grin.
"Good. But I'm afraid I do have to tend to this head of yours." She shook her head and smiled, noticing the expression on his face. "As in the one attached to your neck," she clarified. "You're bleeding a little. Here." She offered him a hand, helped him to a standing position, and then led him to the bathroom.
She opened the door, flicked on the light, and gasped at the sight before her. The large tub was filled with bubbles. Next to it was an ice bucket containing a bottle of champagne, two glasses, and a bowl of strawberries and whipped cream. The cold tile floor was littered with rose petals.
"Surprise," JC whispered in her ear, his arms circling her waist and his foot gently kicking the door shut.
Joey rose groggily from bed, half expecting Melissa to be beside him, only to remember how she'd manage to fight his Italian charm and get back to her own hotel room. It had been a quiet night, filled with the eating of macaroni and recounting of old work tales in the Orlando amusement park industry. Shuffling to the polished oak desk, he flipped open his laptop, signing on to his AOL with the kind of gusto one could only imagine for Joey Fatone at nine o'clock in the morning.
His regular morning ritual started with his AOL, along with a cup of coffee in his left hand, mouse in the other. "You've got mail," the friendly AOL man told him from inside the computer. Joey's grumpy frown upturned slightly, as he excitedly looked over the mail he'd accumulated since the previous morning. Someone named "JoeysHoey" had sent him a long, drawn out marriage proposal, there were several pieces of mail spam, and finally a letter from one of his lawyers with a link to an ebay auction.
Joey sipped on his hot drink, before clicking on the link, expecting to find Superman memoriablia located, there. His friends and management were always on the lookout for him, when it came to vintage costumes, lunch boxes, and magazines. Nothing out of the ordinary.
What met him at the link, however, was decidedly not Superman-related.
The not-so-flattering picture Diana had taken using Lance's I-zone camera stared back at him. First of all, the picture was outrageously enlarged, and second the seller had tagged her name across the middle in lime green letters, making it nearly impossible to make a legitimate association.
However, Joey knew . . . in his heart . . . this was his pride and Joey . . . on the world wide web for everyone to see. Possibly even more exposure than his wedgie picking had received from MTV. This was Ebay.
This was the bigtime.
Joey's lachrymose moan could be heard in the floor above and the floor below, as it was immediately followed by a loud stomping noise from the guests who were trying to sleep, directly ahead. Joey's head fell downcast, muttering obscenities at the uncaring folks above, and getting out of the chair, only to fall back onto his unmade bed.
"Why me?" he cried, covering his head with a pillow.
Johnny Wright typed furiously away on another computer from his Orlando compound. "Good God," he muttered. "Donnie Walberg wasn't even this much trouble for me." Pausing to take a deep breath, he spoke to the computer, as if it was a real, living person. "Why Joey?" he asked. "Why Joey?"
Oh my God," Morgan breathed as JC pinned her against the bathroom door, attacking her mouth with his own. Their eager hands roamed over each other's bodies. Morgan's found the bottom of JC's wifebeater, and she pulled away from him long enough to pull the undergarment over his head.
"I thought you were tired," he said, his lips moving down her jawline towards her neck, his own hands finding the bottom of her tank top.
"I found my second wind," she informed him, assisting in removing the unnecessary garment.
He opened his eyes and groaned when he saw that Morgan's chest was not bare like his. "Has anyone ever told you less is more?" he asked, his lips finding her neck again as his hands roamed to the elastic of her black spandex shorts.
"Maybe," she said, fingering the button of his jeans. "Has anyone ever told you that more is less?"
"Yeah, less time for--"
"Stop wasting time and get to it, Chasez," she playfully ordered, unbuttoning his fly in one quick, fluid motion.
"Gladly," he replied, removing her shorts as he stepped out of his own jeans. He snapped the straps of her red leotard. "How many more layers are you wearing? If I didn't know better, I'd swear you got a chastity belt on, too."
"That could be arranged," Morgan said as lips left a trail of kisses along JC's collar bone.
"No thanks. I'll pass," he said, pushing the straps of her leotard down her arms, letting the material hang at her trim waist. He eyed her black sports bra. "Damn, Morgan! What's with all the layers? I'll have to leave for soundcheck and you'll still be dressed."
"If you stopped the chit-chat and got a move on it, that wouldn't be an issue," she told him, grinning devilishly.
JC started to work the leotard down the rest of her body as she walked backwards toward the bathroom counter. In a loud clatter, she shoved all the bottles off the counter onto the floor, enabling her to sit on the counter and kick the garment off. Bottles flew onto the floor, and the contents of an uncapped one dumped onto JC's legs, the cold cream sliding down.
"What was in that bottle?" he asked, fingers now tugging on the tight elastic of her sports bra.
"I don't know. Probably lotion, or something," she responded before her lips found the hollow of his neck.
"Yeah, well it feels gross," he told her, savoring the feeling of her lips on his skin. "It's distracting."
"Ignore it."
"I can't," he said, pulling away. He bent down to inspect his legs. The cold, white cream had a strange scent. He wiped some of it off, and inspected his fingers closely. He bolted upright at his discovery. "Morgan, what was in that bottle?" he asked again, beginning to panic.
She shrugged, removing the elastic from her hair. "Lotion or something. I don't know, JC. Does it really matter?"
"Yes, it does," was his curt reply. He held out his fingers for her to see.
"Oh my God!" Morgan jumped off the counter and crawled on her hands and knees, searching for the bottle. She found it by the door, and clamped a hand over her mouth in an attempt to suppress the giggles threatening to escape as she read the label.
"Morgan, what was in that bottle?" JC was about three seconds from a full-fledged panic. He had a feeling he knew what the substance was, but he needed it confirmed.
She held the bottle out to him. "It's Nair," she informed him, quickly biting her bottom lip to keep from smiling and laughing.
"Nair!? As in hair removal Nair!? Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!"
"JC, calm down. It's not a big deal." She tried to soothe him as the corners of her mouth turned upwards.
"Not a big deal? Not a big deal!? Morgan, I have bald spots on my legs! Do not tell me it's not a big deal!" He quickly reached for a towel and began to wipe the cream off.
"Well, what would you like me to say? That you can wear short shorts with confidence now?" With those words, she began to giggle.
He frowned at her. "Excuse me, but I fail to find the humor in this."
"Oh, would you relax," she said, rising to her feet. "Your hair is fairly light. I'm sure no one will notice."
"I'll notice," he said, wiping off the rest of the cream. "Damnit!" He threw the towel into the sink. While his left leg had come out of the situation unscathed, the right one was not so lucky. The majority of the cream had landed just underneath the side of his knee and slid down his leg. The whole side of his calf was now free of any hair. "Why couldn't you just shave like a normal girl?"
"I did until you started complaining about the razor legs," Morgan reminded him. "I believe your exact words were 'don't they have a cream for that'?"
"Oh, so this is all my fault now, huh?"
"It's nobody's fault," she told him. Finally able to stop giggling, she stood behind him, arms circling his waist and chin resting on his shoulder. "It was an accident." She began to place small kisses on his shoulder. "Let's just forget about it and move on."
"I can't, Morgan," he said, pulling away from her. He picked his jeans up off the floor and stepped into the them. "I can't be with you like this."
"Excuse me?" She was taken aback. He had gone through all that trouble to create a romantic setting, and now a bottle of Nair had stripped him not only of his leg hair, but of his mood as well. Unbelievable. "Don't you think you're over-reacting just a tad? It's just hair, JC. It'll grow back. And since you've never Nair-ed before, it'll be back in a day or two." She picked her shorts up off the floor and stepped into them.
He nodded, picking up his wifebeater. "Then we'll pick up where we left of in a day or two."
"JC--"
"You know, if you had any sort of real feelings for me, you wouldn't pressure me. You'd wait for me," he told her, arms crossed in front of his chest.
Morgan gasped. "My God, this is serious. You're quoting afterschool specials." She took a step closer.
"Don't." He took a few steps back, grasping the doorknob behind him and turning it. "I'm really vulnerable right now. What I need is some . . . some time."
She slowly nodded. "Okay. If time is what you need, you've got it. You just . . . let me know when you're ready."
"I will. Thank you," he said, opening the door and slipping out.
Morgan stood in shock, staring at the door, unable to believe what had just happened. She listened carefully for the click of the door, signaling JC had left her room. And when she heard it, she burst out into uncontrollable laughter.
"So, then he tells me if I cared at all, I'd wait for him," Morgan told Diana.
"Oh, my God! He did not!" shouted Diana, quickly clamping her hands over her mouth.
Morgan nodded her head, and the two erupted into a fit of giggles. They immediately attempted to stifle them, though, when the guys on stage stared down at them in the VIP box with looks of disapproval all over their faces.
"Morgan," Wade said, his jaw set straight and his expression stern. "I thought you were going to be assisting me."
"Oh, I am," she said, before looking in Justin's direction. "The group is called 'N Sync, not Justin and Four Other Guys. So, unless you want to sit tonight's show out and have Lance sing your parts, I suggest you stop upstaging everyone." Justin's jaw dropped, and Morgan flashed Wade a cheesy smile. "All taken care of."
Wade rolled his eyes and then turned to the group, emphasizing to them the importance of throwing their heads back during the pelvic thrusts in "Space Cowboy." Diana elbowed Morgan. "So, then what happened?" she whispered, not wanting the young whippersnapper of a choreographer to interrupt their all-important conversation again.
"He left! Can you believe it?" Morgan shook her head. "All that champagne, strawberries, and whipped cream wasted." She let out an exasperated sigh, slouching in her seat and crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I hope your afternoon was more . . . productive."
Diana stole a quick glance at Justin, and a devilish grin appeared on her lips. "It was. Oh, believe me, it was."
The two looked at each other, then erupted into a fit of giggles, only to be interrupted, once again, by Wade. "Excuse me! Do you two think you can table that conversation until later? Right now we're have a quick crew meeting."
"I don't know," Diana said as she and Morgan vacated the VIP box and walked towards the front of the stage, where the rest of the crew had congregated. "I mean, we were discussing all the possibilities of the fun we could have with you once you turned 18. You know what that does to a girl, stopping right in the middle of it?" She turned to Morgan. "What do you think?"
The assistant choreographer walked towards the stage and stood in front of where JC was sitting. "I don't know. It'll be hard, but I think you and I can table it until later."
The girls giggled, the guys snickered, and Wade turned beet red. "Thank you," he said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat. "Thank you," he repeated himself, this time without sounding like a young adolescent. "Now, there are some things that we need to go over . . . "
While Wade droned on and on, Morgan's hands found their way to JC's ankle. She ever so gently ran her fingertips along the skin, then let them trail down to the tip of his shoe. She smiled at him flirtatiously, then yanked on the lace, giving him a sneaker wedgie. 'Serves him right for walking out on me like that!' she thought.
Not amused by her antics, JC rested the heel of his foot on the edge of the stage and began to fix the lace. His pants leg rose up some, exposing his hairless skin.
"And I want you all to be careful during 'God Must've Spent.' I don't need anyone falling--" Wade suddenly stopped. He had been scanning the group to make sure everyone was listening, and when his eyes fell on JC, his curiosity got the best of him. "Um . . . JC, is there something wrong with your leg?"
"Huh?" The lead singer looked up, surprised to find everyone looking at him. "Huh? What? Oh! Nothing. Nothing's wrong," he babbled, quickly pulling down his pants leg. The last thing he needed was for everyone to find out that his typically hairy leg was now as smooth as a baby's bottom.
Chris, always looking for an opportunity to torment a bandmate, raised JC's pant leg and inspected closely. "Ooohh . . . silky smooth," he snickered, delicately running his hand up and down his friend's leg.
"Will you cut that out?" JC snapped, removing the older man's hand from his leg and once again pulling down the material.
"Since when do you shave?" Chris asked, a grin spreading across his face.
That question pulled Justin's mind out his latest fantasy concerning him, Diana, Britney, and chocolate syrup. "What? JC shaves?"
"I do not shave. I do not shave!"
"Group meeting after the show!" Lance announced, trying desperately to keep a straight face, but failing miserably.
"I do not shave!"
"You know, you're probably gonna have razor legs when that grows in," Joey noted, looking thoughtful. "I hate it when girls have razor legs."
"I DO NOT SHAVE!" JC shouted, his words echoing off the arena walls.
"Oh? Then what's with the hairless legs?" Chris asked, biting his bottom lip to keep from laughing.
Unable to contain herself and wanting so desperately to join in the fun, Diana began to sing. "If you dare wear short shorts--"
"Nair for short shorts!" Morgan finished.
The guys, Wade and the rest of the crew burst out laughing, and JC stood up in a huff. "You suck. All of you." And with that, he turned on his heel and stormed off stage.
They watched him go and continued to laugh. Eventually their giggles subsided, and the arena became silent. Unable to resist, Joey began to sing, and the rest joined in. "If you dare wear short shorts, Nair for short shorts!"