Wednesday, 11 February 2009
07:37:43 PM (GMT)
Am I the only one who thinks JT is a cute nymphomaniac, especially when drunk?
“Whew that was SOME party,” Justin slurs as he stumbles towards the curb, his
voice echoing harshly off the alleyway walls.
“Yeah some party,” you sigh, struggling to keep hold of his jacket and yours
along with the gift bags you both had received from the event.
The driver has stepped out of the sleek black Lincoln, strolling quickly up the
driver’s side of the car and rounding the front end, opening the back door. Justin
grins widely at him and you cringe but the driver’s expression does not change. He
merely holds open the door, waiting for Justin to climb in the car.
“Why’d we have to leave again?” Justin asks, turning to look at you, his face
pulled into a perplexed expression.
“Justin,” you say, looking at him blankly. “Its 6 o’clock in the morning. The
sun is coming up.”
He looks around squinting at the growing lightness and chuckles to himself.
“Well, I’ll be goddamned,” he sighs and then turns to the driver. “Did you
see that comin?”
You sigh. “Justin, get in the car baby please.”
This party was supposed to have been boring, some casino night birthday bash of a
nameless record executive held at some fancy hotel. Justin had been bitching about it
for a week and a half. About how he didn’t wanna go, and it was just some big ass
kissing thing, and how it wasn’t even a party it was work because his manager
insisted he make an “appearance.” He had invited you along merely because he
wanted someone to be tortured with. That and he loved seeing you in little cocktail
numbers that were so unlike your usual casual attire. You figured you two would show
up, have a couple mojitos, maybe do a little bump and grind and then head back home
for some bump and grind behind closed doors.
Well, about a million games of black jack and fourteen Jack and Cokes later…
“Hey, have we met?” Justin asks, leaning close to the driver, nearly toppling
into him and the other man takes a step back.
You sigh rushing forward to grip Justin’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry,” you
whisper softly and then rest your chin against Justin’s shoulder. “Come on honey
get in the car.”
He trips backwards, stepping on your foot in the process and you press your lips
together so not to cry out, the pain crippling your toes. You heave a shaky sigh. The
man is testing your patience.
“Oh jeez baby I’m sorry,” he says, his hazy eyes softening as he cups your face
tenderly albeit slightly clumsy. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” you say, gripping his wrists and smiling at him softly, all annoyance
melting away for a moment when he grins at you. “Come on, let’s get home.”
“Ladies first,” he says, his voice low, bending his legs in an ungraceful bow and
you can’t help but giggle.
You slide across the smooth leather seat of the town car and he bends to crawl in
after you, trying to fold his lanky frame through the door. He cracks his head on the
roof of the car, your gasp loud in the early morning silence and his face is
scrunched up as he settles in beside you, the driver pushing the door closed with a
soft thump. You untangle your hands from the mess of coats and bags in your lap to
turn his face to yours. He’s rubbing the red spot on his forehead, his nose
scrunched up, his lips a tight line. You fuss over him, smoothing the curls from his
forehead and pressing a soft kiss to angry spot, the skin slightly fevered from
“Are you okay?” you ask, your thumb stroking his cheekbone as the car pulls out
of the alley and turns onto the main road, the early morning sun casting everything
in a hazy yellow.
“Yeah it didn’t hurt,” he says, rubbing the spot roughly and then looking out
his window at the buildings passing by. “Wow that really was some party.”
You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “Yes. It was a smashing good time.”
He doesn’t catch your sarcasm. “Yeah it really was!!! I was good at black
jack.” He nods.
You cringe. You can only imagine how much money he lost. He’s humming softly to
himself, fingers tapping on his knee and his eyes are trained on the window, watching
as West Hollywood crawls by. He gasps suddenly.
“Stop the car,” he says abruptly, reaching out to smack the passenger seat with
the back of his hand. “Stop!”
“Oh god are you gonna be sick?” you ask, looking around as the car slows, praying
to god there are no cameras lurking in the bushes.
“No,” he says waving you off as he climbs out of the car and you watch slack
jawed as he jogs to the sidewalk and then turns right, heading back the way you came
and disappearing from your line of vision.
Your heart seizes. “Justin!”
You scramble out of the car after him, and see that he’s about twenty feet down the
sidewalk, his hands flat against a large show window, nose pressed against the glass.
You struggle to jog towards him, the four inch spikes on your feet inhibiting your
gait tremendously and it takes you a moment before you reach his side.
The window he’s looking though gazes in on a large showroom and sitting prominently
in front of the glass is a sports car, fire engine red, revolving on a circular
platform. The slant of the body is such that it dips down towards the front bumper,
giving the illusion that it is racing perilously forward even though it is inert,
aside from the agonizingly slow spin of its platform.
“I want that,” he says, jabbing his finger against the window and you sigh,
hooking your arm through his.
“Come on, J,” you sigh, tugging on him lightly. “I’m tired let’s go home
“I want that,” he says, more forcefully this time, poking hard at the window. He
squints. “Hey there’s someone in there!”
You freeze, mortified as he draws his hand into a fist and bangs the bottom of his
clenched palm against the glass, rattling it hard in the pane and shattering the
early morning silence.
“HEY!!!!” he yells, stopping his pounding to throw his arm over his head and wave
animatedly. “HEY!!! YOU!!! YEAH YOU!!!! I WANNA BUY THIS CAR!!!!”
He points at the sports car, still revolving slowly in front of you. You squint
yourself and see a man with graying hair in a business suit. He seems to have stopped
dead in his tracks, his face completely astonished as he gapes at the two of you
standing in the window.
“Justin!” you whisper heatedly, tugging hard on his arm. “You’re going to get
arrested . Now let’s get in the car!”
“Stop pullin’ on me,” he scowls, slapping your hands away. “HEY!!! I WANT
THIS CAR!!! COME ON, I BROUGHT SEXY BACK!!! I GOT CREDIT!!!”
You press your hand to your face, mortified. “Justin…”
“No wait!” he exclaims, his hand digging into his pockets and your eyes nearly
bulge out of your head when he pulls out a two wads of cash so thick his fingers
barely wrap around them. “I GOT CASH!!!!”
The man is walking quickly toward the window and Justin grins widely as he stumbles
towards the glass doors of the dealership, trying to shove the money back in his
pockets. You’re so shocked it takes you a minute to scramble after him. The man
follows Justin to the doors, not opening them, looking at him apprehensively through
“HI!” Justin exclaims jovially, still trying to work the wads of cash into his
“Can I help you with something, sir?” the older man asks, looking at Justin
curiously as if he’s trying to place him in his memory.
“I’m so sorry,” you say, grabbing Justin’s arm and trying to tug him back
toward the town car where the driver has gotten out, watching the scene perplexed.
You press your lips to Justin’s ear. “Justin you are embarrassing me and
yourself. Stop this right now!”
He doesn’t seem to hear. “I wanna buy that car,” Justin says through the glass
and presses his cheek against the pane, trying to see the car from where he stands
and he points. “That one.” He pulls back and nods, still struggling to get his
money back in his pockets.
“Justin,” you moan, looking back at the driver down the street. “The car is
waiting. It’s late…or early...or something. Come on !”
Justin turns and looks down the street where the Lincoln is idling and raises his
hand, still clutching his money. “GO ON WE’RE FINE!”
“Justin!” you exclaim looking from him to the driver who looks just as shocked as
“IT’S COOL. GO!!” Justin hollers, nodding his head and you watch in horror as
the driver slowly gets in and begins to pull away.
“No!” you exclaim, running to the curb waving your arms but it’s too late. The
town car has already disappeared around the corner. “Justin,” you say, your voice
holding a barely controlled edge. “I swear in the name of everything that is holy
I’m going to-”
You turn around just in time to see a look of realization dawning the man’s face
and he’s struggling to unlock the doors of the dealership. Great.
“You’re Justin Timberlake,” he says smiling and Justin grins widely nodding
“That I am!” he exclaims, clapping the man on the back just a little too hard.
“Been him my whole life. Ain’t that a bitch?”
You and the man blink after him slack jawed as he strolls into the showroom, looking
around amused. The man looks at you and you both just stare at each other for a
moment before he stands aside, holding the door open for you. You walk inside,
following Justin who is standing in the middle of the showroom now, looking around
“How can I help you sir,” the man asks, walking up behind you and Justin turns to
look at him.
“I lost my car,” he pouts, looking around and reaching to scratch his forehead
but realizes he’s still holding his money and settles for rubbing it with the back
of his hand instead.
“Your car, sir?” the man asks slightly confused and Justin nods.
“The red one,” Justin responds looking in the opposite direction and you cringe
when you see that it’s about thirty feet behind him, still revolving slowly.
“The red one, sir?” the man asks, looking around the show room and you see that
indeed there are several red cars in the showroom.
“The Corvette,” Justin says, still gazing around perplexed and then he looks at
you both and grins. “You know…” he chuckles and then snaps his fingers singing
“ Liiiiiittle Red Corvette !” shimmying his shoulders and wiggling his hips. You
can’t help but giggle despite yourself.
“Ah yes,” the man says, walking up to Justin and chuckling slightly as he grips
his arms lightly, turning him around so he faces the car. Justin’s face lights up.
“There she is!” he exclaims, bouncing slightly. “Here babe, take this.”
You can’t even speak as he hands you the two wads of bills, thick rolls of hundreds
wrapped in rubber bands. You stare down at it dumbfounded as he just walks away, the
older man following quickly after him.
Last edited: 11 February 2009