Tara looks at the pictures of her and Justin lounging against his car and wonders if anyone remembers the tabloid stories from a year ago about Britney crying to her in a bar about the big breakup. The story was absolute fabricated bullshit, but their friendship wasn't. Neither were the drunk kisses, pressed up against a bathroom stall.

Now she's Trace's girlfriend, a title more ridiculous than JC's girlfriend, which was plenty ridiculous. JC had a constant male companion, but Trace is a constant male companion, and Tara wonders how much farther down she'll trade before she just sucks it up and brings a girlfriend around. She remembers trailing a hand across the warm, bare skin of Britney's stomach, standing too close, her legs apart so Britney could tip her own between them. Tabloids are a funny thing because they'd done that in the open, in a not-so-poorly lit bar; she and JC had barely stood within five feet of each other and they were a couple. She's been in the game for five years now and she still hasn't quite figured it out yet, and that drives her crazy. It's not that she wanted to get caught with Britney, she's just surprised she wasn't. Britney hadn't been worried for even a second and Tara wonders what they all know that she doesn't.

Trace lives in Justin's back pocket, accompanying him to all his interviews, and even then all the questions are about the Britney thing. Justin sounds completely serious and legit when he talks about Britney, about his heartbreak. Tara grinned at him after reading one and said, "Have you thought about acting? This is great stuff."

He looked at her strangely and said, "It's not an act."

Tara genuinely likes Justin and Trace. They remind her of boys from her block back home, washing cars in cutoffs while the neighborhood girls hung around chewing gum and rolling their eyes. Especially Trace, who can be a real asshole when the mood strikes him. She likes that, likes that he's always a quarter of an inch away from an almost ugly scowl, likes that just as quick one side can turn up into a knowing smirk, eyes gleaming.

She can tell they like her too, like the way she can put back a forty and sing every word to every Bruce Springsteen song. "He's from Jersey, " she said, like it explained everything.

Justin said, "Al Green liv--" and Trace cut him off with, "She's read the interviews, dickhead." They squished their noses at each other and Justin grabbed him around the waist, lifting him off his feet, Trace's hands gripping Justin's forearms while he mock-kicked at Justin's shins.

She likes them better than JC and Carlos, who only really liked her in the dark shine of a club, where JC could let loose and grind with her and Carlos could do lines of coke off her chest. She never spent a single day at JC's house just hanging around with them, and all three of them were flying at every event she attended with them. She has a feeling that was not what her manager had had in mind for settling down a bit. Being with JC, fun as it was, always felt like work, anyway.

Trace almost feels real.

Trace is the kind of guy she would've hung around with in high school, if she'd gone to regular high school. They would've driven around in a beat-up car that reeked from too much smoking and hotboxing in it, and stolen stop signs and napkin dispensers from diners. He's the kind of guy her mother would've said, "Now why don't you date him?" about. She would've shrugged her mother off and made out with girls in the back seat of Trace's car on nights when they didn't park at a cruising zone for him.

One night, they do drive out together, without Justin for once. Trace's car is nice and doesn't smell like anything except for the vanilla tree she's sure he's got hidden somewhere. She hates vanilla but doesn't say anything and doesn't ask him if he wants to hotbox. They're headed out of LA in a direction that she's never gone and she raises her eyebrows, says, "Do you know where you're going?"

Trace shrugs. When they finally stop, it's in the middle of nowhere and she wonders if this was where Trace meant to go or if it's just good enough. Trace gets out, slams the door, hops onto the hood of the car, and calls, "You coming or what?"

She pulls her hoodie tight around her chest and joins Trace on the car, lying down next to him. She reaches into her pocket, grabs her cigarettes, and holds the pack out to him. "Want one?"

Trace frowns. "Nah, I don't smoke. Well, not cigarettes, anyway," he adds with a smirk.

She's already lit hers, because it honestly never occurred to her that Trace might not smoke. She exhales, saying, "You don't mind if I do, right?"

"I don't give a fuck," he says, shrugging. "I'm not all anal like Justin. He hated Britney smoking around him, always thought the residue or some shit would get into his lungs when he kissed her, ruin his voice. He gets really uptight about stuff like that."

She watches his face turn from a scowl, which she's come to think of as his default expression, into a grin as he talks. She ashes and shoots him a wry smile. "So, is that why you don't smoke?"

"I don't smoke because I don't like it," Trace says flatly, but the grin doesn't completely fade.

"Mmm," she responds, taking a long drag. "Your loss."

"That's me, always a loser," he says in a deadpan.

Tara laughs. "Yeah, you're a big loser, all right. A big loser with a lot of cash, living in a mansion, driving a fancy car. All losers should be so…looserish." Trace snorts. She continues, "Seriously, though. You realize you've basically got most people's dream life? No job and still living in luxury. Half the guys I know would kill to be you."

"Remind me never to meet them then," Trace says dryly.

Tara grins and says, "Oh yeah, cause Jersey boys are so scary." She takes another drag, says, "Do you ever think about getting a real job?"

Trace shrugs and doesn't say anything. Tara watches his face slip back to its usual half-second from turning ugly, and is about to change the subject when he says, "Sometimes."

"Yeah?"

He shrugs again. "I used to want to be a designer. You know, fashion and stuff. I did some stuff for Justin, bedazzling bandanas, that sort of shit. It was cool. I sorta wanted my own company."

Tara nods. "What happened?"

"I don't know. I guess I got busy. Plus I suck."

"Whatever," Tara says. "I'm sure you don't suck. You probably just need experience. You think I could act the first time I tried? My mom thinks it's cute to pull out the old tapes. It's painful to watch. Not to mention really fucking embarrassing."

Trace grins at that, she knew he would. "Yeah, maybe. I had this whole…idea that I would make these really awesome clothes for guys, really nice shit, you know? But it'd be cool stuff, stuff you'd actually want to wear out. Not like Banana Republic, but not like Sean Jean either, you know? Somewhere in between. Like Diesel jeans. Just nice shit."

It's probably the most she's ever heard Trace say at one time, and his face has started to light up. She can't help but smile back at him when he's like that. "You should do it!" she says.

"Yeah, maybe I will someday. It's too bad *NSYNC wears all that Dolce & Gabbana stuff. I could design for Justin, like I used to, except without the bedazzler, we're over that. It would be so awesome, because he's got the perfect body for the stuff I'm thinking of," Trace says half wistfully, half excitedly.

Tara smirks. "Right, and I'm sure that's a total coincidence, too."

Trace elbows her. "Whatever, bitch," he says, but he's laughing and shaking his head.

"Jesus, you are a loser! Is there anything in your life that isn't about Justin?" She giggles, pushing his elbow away. She waves her cigarette, taunting him.

"Yes," Trace says, grabbing the cigarette from her and taking a drag before throwing it. "You."

Tara snorts and rolls her eyes. "Whatever, dick," she says, and takes out another cigarette from the pack.

Three weeks later, Trace intertwines his hand with hers as they enter the club. She knows the cameras are there and she's sure he must too, because he's used to these things, with Justin. She whispers, "You don't have to." He smiles at her as a flash goes off and whispers back, "I want to." She shrugs and says, "Ok, then."

Ahead, Justin turns around and beams at them, and Tara's not sure if he's smiling at Trace, at her, or at them holding hands and meaning it.

Two drinks into the evening, Trace's hand rubbing light circles on her thigh, Tara leans in and says, "So what's the deal?"

Trace looks away from watching Justin, faces her, and says, "The deal with what?"

She gestures towards Justin then back to herself. "This, everything. What are we doing here?"

Trace looks genuinely concerned and it's not a look she's used to seeing on his face. "You want to go?" he asks.

Tara shoots back, "Do you?" Trace looks at Justin and squirms a little and that look she recognizes. She knows that no, he doesn't, because he wants to-and will-go home with Justin.

The next day Trace calls her up and says, "Look, I'm sorry about last night." She can hear Justin in the background, singing along to the radio.

"For what? You didn't do anything wrong," she says.

Trace says to Justin, "No, no, I don't want any," and then to her, "I should've paid more attention to you."

Tara is sure that right now, Trace and Justin are sitting in the kitchen together in just their underwear, Justin making breakfast while Trace talks to her. She is sure they went to bed together the night before. Probably fucked this morning, too. He sounds so damn earnest, though, like he really does feel bad and she's almost sorry that she's not actually hurt that he went home with Justin instead of her. "We're not actually dating, right?" she asks, only half kidding, remembering their conversation on the hood of Trace's car.

Trace is silent for a moment before saying, "Well. It's up to you, I guess. I mean, we can, either way is fine with me."

Now it's her turn to be silent. "Um," she says and stops, because she has no idea what's supposed to come next. It's not like with JC when he said, "We're going shopping today. Do you want to come?" because even though JC claimed to hate the whole PR situation, what he meant was that she should come because there would be a photographer.

Trace says, "Well, whatever. Let me know, I guess. Here, Justin wants to talk to you," and hands the phone to Justin.

Tara still has Britney's number even though she hasn't spoken to her in months and she's nervous about calling because Britney must know that she's in Justin's crowd now. She calls her anyway and is pleased when Britney answers the phone, "Tara!"

She relaxes just hearing Britney's honeyed voice and they catch up for a few minutes before Tara says, "So I'm dating Trace, apparently."

Britney clucks. "So I hear. How's that working out? He grows on you, right?"

Tara laughs, "Like a fungus," and Britney giggles into her ear. Within five minutes, they've made plans to see each other.

They sit on deck chairs in Tara's backyard, sipping iced coffees, and Britney looks ridiculously sexy, even in velour track pants and a white tank top with her hair in a messy ponytail, her legs casually resting on Tara's ankles. She watches Britney's mouth make a perfect circle around her straw and wonders what Britney's looking at from behind her sunglasses.

"So, is it just me, or are Trace and Justin totally fucking?" Tara says.

Britney laughs and says, "It's not just you."

She watches Britney carefully and asks, "Did that bother you?"

Britney pauses, seriously considers the question, and Tara's sure the relationship meant as much to Britney as it meant to Justin. Britney says, "Trace makes Justin happy. Justin made me happy. It didn't bother me because we were all happy, I guess."

Tara leans towards Britney, making Britney shift her legs off her, and says, "But what about..."

Britney leans in, runs her hand up Tara's leg, and says, "That made me happy too," and Tara can see Britney watching her even from behind the sunglasses. Britney gets up and walks into the house, Tara right behind, hand on Britney's hip.

Britney licks a line up Tara's inner thigh and it's been too damn long, because Tara's trembling already, blood moving through her body too fast. Britney breathes onto the stripe she's licked, cool and loud enough for Tara to hear. Her breath sounds almost like the panting in her songs and Tara suddenly wants to- needs to-know if her studio moaning sounds are anything like her real orgasms. Tara shivers as Britney mouths at the place where her leg and body meet.

Tara's cell phone rings and neither of them bother to move toward it and after a moment she barely notices it.

She has a message from Trace telling her to come to some bar that evening and she erases it without even hearing the address.

"Who was it?" Britney asks.

Tara shrugs and tosses the phone onto her bed. "Trace," she says.

Britney giggles a bit and says, "Checking up on us?"

Tara studies Britney's smile and says, "Do you ever have a girlfriend? Do you always have a Justin?"

Britney stops smiling, picks up Tara's phone, and flips it open and shut a couple of times. "Sometimes. Trace's ex-girlfriend and I used to be sort of a couple. And there was a dancer for a while." She pauses, puts the phone down carefully. "I didn't have a Justin, Tara. I had Justin. There's a difference."

Tara sits down next to Britney and says, "Well, no, I mean--" but Britney cuts her off, "I know what you mean. You think because he has Trace and I was with girls it was fake." Britney stops and looks at her. "There's a lot of ways to love someone, you know."

Tara doesn't say anything, and Britney puts her hand on Tara's thigh. "What about you and Carson?"

"I didn't love him," Tara says flatly.

Britney frowns and says, "Why would you marry someone you didn't love?"

Tara stands up, suddenly angry, and says, "I didn't marry him, did I."

Britney watches her for a moment, then pulls together her things, stands up, and says, "You shouldn't date Trace if you don't really like him."

Tara calls Trace and gets his voicemail, leaves a message that she's sick and is going to stay in. She's fine, mostly, except the afternoon with Britney has made her feel all off and wrong and a club with another fake boyfriend is the last place she wants to be. It's not that she has a bad time with Trace, because she doesn't. It just never occurred to her that this would be anything other than faked, that she could actually be leading him on. She honestly likes him too much-way too much-to do that but she doesn't know how to stop it now that the idea's been planted.

The next day, the doorbell rings and she opens the door to Justin and Trace armed with chicken noodle soup, ice cream, and a handful of DVDs. Trace says, "It's the Get Well Committee," and Justin cracks, "Nah, it's the Trace Doesn't Have Shit To Do Today Or Ever Come To Think Of It Committee."

Trace elbows Justin and says, "Because you're so busy with so much to do that you made us go back because you forgot the Fast and the Furious DVD?"

Justin grabs Trace's arm and twists it, saying, "It's a good movie, dude," and she grins, because they're like two kids and it's hard not to.

"Are you two coming in or are you just gonna stand on my stoop touching each other?"

Justin and Trace say, "Touch each other," and all three of them laugh as they come inside, Trace kissing her cheek. It's only the second time he's done that, the first time with no cameras around, and she blushes a bit under Justin's gaze.

They get through half of the Fast and the Furious before Justin's phone rings. It's Chris in town for two days, and Justin's out the door in under five minutes, telling her he hopes she feels better. Trace sits up from leaning against her to watch him go, then says, "Finally alone! I thought he'd never leave!"

She goes along with it, saying, "Yeah, I was starting to feel like I'm dating both of you."

Trace shakes his head and lowers his voice, "And have you noticed that he smells?"

She snickers and Trace leans in and kisses her for real. When he pulls back, she doesn't move or say anything for a few seconds, desperately avoiding his eyes. "Trace," she starts, "I think maybe," and then she stops because she's not sure what she thinks, even though she spent most of the last night thinking about it. Trace drops his eyes and his face arranges itself in a scowl as he pulls away from her. She doesn't know what to say and settles on, "What about Justin? I mean, you love him, right?"

He shrugs and turns away from her, shaking his head. She says, "I know you guys are together," because no one's ever really acknowledged it and she thinks maybe it's time to clear the air and this is the best way she can think to.

"So?" he shoots back, completely unimpressed.

"So, I know that us together is just for appearances," she says.

Trace glares at her. "I don't need someone just for appearances. You think anybody fucking cares who I date?"

"A lot of people would care if Justin was dating you, though," she says, a little harsher than she meant to. Trace makes a disgusted sound, then puts his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. She can hear him breathing hard. She looks at his slumped back and regrets saying anything. "I'm sorry," she whispers, putting her hand on his leg and giving it a squeeze.

"Whatever," he says, pushing her aside roughly, jumping up, and grabbing the DVDs off the table.

Tara runs into Carlos at the store and he gives her a big hug. "We haven't seen you in so long! Where have you been?" he says.

He looks very excited to see her, and she smiles back cautiously. She thinks she's maybe done with *NSYNC and their many hangers-on. "I've been around," she says noncommitally.

He nods and says, "Yeah, I heard you and Trace broke up. You ok?"

She doesn't want to talk about it, least of all with Carlos, so she says, "Yeah. How's JC?"

His face lights up and he says, "Oh, everything's great. He's getting ready to start promoting the album."

Tara nods and says pointedly, "You gonna go into hibernation, then?" mostly because she's feeling pissy and Carlos' grin is annoying her, but also because she's honestly interested in how JC will handle this.

Carlos doesn't stop smiling, says, "Nah. He already told Johnny he's not doing any of that garbage this time."

She says, "Good," squeezing out a smile for him, even though she suddenly feels like the biggest shit in the world. She tells Carlos she'll be sure to call them up, that they'll definitely party again soon, and goes home to lie down.

Tara sits curled up in her bedroom, watching TV. American Pie is on cable and she watches it even though she always feels that it's a little self-congratulatory to watch herself. She loves watching this movie though, because it reminds her of how much fun she had making it. Natasha Lyonne was a blast to work with and she had a raging crush on her by the time they wrapped. When Thomas Nicholas said that he felt like an idiot doing the bullshit oral sex scene, Tara joked that that was because men were clueless and that all the good parts of the manual had to have been written by a lesbian. Natasha laughed and said, "Word!"

That was pretty much as out as she got on set, besides the usual raunchy stuff a group of twentysomethings threw around. Natasha had known, though, because she said, "I know so many lesbians who could've written that book better. If you're interested," she finished offhandedly.

They went to Fez together a bunch of times, and Natasha really did know a lot of lesbians, but Tara was too busy being seen with Carson to really get to know any of them. That, she thinks, was her first mistake, because now she's stuck in a loop, and the longer it goes, the more people it affects. She feels like she'll never get out of it now and that maybe she should just date Trace for real, because it'll be easier that way and there will never be any questions or lies.

Plus, she does miss him.

Her phone rings and it's JC. "I hear you ran into Carlos today," he says.

"Yeah. He said you're getting ready to promote the album. You must be excited," she says. JC hates doing promotion and she knows it. "So, Carlos said you're not doing the whole girlfriend thing, huh?"

She can hear JC smiling when he says, "Nope. I'm over that."

She leans back against her headboard and picks at her bedspread. "You were over it when we dated," she points out. He spent the entire time they were together stressing how not together they were because he was over it, and still called her up when there might be cameras.

"I'm more over it now," he says and sounds like he means it.

She wonders if he really does mean it this time, if he'll say he's seeing someone but never produce a girlfriend, if there won't be pictures of him with some girl, if Carlos will be in all the pictures instead. "How over it?" she asks, because she doubts it, doubts that any of them will ever be that over it.

"Completely," JC says, and she believes him, because sometimes JC really is that earnest. "What about you?" JC asks.

She thinks about Trace, who hasn't called her in three weeks, says, "Getting there," and tries to sound like she means it too. She knows it's a complete lie.

Tara drives over to Justin's, and a bunch of guys are outside shooting hoops. Justin walks over to her car silently and it's the first time she's seen him since the day he came over with the DVDs. She hands the forgotten Fast and the Furious one to him and says, "Hey. Is Trace here?"

He takes the DVD and looks her over. Justin has a way of staring that completely unnerves her, because it's not like he's mentally undressing her, but like he believes if he looks hard enough he can really see what's in her soul. She's sure he can't, mostly because she doesn't believe that crap, but it makes her nervous anyway, and she fights to keep from blushing in response.

"Why?" Justin says.

"Because I want to see him, ok?" she answers, a little annoyed now.

He folds his arms and says, "I don't think th--" but she cuts him off with, "You know, jealous boyfriend isn't a good look on you," purposely loud.

He throws a glance over his shoulder at some friends she doesn't recognize, frowns at her and says, "He's inside."

She puts the car in park and says, "It's nice to see you, too."

"Justin was a real dick outside," she says when she sees Trace.

"He's pissed at you," Trace says, sitting next to her, arms crossed over his chest.

"Are you?" she asks and he shrugs his typical noncommittal Trace shrug.

"So, you're not but your boyfriend still is?" she says derisively, to piss him off, because she likes Trace when he's sarcastic, even if he's usually more of an ass than just sarcastic. She expects him to say that he didn't say he wasn't pissed anymore, but instead he says, almost bitterly, "He's not my boyfriend, remember?"

She sighs. "You know what, it was stupid. If he goes home with you every night, and I know he does, then he's your fucking boyfriend, ok? And he clearly doesn't care who knows, otherwise he wouldn't. I was stupid."

Trace smirks and says, "Yeah, well. Probably won't be the last time either," and it's not unkind, but has just enough edge to keep it from being a joke. She smiles because that's the Trace she knows and likes. She pokes him, hard, and says, "Ha. Ha." Trace gives her a grin at that, and grabs her finger, twisting her hand around.

She leans in and kisses him.

He pulls back and looks at her suspiciously. "What was that for?" he asks, hand still gripping hers tighter than is comfortable. She shrugs. He stares at her until she says, "Cause you're cute when you're an asshole, I guess."

Trace shakes his head, grinning, and says, "Ok, then."

Ten months later she and Trace have a very public breakup, thanks to Us Weekly. The film PA she's been fucking on and off again for the last three months of it sees the spread and says, "You know, you're good. You almost have me believing that you were dating this loser. That's great acting."

Tara looks at her strangely and says, "It's not an act."

--end--