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5 Things - Pop
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1. Justin's never meant to invade anyone's privacy, but when you're a kid in the business, you learn to pay attention to people's body language. Faces lie but there's always a clue to the creeps who want to do more than hear you sing. When the guys do let him come out with them, he can always tell which girl catches Joey's eye or how drunk Chris is going to get, just from how he orders the first one. He doesn't really pay attention to it until years later, but then he realizes he's been watching Lance figure out his type practically since they've known each other.
2. Anthony puts up with a lot of shit--it pretty much goes with any job description that includes Chris Kirkpatrick and the Fatone brothers, not to mention JC and his tail of pretty things--but not even he has much patience with Freddy. Justin figures that it must be love, or whatever passes for love when you're talking non-stop touring and promo, because he can't see any other reason for Lance to keep around anyone who's so totally incompetent as a personal assistant and is motherfucking annoying to boot.
3. Dude. Have you seen Jesse? Shit, Justin doesn't even swing that way and hell, he so wouldn't kick that out of bed.
4. Justin loves Diane, he really does, and it's been forever since he and his mom had dinner with her and Lance, but God, if she mentions Jennifer one more time, he's going to need to excuse himself and go get a couple of shots at the bar. He'd have done it by now, except he knows that forced edge to Lance's smile, so he just nods and smiles and wants to kiss his mom when she asks about Stacey and the grandkids.
5. There are a couple of nights at the end of the Celebrity tour that are really really, well, not there. Justin has flashes of memories, of Lance and a bottle of Grey Goose, of strippers and whipped cream, of lap dances and g-strings, but they're not what you could exactly call complete. What he does remember is JC stalking through the suite one morning after, slamming down the Post open to Page Six and snarling about asshole gossip columnists who have to twist everything to suit themselves. Justin mumbles something that passes for agreement, because, holy shit, C's voice and a killer hangover are never going to mix, but when he reads the blurb, about pretty boybanders overcompensating with PDA and strippers, there's not much he can argue with.
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