Prologue: A Stupid Bet with Chris

I've done a lot of really dumb things to get girls to have sex with me. But this, by far, was the dumbest.

It all started over a stupid bet with Chris.

We were sitting on my back porch, drinking beer and shooting golf balls at the side of the garage when Chris said, "It's easy for you, you're a fucking Backstreet Boy."

Maybe I should explain.

See, we were talking about women and whether they were, as a group, becoming less slutty or not. Chris held that they were all turning into prudes. Me, on the other hand, I held that they were actually getting hornier by the day.

"You only get laid as much as you do because you're a fucking Backstreet Boy," Chris had said, shaking his head, "You don't remember what it's like being a regular guy who had to actually work to get some booty."

"That's because I've never been a regular guy," I answered, "I've been in the 'biz since I was twelve and I was more interested in scoring baskets than scoring women."

Chris tilted his beer toward me, "Like I said. You don't know what it's like being a regular guy trying to score."

"Seriously, bro," I said, shaking my head, "It has nothing to do with being a Backstreet Boy. Chicks are just ready to rock it these days." I whacked the golf ball into the bushes that lined my yard. It rolled into my neighbor's yard.

Chris got up and went after the ball and I took a long pull off my beer. He came trotting back. "You're sadly mistaken," he said, putting the ball on the tee and throwing himself back down on the porch as I prepared to swing again. "They're only coming on to rock stars these days. Us normal guys are getting stiffed." He snorted at his own pun, then, because I didn't laugh, he added, "Literally."

"That's bull," I said, again.

"It's true," he said. He tossed his empty beer bottle into a trash bin. Three pointer shot, right in the hole.

I pointed at the can with my golf club, "Nice shot," I said.

Chris grinned.

"I'm telling you, even if I wasn't a Backstreet Boy, I could land more chicks than you." I turned back to the golf ball, studied the angle of the ball to the garage - though I have to admit that at this point I was a little less than sober. I swung the club and the ball pinged off the tee and whacked the edge of the garage, right off the gutter pipe and bounced back, rolling to a stop just shy of Chris' sneaker.

He bent down and picked it up and tossed it to me. "If you weren't a Backstreet Boy you'd have just as much trouble as I do," he disagreed. "Maybe even more. You're almost too pretty, they'd probably think you were gay." He sipped his beer.

I looked down at my dirty sweatpants and tee shirt. "Because every gay man dresses like this."

Chris shrugged. "They can't all be Ryan Seacrest."

I snorted and put the ball back down on the tee. "So..." I mused, studying the angle yet again of the ball to the garage. "Exactly how much are you willing to bet on this theory?"

Chris laughed, putting his beer down beside him on the step. "You name it, Doogie Howser, you can't not be you. There's no way to prove who wins."

"There's a way," I said.

"How?" Chris raised an eyebrow. "And don't say find someone who doesn't know who the Backstreet Boys are because they, sir, would be of illegal age. And probably still having lived under a rock for their entire lives, deep in a cave in Guatemala or something."

"I wasn't thinking of that," I said.

"Then what?"

I moved my feet until I was in my swinging stance. "Place your wager first," I said.

Chris picked up his beer and swished it around. He gnawed the inside of his mouth. Finally, he looked up. "Okay. If you can bang more chicks than me in one month's time - completely anonymously -" he paused, thinking over his wager. "A hundred grand."

I studied the golf ball. "Where the fuck are you gonna get a hundred grand?" I demanded.

Chris laughed, "It doesn't matter, 'cos you ain't gonna win this one, bro."

"I want a wager I can actually collect on," I said, shaking my head, "When I win, I want something to show for it." I thought for a moment, then it hit me what I wanted most from Chris: "If I win, then I get First Pick for the rest of our lives."

First Pick was the way Chris and I kept from fighting over girls at bars and clubs. Before we went out, we'd have a stupid match-off of some sort - anything from thumb wrestling to hot dog eating contests - and the winner would get the coveted position of first pick, meaning if we both got the hots for the same girl at the bar - which, having similar tastes, we usually did - then whoever had won first pick would get "rights" to that girl and the other guy couldn't hit on her no matter what.

Chris looked like he wasn't sure that was worth the wager.

"What'sa matter?" I teased him, "Not so certain about our little bet now?" I smirked, then turned to the golf ball yet again, squinting down the club at the tee.

Chris asked, "If I win, I get first pick for life, too, then," he wagered.

I laughed, "Chris, if you win, you can have first pick and the hundred grand. How's that?"

"Deal," Chris said. He put down his beer, spit on his hand and held it out to me.

I made my swing - the golf ball sailed past the garage and into Mrs. Norbit's backyard again. Her cat came running out of the bushes, shrieking. The porch light of Mrs. Norbit's house snapped on and her kitchen door opened. "What're you hooligans doing at two o'clock in the morning whacking golf balls?" she bellowed, "I should call the cops on ya you drunkards!"

"Sorry Mrs. Norbit!" I yelled. I turned to Chris, spat in my hand, and shook his. "You got yourself a deal," I said.

Chapter One: Consulting the Master


“I need to have sex with a girl, but she can’t know who I am when we do it,” I said.

AJ was silent on the other end of the phone line.

“AJ?” I prompted.

“I heard you,” he said. “I think. I hope I misheard you. Come again?”

“Chris and I have this bet,” I said.

“Oh cripes, here we go,” AJ said, “Nothing good ever comes out of anything that starts with Chris and I have this bet, Nick.”

I laughed.

“I’m not kidding.”

“Well we have this bet either way, where Chris thinks girls are gettin’ prudey, and I don’t think they are, I think they’re still slutty. But Chris thinks I’ll have just as hard a time as him landing girls if they didn’t know that I’m a Backstreet Boy, so we made this bet where I have to sleep with more girls this month than him, but they can’t know who I am before I shag’em.”

AJ was silent again.

“AJ?”

“Yeah, wow, I did hear you right,” he said. “Well, at least I don’t have earwax build up or anything. That’s a relief. Sort of.”

“I need your help, ‘J,” I said.

“My help? It sounds like you need the Witness Protection Program. Or a plastic surgeon. Maybe both.”

“C’mon, before Rochelle, you were the master of sex with random women,” I said, “How many mights did I wake up to find random chicks sneaking out of your hotel room carrying their shoes and underwear?”

“That was a long time ago,” AJ said. I could hear Ava in the background somewhere crying. “And they all knew perfectly well who I was,” he added.

“You spent an entire school year as a different person,” I said.

“I was like eight and nobody knew who I was,” he argued.

“AJ.”

“Nick.”

“Please.”

“You’re one of the most recognizable people in the world, dude,” he said, “I don’t think there’s a damn thing I’m gonna do that will keep you from being recognized, man.”

“AJ… if anyone could do it…. you could.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “And what do I get from it if I succeed?”

“Details,” I whispered. “Every bittersweet adventurous detail.” I was quiet a moment. “If the opportunity arises, maybe even pictures.”

“Shit.” AJ was quiet a moment. I knew I had him. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

“An hour?” I demanded, “Can’t you be here now?”

“I gotta stop and get some supplies,” he answered.




AJ arrived on my door step two hours later – almost twice as long as he’d said he’d be – carrying a Walmart bag and his laptop slung over his shoulder. “It took longer than I thought to get Ava asleep,” he explained as I stepped aside to let him in.

“What’s in the bag?” I asked, pointing as I closed the front door.

“Supplies,” AJ replied. He held the bag up to me. I looked inside. His pair of faux black-rimmed glasses and a box of L’Oreal hair dye and a tee shirt with Pacman on it sat in the bottom of the bag. “You go upstairs, dye your hair, put the glasses on, and the shirt, then come back down.”

“But –”

“And take a picture of yourself after the dye dries,” he said. “Make the duck lips or something in the bathroom mirror. Throw a peace sign. Whatever.”

“AJ?”

“What?”

“What are you gonna do while I do all this?”

“The key to your dilemma is Match.com,” he replied.

“Match.com?”

“Yes,” he said. “Go upstairs. I’ll be creating your new identity.”

“How very Inspector Gadget,” I said, carrying the bag up the stairs. I got to the top and paused, watched for a moment as AJ unlatched his computer bag and pulled out the Macbook he’d painted red and black. “This dye isn’t gonna turn my hair green or something, right?” I asked.

“No,” he answered. “I don’t think so.”

I took a deep breath and headed into the bathroom, reminding myself that first pick for life, and a hundred grand if I lost, was on the line.




According to Match.com, Nate Crosby was 33, tall, and had dark brown hair. He wore glasses. Nate Crosby looked a lot like Nick Carter. He got that a lot, and would’ve considered it a compliment back in the 90s, but dude, what were the Backstreet Boys even doing these days? He didn’t have a preference on body type, hair color, or anything. If a girl was interested, she could contact him at this encrypted Yahoo Messanger account, and here’s a picture of his dog, a collie named Cobain. His favorite movie was Zombieland, but he wasn’t against watching a well-directed chick flick. He was thinking about going to film school but currently worked as a “freelance social media consultant”.

“Well?” AJ asked.

“Jesus,” I whispered. I clicked enlarge profile photo and stared at Nate Crosby’s eyes. Well, my eyes. The faux glasses and hair dye had done wonders. I looked like me, but I also looked like this whole other person, too. Like someone who might go to film school, own a collie named Cobain, and do things like make duck faces at oneself in the bathroom mirror.

“No,” AJ said, “Not Jesus. Nate.” He grinned.

I punched him. “Dude, this is incredible.”

“I thought so.” AJ replied egotistically. “It ain’t easy changing your identity.”

“You should work for the FBI or something,” I said.

AJ laughed. “Just remember the deal: I help obscure your identity, you give me a play by play of Nate’s romantic adventures.”

“I won’t forget,” I replied. I clicked on the photo of the collie, Cobain, then on another picture, this one photoshopped though not obviously so, of Nate -er, me – standing in front of a rock climbing facility. It was two different photos AJ had spliced together. I clicked the next one. It was one where he’d drained the color out of the image and photoshopped in some glasses on me while I stood holding a camera on my shoulder.

I clicked browse profiles. Tons of chicks came up as potential matches for me. I looked up at AJ.

AJ patted my back. “Good luck.”

Chapter Two: N8ThaGR38, meet Ki10zRsexxxi


I shot off about fifteen emails in under an hour of being connected. This was ridiculously easy. One charming note after another to one pretty girl after another. I could almost feel the anticipation of back-to-back-to-back-to-back holes-in-one if you catch my drift. I was gonna woop Chris's sorry ass into oblivion. I cackled evilly as I logged into the Yahoo Messanger account AJ had set up for me, and waited, fully expecting some girl to message me offering sex.

Any moment now, I thought, waiting.

After several long moments passed without so much as a spam bot IMing me, I decided to check and make sure it was operating properly. I IMed myself.

N8ThaGR38: hi
N8ThaGR38: hi
N8ThaGR38: u better buy condoms son cuz ur gonna get laiiiiiiid...
N8ThaGR38: u better buy condoms son cuz ur gonna get laiiiiiiid...

I laughed to myself. Then it occurred to me that my own joke might be wisdom. When was the last time I'd invested in fresh condoms? I wondered. I jumped up and trampled up the steps quickly, my quest for a girl to IM me lost in the panic of what if someone did and I wasn't prepared? I needed to be like a Boy Scout, I thought. Always preprared.

In my upstairs bathroom, the one connected to my guest room (where all the random sex I had took place, my bedroom bed was for sleeping only), and ripped open the cupboard over the sink. There was the Trojan man smiling at me. His expiration date was good but there was only three left in there. I stared into the box like Pooh Bear into an empty pot of "Hunny".

"It's a good thing I thought of this," I muttered. I opened my phone and sent myself a quick reminder to buy condoms.

On the way back to the computer, I detoured to the kitchen, grabbed and sandwich from my fridge and a handful of Oreos from my cupboard. I carried them back out to the computer, shoving cookies in my mouth as I walked. I stuffed all four of them in there at once. My lips wouldn't meet in the front.

I saw from across the room that I'd received a new message. I sprang forward, cookie flying out of my mouth and hitting the desk. I wiped it away with my sleeve.

Ki10zRsexxxi: Hello sexy
Ki10zRsexxxi: whats up?
Ki10zRsexxxi: u there?

I liked that there were three Xs in her name. Things with three Xs were usually pretty slutty. I grinned. I was so winning this bet with Chris. I was so getting laid. I was so gonna need more condoms.

N8thaGr38: well hey there ki10z how u doing girl? ;)

The winky face, I figured, would be the IM-equivilent of the Carter Grin. It would show I had a boyish charm. I waited.

Ki10zRsexxxi: lol

Lol? Really? She laughed at me? Pff. I was still trying to chew my cookies. I leaned back, my teeth fighting to break through the Oreos. I decided Ki10z was probably really dumb. Probably a blonde with big boobs and a laugh like a retarded ostrich. I shook my head. Even online I could really pick'em. Which is why I'd ended up a devoted bachelor to begin with: my affinity for picking out psycho paths.

I mean the list of psychos I've dated is a mile long. Highlights include Mandah Willaford and Parish Hilton. Those ones were psychos with a capital PSYCHOS and a bullet and underline and bold italics.

Ki10zRsexxxi: purrrrrrrrr

The fuck is that?

I decided I needed to investigate this one more so I clicked on her Yahoo profile. She was indeed a blonde (bottle, obviously bleached, she had dark brown eyebrows) and the photo of her was her wearing a cat costume. It was skin tight. She did indeed have big boobs. I couldn't verify the ostrich laugh, but otherwise I was dead on. Psycho or not though, the girl was dead sexy. I grinned. She was doable.

N8ThaGR38: Nice pic ;)
Ki10zRsexxxi: thx
Ki10zRsexxxi: where u from?

I had Beverly Hills typed before I realized that was a little swanky for Nate. Nate wouldn't live in the Hills. I backspaced.

N8ThaGR38: la
Ki10zRsexxxi: nice me to
N8ThaGR38: were like neighbors
Ki10zRsexxxi: ur pretty sexy
Ki10zRsexxxi: want to have sex?

This was too easy.

N8ThaGR38: yes.

Chris was so stupid. I'd spent less than two hours and already had a woman wanting sex. This was the feminine sexual revolution - Chris was just pathetic for not being able to find a slutty girl to sleep with. It was like they were all turning over a new, clothingless leaf and looking for mates everywhere. I thank Sex in the City for the phenomenon. Girls were just ready to go these days. Chris was just stupid. And kind of ugly.

I swear Chris would have a hard time getting laid in a brothel.

I should buy two boxes of condoms, I decided.

Nate was really good at this scoring sex thing.

Ki10zRsexxxi: okay u start
Ki10zRsexxxi: what r u wearing

Wait what?

N8ThaGR38: um jeans
Ki10zRsexxxi: *pulls them off u*

Oh Jesus. This was not what I had in mind. Cyber sex wasn't sex. It was awkward.

Ki10zRsexxxi: purrrr
Ki10zRsexxxi: *pulls ur boxers off too*
Ki10zRsexxxi: ohhhhh n888888

I stared at the screen. I literally couldn't absorb what I was reading. Seriously? She couldn't even type out the name to fake moan? Seriously?

Then she said some other action stuff - stuff I won't even repeat 'cos it was just that awkward and gross - and even I, the king of the sexual innuendos, felt my face growing red. I spit out the last of the Oreos I was still chewing and reached for the mouse. I clicked the X on the IM and went for the buddylist and signed off quickly. My heart pounded like I'd just run a mile. I rolled away from the desk in my office chair.

"Bitches be crazy," I muttered under my breath.

Chapter Three: Princess Nerys of Hatteras


I decided while I was waiting for my emails to start pouring in from the less psychotic Match.com ladies that I'd entertain myself playing World of Warcraft.

It's my guilty pleasure.

I have an account that I let other people play me on - like fans and stuff - and also a private account that's just me. I don't even have Chris hooked to that account 'cos too many people in our clan on my public WOW account who play with us recognize Chris's avatar and connect two and two together. I mostly used my private account to practice so I look like a pro on my real account. Since Chris and I were basically enemies and I didn't feel much like playing with fans, I decided to go on that private account that day.

I was wandering around Azeroth, just killing time and racking up experience points and the like. Sometimes it's fun not to like do quests, but to just wander and enjoy the scenery. Like digitally smelling the roses. I'd been at it for quite some time, making my way through this forrest that I hadn't taken my clan through in the public game and I happened upon this random cave that I hadn't seen before. I opened up my inventory, changed out my gear, and inched into the cave.

I was hoping I'd find some kind of crazy ass stockpile of treasure. Like an outrageously huge treasure that was undiscovered previously or something. I pictured being the king of the clans. A WOW hero. I took a deep breath and plunged my avatar into the darkness. Suddenly, there was a blade at my characters throat.

"Who are you?" came a scratchy, forceful voice through my headset. "And what do you mean trespassing?"

"Just looking around," I answered. I made my character put it's hands up. I turned my POV until I found the end of the blade in the hands of a warrior enchantress. For a computer generated graphic, she had a great rack.

"Who are you?" she repeated. She leveled her sword again, aligning it with my jugular. If she wanted to, she could kill my character with a stroke of her keyboard.

"My name is --" I paused. "Nate the Great," I said.

"Get out of my cavern," she hissed.

I backed my avatar away, toward the door. "I was just leaving." I wondered what she had in there. "Aloha, my lady," I said. I bowed.

Her avatar didn't move, which meant she wasn't shifting her POV, until I'd gotten out of the cavern and back out to the forest screen. I hovered near the mouth of the cave. Hot damn she must have some incredible shit hidden in that cave to be hiding out in it like that, guarding it. I moved a few paces away, keeping the cave in sights. I wondered how hard it would be to hide from her and wait until she'd come out and get my ass back in there and get whatever it was she was hiding. I could transfer it to my other account...

I hit a command to hide my character behind a bush and wait.

It was then, while I was sitting in the bush waiting for the enchantress to come out of her cave that my email went off. I minimize my WOW screen and opened up my email. It was from Match.com. Someone had messaged me on the site. I got excited and forgot all about WOW and the Enchantress and opened up the email and launched my browser window and started clicking around in this random girl's profile. Her name was Monica and she was from San Diego and she was wearing a bikini in her user picture. She felt the need to tell me her star sign in her initial email.

All plusses.

I clicked reply to user and started to compose an email proposing a date.

Suddenly, I heard a swishing, the crow of an orc, and a chime indicating my avatar was being attacked. "Shit!" I yelled, remembering my WOW was on. I clicked back to the window just in time to see a blade fly through an orc that towered over my little gnome character. The orc fell backward and I swung my POV to see the mouth of the cave. The enchantress was walking over. She leaned over me, pulling her blade from the face of the orc she'd just slain in my name.

"You're welcome," she said in a disdainful voice. "Now you can run along and stop trying to loot my cave." She turned back toward the cave.

"Hey She-Ra," I snapped, "Thanks for nothing but stealing a couple hundred experience points from me," I said haughtily.

She turned. "You would've been dead if I hadn't just saved your ass," she said.

"Bullshit, I was just luring him in."

"You were AFK and you know it," she snapped.

"I was not AFK."

"You were AFK! You were standing there like a useless lump of basilisk dung."

"Tell yourself whatever it takes to make you look like a big deal but I had it under control," I said.

"Talking awful big for a noob that just got his life saved," she said.

"I don't need you to be trying to save my life She-Ra," I said hotly.

"My name is not She-Ra," she snapped. "It's Princess Nerys of Hatteras."

I raised an eyebrow. Okay so here's a thing very few people know about me. When I was a kid, I played a lot of games. One of those games was the RPG Dungeons and Dragons. One of my favorite modules included a character that I'd always secretly wanted to bang - because the drawing interpretations (and dreams) that I had done of her over the years were just so damn sexy, like rivals Leia in the golden bikini sexy - Princess Nerys of Hatteras.

I'd never heard of a girl that would get that reference.

I choked.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? Or are you AFK again?"

"I'm here."

"Good then get the hell out of here."

"Make me," I snapped.

"As you wish, dillweed." And just like that, Princess Neryls swiped her sword and took off the head of my avatar like it was nothing.

Chapter Four: Score One to Nuthin'


It was four in the morning when I woke up, still in my desk chair, my face plastered to the keyboard. My avatar was swishing his sword retardedly as my nose held down the key that commanded him to swing. I sat up and rubbed my face.

It all came back to me as I stared at my poor little gnome who was probably dizzy from spinning all night. I'd spent the night trying to find the cave where I'd found Princess Neryls at again, vengence hot on my mind, swearing that I'd find her, destroy her, and take whatever it was inside the cave that she was hiding. Bitch was going down. Thing was, I couldn't remember how I'd got to the cave in the first place. I'd meandered around in this complex graphic forest for over an hour before I stumbled upon the cave and I hadn't been planning on running the route again at the time so I hadn't been memorizing any landmarks to get my way back.

Consequently, I'd spent the night combing through maps and moving systematically through that forest, trying to find her. But Princess Neryls was well hidden.

Then I realized what had woken me up: my phone was vibrating on the desk beside my computer. It was Chris.

"Urggggh?" I groaned. It was supposed to be hello but it definitely didn't sound like a greeting in any sort of human language. On the screen, I saw my email was flashing. I minimized my WOW screen and pulled my email up as Chris started talking.

"I'm sorry Sleeping Beauty, did I wake you up?" he asked in a teasing tone.

"No," I lied, but it was obvious he had.

Chris laughed, "What's the matter? Was nobody around to keep you up all night?" he asked.

"I didn't feel the need to begin immediately," I lied again.

"Or you couldn't find anyone who didn't know who you were is more like it."

"Piece of cake," I said.

"Well while you've been sleeping, I've been working on securing my stake for first pick for life," Chris said, "I'm driving back to my apartment as I speak from a hotel room where I had sex."

"Masturbating in a hotel room doesn't count," I muttered.

"Score is one to nuthin', my sexless friend."

My inbox had a new message from Monica from San Diego. I opened it and read through it quickly while Chris started describing the woman he'd bagged. Monica wanted to meet up in downtown San Diego later that day at a cafe for lunch. She thought I was cute and bold for asking her out so quickly.

"Yeah well, I have a date later today so I hope the ladies on the strip take your credit card cos you're gonna have to utilize their services to keep up with me," I said.

Chris laughed. "Rush me to the burn unit, your trash talk is killing my freshly-laid heart."

"Bastard."

"Sore loser."

"Don't ever call me again at four in the morning," I said in a snappy voice, though I knew Chris would because he knew that I wasn't really mad.

I hung up and put the phone back down on the desk. I emailed Monica from San Diego back and signed off my email account. Pulling WOW back up, I stared at the screen for a few moments before I noticed I had an invitation to a new chat channel. I clicked on it. It was from Neryls. I opened the window.

[PrincessNeryls] says: arent You the gnome I killed earlier at the cave?
[PrincessNeryls] says: AFK again I see
[PrincessNeryls] says: Getting dizzy?
[PrincessNeryls] says: You should really watch what's happening on your screen when you're logged in Nate the Great...
[PrincessNeryls] says: luckily for you, I don't feel like killing you and looting you for all your worth
[PrincessNeryls] whispers: goodnight Nate the Great

I must've been somewhat close to the cavern because she'd found me. Found me and teased me. And after teasing me for God knows how long, she'd added me as a friend.

A friend.

She clearly didn't know what was good for her. With friend status, I could locate her and her stupid cave next time she logged in and went to it.

I quickly clicked onto my browser to locate her profile. Well shit she was good. I scrolled through looking at all her stats and info. She was damn good. I pulled WOW back up, accepted her friend request, and sent her a message:

[NatetheGreat] says: I see you want to be my friend...
[NatetheGreat] says: Couldn't resist my sexy body?

She wasn't logged on, so I didn't get a reply immediately. I logged off, went and took another nap, and when I woke up I quickly logged back in and went back to work trying to find the stupid cave, combing the forsest once more. It'd been quite awhile when the chat box moved and I looked over at it. It was her.

[PrincessNeryls] says: aren't we conceited
[NatetheGreat] says: More honest than conceited
[PrincessNeryls] says: Well either way... I only added you so I could keep tabs on you. Keep you out of my cavern.
[NatetheGreat] says: most of the ladies beg me to go into their cavern ;)

I grinned to myself.

[PrincessNeryls] says: I'm not like most ladies, if you havent noticed yet.
[NatetheGreat] says: Oh I noticed.

It occurred to me suddenly that Princess Neryls could've been a 47 year old man with a beer gut in the backwoods of the Appalachian mountains. I pictured a guy that looked like Lou Pearlman in dirty underwear hiding out in his momma's basement wearing one of those construction style hats with the beer cans and last night's nacho cheese still stuck in his chest hairs, all crusty and stuff.

[NatetheGreat] says: You are a lady arent you?
[PrincessNeryls] says: Last I checked.
[PrincessNeryls] says: why do you care?
[PrincessNeryls] says: is your clan going to disown you for being beat up by a girl?
[NatetheGreat] says: it hardly counts as being beat up by a girl when your avatar is slain in cold blood
[PrincessNeryls] says: Slain in cold blood? You all but BEGGED me to kill you dumbass
[PrincessNeryls] says: What were you doing in the woods anyways if you didnt know my cavern was there? You obviously dont know your way back or you'd have been there by now.
[NatetheGreat] says: I was just wandering.
[NatetheGreat] says: I saw you don't have a clan or a guild.
[PrincessNeryls] says: Neither do you.
[PrincessNeryls] says: I'm a loner.
[NatetheGreat] says: I think we would make a good team.
[PrincessNeryls] says: realize you'd have been dead yesterday if I hadnt killed that Orc, huh?
[NatetheGreat] says: No I had that under control But I saw your profile and its impressive
[PrincessNeryls] says: I know.
[NatetheGreat] says: Now who's being Conceited?
[PrincessNeryls] says: still you
[NatetheGreat] says: Wanna start a guild? You and I? See how many XPs we can earn each other? Maybe level up, get some good orc slaying practice in?

I don't know what made me suggest it. Something about Princess Neryls had got under my skin, I guess. Somewhere between being impressed she knew who Princess Neryls of Hatteras was and this confrontation had made me want nothing more than to get into her head right back.

[PrincessNeryls] says: I dont think so
[NatetheGreat] says: aw cmon at least think about it
[PrincessNeryls] says: I'm fine alone
[NatetheGreat] says: But theres a ton of quests you cant complete alone and your leveled high enough that some of those quests would probably really do you good...
[NatetheGreat] says: same for me. It's a win-win

She didn't respond.

I glanced at the clock. Somehow I'd managed to waste another several hours since Chris' call. If I was going to get ready and go meet Monica from San Diego, then I really needed to get a move on.

[NatetheGreat] says: You think about it and if you're interested show up at the bar in the town due south tonight around seven and we'll have a pint.

I logged off before Princess Neryls could answer.

I turned off my computer and headed upstairs, stopped by my room to grab a fresh shirt and pair of jeans, and got in the shower. I used my best body wash and shaved real good. I needed to be on my game for Monica from San Diego if I wanted to break even with Chris's score.

Chapter Five: Monica from San Diego


"The pictures on my profile aren't really current," she warned me.

In retrospect, that's when I should've bolted. But I was a dumbass, desperate to tie up Chris's score, so I sat there in my car, watching the door of the cafe I was meeting Monica from San Diego at. I assumed she'd probably put on a couple pounds, maybe dyed her hair or something, you know. Typical thirty-something female activities.

"That's okay," I said.

"I'm glad you're so open minded," she cooed.

I fidgeted in my seat. I just hoped she remembered how open minded I had been later on when I tried to make my move.

We'd been talking on the phone for the majority of my drive to San Diego. Monica was okay. She was a little dull but I'm not really great at listening so that might've been part of it. I'd originally emailed her asking her to call me with directions from the highway to the cafe she'd picked and she'd turned it into a two and a half hour conversation about God-knows-what. I preferred driving with music blasting, but no matter how much I hinted, she woludn't hang up the damn phone. Now I'd gotten to the cafe and she wasn't even here yet.

You'd think she'd have used the time to get ready and get over here so she could meet me instead of continuing to babble the entire almost-three-hours that we'd been on the phone now. I kept glancing at my talk time display feeling antsy.

I wondered what the hell she'd have to talk about during the date if she didn't shut the hell up soon.

"Okay I'm parking my car now," she sing-songed into my ear.

"Okay I'll see you inside," I said. I hung up before she could protest and let out a long, gasping sigh of relief as I was plunged into the silence of my car. I basked in the glow of it for a long moment, eyes closed. When I opened them, it was just in time to see a tallish woman with blonde hair pull open the cafe doors and disappear inside. I'd only seen her backside but hubba-hubba that had been a nice view.

A view worth enduring three hours straight talking? Possibly. That's how good it was.

I climbed out of the car, feeling more enthusiastic than I had been moments before and let myself into the cafe. Monica from San Diego stood a couple feet in front of me, looking around. I walked up behind her, tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned to face me.

I balked.

By not recent she must've been took'em when I actually was 29. I wondered how many times this woman had turned 29. Probably about 29 times, I thought. Jesus H. Christ, she was old enough to be my mother. No, she made my mother look young, even.

Her face broke into a grin. "Nate!" she said, "You look exactly like your picture."

You don't look shit like yours, I thought to myself as she enclosed me in a hug. I patted her back, trying to keep the awkwardness out of my face even as I mouthed swear words of disbelief over her shoulder.

One word came to mind above all others: cougar.

If Chris could see me now he'd be laughing his ass off. Which was exactly why he would be getting a highly embellished version of this tale, wherein Monica from San Diego was about 23 and smokin' hot.

She released me and grinned up at me. Her teeth were yellowed from cigarette smoke and coffee. Her hair was frizzy and had about an inch of roots showing under the bleach. Her eye liner wasn't quite on her eye.

Yeah Chris was gonna get an imaginary account of this day.

I was starting to question if tying Chris was even worth continuing with this venture.

"You're a handsome son of a bitch, aren't you?" she asked.

I swallowed, "I guess."

Monica grabbed my arm, "C'mon, let's get some food." I wasn't sure I was hungry anymore. I felt like I was being led to the kitchen table for a PBJ by grandma. I stumbled after her. We reached the counter. "What do you want, Nate, honey?" she asked.

To get the fuck out of here, I thought. "Uh coffee."

"What about to eat?"

"Not hungry," I muttered.

"Of course you're hungry," she said, "You need to eat." The cashier was staring at me, waiting for my answer. When I faultered and failed to answer, Monica said, "Two turkey pastrami sandwiches." She grinned at me, "they're very delicious," she explained. "You'll like it."

"Okay."

I was trying to think of an escape plan, an out. I thought about texting AJ, telling him to call me with an "emergency" or something. I thought about just telling her the truth, that the thought of being with her was currently making my stomach spin in a counter clockwise direction that made me want to toss some cookies.

But then I thought of Chris and his bragging the night before. I thought about how he'd already scored and how him winning would effect me. He'd call first pick on every woman in the bars just to piss me off and immobilize me. I knew he would. He was just that big of a dick when he wanted to be. I looked Monica from San Diego over. Was it worth it, really?

Really?

She turned then and I saw her ass, which really was nice, considering how old she was it was a damn miracle. I took a deep breath. Maybe with the lights out. Maybe doggy style. There was a way to save this experience from being total hell while still managing to tie with Chris. I could do this.

You got this Carter.

She guided me to a table and we sat down and she sprang into a story about her college-graduate daughter. So she seriously was old enough to be my mom if she had a daughter that was graduated from college.

Don't think about that, I coached myself as she babbled on and on - long enough that our sandwiches were delivered to our table and I managed to drain my cup of coffee and pick a couple bites off the sandwich. I'd lost track of what she was even saying when she finally took a breather, leaned into the table, and stared up at me.

I took a bite of sandwich just to be able to focus on something besides the smudgey eyeliner that had eaked its way into the folds of crows feet around the corners of her eyes.

"So do you wanna go back to my place?" she suggested in a husky voice.

And there it was. The moment of truth. Did I wanna go back to her place? I thought of Chris. I thought of first pick and all the ramifications of losing that. I thought of all the lame ass sex I'd had in the past and how Monica from San Diego had probably been hot back in the day. Obviously, nobody just had an ass like that without having been hot once upon a time..... right?

I put down the sandwich because I literally couldn't handle the smell of food anymore my stomach was grinding so hard. A quick glance at the clock and I knew if I was gonna do it an still be home before seven to get online for Princess Neryls that I had to do it now.

I took a deep breath. "Sure," I said, "Why not."




So on the list of "why not", I'd like to put forth the following for myself in retrospect:

1. Sex with old people is gross.
2. Monica from San Diego smelled like cigarettes -- all of Monica from San Diego smelled like cigarettes (and I do mean all).
3. Monica from San Diego had hamsters in plastic balls that ran around her apartment unchecked. You'd be walking along and then zoom a plastic hamster ball would go flying by and the little rat thing inside would be squeaking as it passed, it's legs flailing around in the plastic.
4. You will ultimately get turned off and have one of the most awkward moments ever.

"It's okay sweetie," Monica from San Diego was saying, pulling her bathrobe over her shoulders, covering up her raisin-like boobs. I was pulling on my boxers. "It happens."

I'd started out okay. I'd envisioned Megan Fox for awhile. I'd almost had myself convinced that Monica from San Diego was a babe. Then she'd taken off her shirt and I'd found myself faced with two old, wrinkly mounds of flesh that could hardly be considered boobs and I'd instantly felt the pressure in my pants deflate. I'd turned off the light and tried to get back into the swing, even managed to fake it for awhile with her, running on autopilot, but eventually we got to a point where there was just no hiding my - er - lack of enthusiasm.

What can I say, sometimes Little Carter knows better than I do about what he does and does not want to get himself into.

A hamster ball rolled by my feet and bumped into the night stand.

Monica from San Diego got up and grabbed a pack of cigarettes off the dresser. She flipped the lid open and grabbed a lighter. She lit up the cigarette and smoke streamed from her mouth a moment later. Everything in her entire apartment smelled like smoke. I'd been breathing shallowly for the last hour. I grabbed my shirt from the floor and yanked it over my head. Monica from San Diego studied my back. "What does your tattoo mean?" she asked.

"It's a nickname," I answered.

"Did you know they spelled chaos wrong?"

"Did they?" I said dryly.

She didn't answer.

I stood up and grabbed my pants as the hamster ball rolled under the bed and out the other side before hitting the wall. I pulled my jeans on.

"You're welcome to stay for dinner," she said. "Maybe we could try again after." Monica from San Diego grinned around her cigarette, baring her yellowy teeth.

"That's okay," I replied. I buckled my belt and tucked my shirt in behind it, letting the rest of it hang loose. I had a feeling my dingdong was gonna be deflated for a few days from the memory of this place. The hamster ball bumped into a laundry hamper across the room.

Monica from San Diego breathed out a stream of smoke. "Are you sure?" she put the cigarette down on an ash tray and shimmied toward me, her bathrobe opening just a bit to show off some wrinkled cleavage. She stared up at me, her eyeliner even more smudgey now. "I could try to...remedy...the situation." Her hand cupped my crotch.

I backed up. "That's okay."

"You're a little young to be having erectile dysfunction," she commented, dropping her hand from my crotch. She grabbed her cigarette again. "You might wanna get that checked out, Nate."

"Yeah," I nodded, "I'll call my doctor."

She took a long drag studying me. Then, "You should get that tattoo fixed," she said. "It shouldn't be too hard to change the K into an H, I wouldn't think. Just add a C."

"Yeah." I grabbed my jacket off the chair. Another hamster rolled into the room. This one rolled its ball to her feet and started bouncing off her ankle. She didn't even look down. "Anyways, I gotta go. Thanks for uh -- yeah." I hustled out of the apartment and to my car as quickly as I could.

I don't care if I didn't actually score. I was counting it as a one-up. I'd been through enough to make it count.

Chapter Six: Granny Porn Model


I felt dirty. I wanted a shower. I wanted twelve showers. I wanted to use that girly body wash that my ex had left under the sink in my bathroom just to get the stink off me. I wanted to roll around in peroxide.

But I got back to LA just in time to log onto WOW and meet up with Princess Neryls. So I skipped my shower and I threw my bag onto the floor and turned on my computer. As it fired up, I shot a text to Chris.

Tied Score.

I wasn't gonna give him any details. But just in case he asked at some point, I'd spent the three hours home trying to convince myself that I'd just had sex with a Barbie doll woman with a sun-kissed tan and thighs like steel.

Within ten minutes I'd logged into WOW and guided my little gnome into the bar in town and I waited for Princess Neryls to login and join me. It occurred to me when I noticed it was a little after 7:00 and she hadn't come in that I didn't know what time zone she lived in. She could've been from anywhere in the world and have no clue what time I meant when I said seven.

"Damn it," I muttered.

My phone vibed. Chris replying to my text.

About to be 2-1.

I sighed. All that I'd been through with Monica and I still hadn't wrapped up the score? Damn. It was okay though, just because I was out to a rocky start didn't mean that I was gonna lose. It just meant AJ's idea of the internet being my source was probably not the brightest one he'd ever had. All I'd managed to do so far was get two freaky girls to contact me.

Oh and also to waste a lot of time on WOW.

Clearly I was gonna have to revert back to the more classic way of picking up women. I needed to go to a club so I could screen them and make sure they were up to par before trying to take them home. Club ladies were usually after one thing anyways and I was gonna be there for'em to provide it. It would take no time at all, I thought, to hook-line-and-sinker enough to take the lead back from Chris with a considerable margin.

After all, I might be telling the ladies that my name was Nate Crosby but I still had the sexual magnetism and physique that belonged to Nick Carter.

I heard a chime and looked up. I had a new message from Princess Neryls.

[PrincessNeryls] says: Dude, are you EVER at your keyboard? everytime I find your you're AFK.
[NatetheGreat] says: I'm not AFK

Seriously in the thirty seconds it took me to look down and read Chris's text message she'd managed to come into the bar and find me. She had a pet bear with her. I'd seen the bear on her profile but from that graphic I'd thought he was a cub. This was a full grown ursa major she had with her.

Impressive.

[NatetheGreat] says: Nice bear
[PrincessNeryls] says: her name is Taka-Too

Another D&D reference. Damn. This chick was hardcore.

[NatetheGreat] says: like the Cloud Bear
[PrincessNeryls] says: yep
[NatetheGreat] says: very cool
[NatetheGreat] says: you give my offer any thought?
[PrincessNeryls] says: I need to get to know you more before I decide to join you or not. See if you're worthy of my assistance and stuff. If I'm gonna get sick of you ten minutes after we start questing its a moot point and im gonna have to kill you off anyways.
[NatetheGreat] says: ok what do you want to know
[PrincessNeryls] says: and u gotta get better with this AFK shit.
[NatetheGreat] says: I wasn't afk just now
[PrincessNeryls] says: where are u from?
[NatetheGreat] says: Azeroth
[PrincessNeryls] says: IRL idiot
[NatetheGreat] says: LA
[NatetheGreat] says: u?

She didn't reply. I waited. I watched her avatar stand there with it's bear. After a couple long moments had passed, I typed:

[NatetheGreat] says: now whose AFK?
[NatetheGreat] says: maybe you should get better with the AFK shit
[NatetheGreat] says: Im just saying
[PrincessNeryls] says: how would u feel about a rondevous?

Now it was my turn to stare at the screen. After my experience with Monica from San Diego, I wasn't sure how I felt about meeting up with someone else from the Internet just now. I chewed my lip.

[NatetheGreat] says: how old r u?
[PrincessNeryls] says: does it matter?
[NatetheGreat] says: a little
[PrincessNeryls] says: then how old are you?

The fact that she didn't wanna answer scared me a little.

[NatetheGreat] says: omg your a grandmother arent you?
[PrincessNeryls] says: Are you one of those sickos that like grannies?
[NatetheGreat] says: ew
[PrincessNeryls] says: Im' just saying they make granny porn for a reason
[NatetheGreat] says: are you a granny porn model?
[PrincessNeryls] says: no
[PrincessNeryls] says: maybe someday
[PrincessNeryls] says: but not now
[NatetheGreat] says: How far from being a granny porn model are you? In years I mean?
[PrincessNeryls] says: decades.
[NatetheGreat] says: like 4+ decades?
[PrincessNeryls] says: maybe even 5
[NatetheGreat] says: but your legally of age to be a regular porn model now?
[PrincessNeryls says: yeah
[NatetheGreat] says: So your from LA too
[PrincessNeryls] says: or the surrounding areas
[PrincessNeryls] says: So?
[NatetheGreat] says: What did u have in mind for the rondevous?
[PrincessNeryls] says: theres a smoothie shop on central
[NatetheGreat] says: fresh oasis...ya i kno that place
[PrincessNeryls] says: well go there tomorrow around lunch
[PrincessNeryls] says: ill be there
[NatetheGreat] says: How will i know its u?
[PrincessNeryls] says: youll know.
[PrincessNeryls has logged out.]

And just like that she'd left.

I stared at the spot on my screen where her avatar had been moments before, which was now empty. I sighed and logged out of WOW and checked my email. I had two emails from Monica from San Diego which reminded me of the horrors that I'd been through earlier and I quickly deleted the emails and jumped up, pulling off my clothes as I jogged up the steps, leaving them wherever they landed when I dropped them. I turned the shower on to the absolute hottest setting it could go to and let it scald the memories of Monica from San Diego off my skin.

I leaned against the wet ceramic interior of the shower as the water beat down on my back. I closed my eyes.

I wondered what PrincessNeryls would look like in real life, if she'd be anything like her avatar, if she'd turn out to be a fifty-seven year old man.

Not that it mattered. The rondevous with PrincessNeryls had nothing to do with my bet with Chris. After the drama with Monica from San Diego, I'd realized there had to be a line drawn in the sand.

PrincessNeryls was one of those lines.

She seemed like way too much of a bitch to even think about banging anyways.

Something had to be wrong with her.

Obviously.

I was still pretty certain she was gonna turn out to be a dude somehow.

Chapter Seven: Heather at the Club


It was only like nine by the time I hauled myself out of the shower and gone downstairs to eat. I chowed down quick on a protien bar and a sandwich, then grabbed a Red Bull and headed out the door. I wasn't gonna sit around in the house all night. I had a score to even. So I swung into my car and drove downtown to one of the clubs. The lights gleamed off my car and I blasted my music and by the time I was rolling into the club I had my swagger going and I felt like I was gonna get lucky. I needed to get lucky just to cleanse my poor pallette of Monica from San Diego.

The lights stroked through the club, lighting it up like nobody's business. The dancers all ground and moshed their way through a pit that filled the center of the room. I glanced around for some direction to gravitate in, and finally settled on heading to the circular bar off to the left. I snaked my way through the dancers, the smell of sweat and mixing perfumes and the light misty vapor that the club had going over the floor filled my senses. Green strobe lights sliced the dark. The music was so loud and the bass so deep the floor shook. I got to the bar and ordered a drink and held it in my hand, swishing the ice, looking around for someone to be my target.

I spotted her without much effort. She was wearing a stringy tank top covered with rhinestones. The tank top looked like it'd been slashed across the front - in a fashionable way, of course - and revealed bits of her skin, only just barely covering everything that needed to (legally) be covered. She had on short-shorts and stilettos and bunch of dark eyeliner. She was laughing through bright red lips. She was with some friends, but they were all drunker than skunks. She reeked of quickie in the bathroom.

I pointed her out to the bar tender, "I'd like to send another of whatever she's drinking over to her," I said.

The bar tender nodded and frolicked off to make her drink. I watched as he carried a big pink thing over to her and put it down in front of her. She looked up and he pointed back at me at the bar and I saw her eyes light up and she thanked him, then got up and carried her drink in my direction.

Well that was easy, I thought. And that made me think of the Staples Easy button. I felt like women in clubs all had a Staples Easy button glued to their asses. I was definitely about to tie with Chris. And hey, if I was right and this was a quickie in the bathroom situation then I could probably take over tonight, too. For the hell of it I glanced around the room as the girl approached to see if I could spot another Easy Button chick.

"Hey," she said, coming to a stop beside me and sipping her drink. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," I replied.

She smiled around the straw, her red lips sucking softly on the end of it.

If only Monica from San Diego could see; I certainly didn't have any ED happening now.

"What's your name, baby?" I asked.

She blinked up at me with big doe-eyes. "Heather," she replied thickly.

"That's a nice name," I said.

She giggled.

"What're you up to Heather?" I asked.

"Just celebrating," she answered, still sucking on the straw. Her face was so suggestive. I knew I really didn't need to invest much more into this.

"What'cha celebratin'?"

"My friend's birthday."

"Well," I said huskily, "Happy birthday to your friend."

"I'll tell her," she said.

I stared at her eyes with all that eyeliner -- properly applied eyeliner. She actually had gotten it on her eyes. And she didn't have wrinkles and she was a college age girl so she didn't have any daughters that age and I was willing to bet this girl thought hamsters and all other rat light objects were gross.

I leaned closer, "Do you wanna... you know...?" I flashed her the Carter grin.

She slipped her fingers into mine and I knew that was a yes. She pulled me to her feet. I saw her friends all start shrieking and cat-calling at us, but I couldn't hear what they were saying over the music. Heather pulled me across the floor, through all the writhing bodies of dancers, away from the bar, toward the far wall. Heather pushed open a door marked Employees Only and we found ourselves in a dark, narrow hallway. A time clock and a mop were on one wall and an open door looking into an office on the other. There was a door in the back wall with a glowing Exit sign over it. She pulled me into the dark office and shut the door behind us.

Twenty-seven minutes later and Chris and I were tied again, even considering his latest one-up from the earlier. Heather was zipping her jeans, babbling about how jealous her friends were going to be. I was peeking out a crack I'd made in the office door, peering out into the hallway. It was still deserted. I turned back to her just as she finished fluffing her hair, "I mean, it's not like all of us have had a chance to fuck a Backstreet Boy."

My blood curdled.

"What?"

"You," she laughed. She stared at me... then her face faultered. "You are... Nick Carter... from the Backstreet Boys.... right?" Suddenly she looked horrified.

I had a feeling I was mirroring the look.

"You knew that?" I asked.

Relief washed over her. Relief did not wash over me. If she knew who I was, then I wasn't tied with Chris after all. Shit.

"I was like a huge fan of you when I was a kid," she said, "Of course I knew who you were. You should, like, die your hair blonde again. It looks way better that way. Why'd you dye it black?" she cocked her head to the side.

"It was a bet with a friend..." I muttered.

"Oh. You lost?"

"Not yet," I muttered. "But it looks like I'm going to."

She looked at me all confused. "I can still, like, tell my friends, right?" she asked. "I mean, like, I would never have banged some random dude at a club if he wasn't a fricking Backstreet Boy, you know?" she looked at me, all doe-eyed and innocent.

Those words, I thought, were almost exactly what the premise of this entire bet with Chris was based upon. I swallowed.

"I'm not like, you know, a slut," she added. Her cheeks turned red. "Oh God, you must think I'm a slut, huh?"

"No..."

"I totally am. Even if you are a Backstreet Boy, I shouldn't have done that. Oh God."

Oh God was right, I thought. I was stuck with a girl having an existentialist crisis in an employees only office in the back room of a club, still one down from Chris because she knew who the fuck I was. And she'd said basically that my hair looked shitty.

I was gonna kill AJ.

She started crying.

God damn it.

"Don't..." I said, "Don't do that. Please."

"I can't help it," she muttered, and she sat down on the desk where we'd just bomp-a-dee-bomp-bomped. Her face was all red.

I took a deep breath. I wasn't getting out of this. I walked over and sat beside her and awkwardly stuck out my arm and timidly put it around her, being careful not to like touch her like too much. It was weird 'cos we'd just had like sex but I still couldn't like bring myself to pull her close or whatever because like she was a stranger and that was weird.

It was the first time that struck me as an odd thing.

Not being able to hug someone that I'd just fucked like a rabbit with was a strange thing. Why not? Because the hug was too personal? The same reason I prostitutes don't kiss their clientele? I thought of that scene in Pretty Woman when Julia Roberts won't kiss Richard Gere (and immediately made a mental note to hand in my man card because seriously? I thought of that movie?).

It took a good twenty minutes of awkwardly trying to convince Heather that I didn't think she was a slut (even though I had thought that, which was why we were here in the first place). I went home close to midnight, still one down from Chris, and feeling rather lame.

It occurred to me, too, that all the sex I'd had in my life maybe had been just because I was a Backstreet Boy and for no reason apart from that. And something about that realization gave me a funny feeling somewhere deep inside. I decided maybe the funny feeling was hunger and I think it might've been because when I got home I microwaved a frozen burrito and that funny feeling was replaced by another funny feeling that had me farting all night long.

Damn burritos.

Chapter Eight: Rondevous


I arrived at the Fresh Oasis the next day at 11:30, just in case "lunch" in Princess Neryls' world was earlier than the rest of mankinds. I sat at the corner table, reading over the menu, glancing up at the door out of the corner of my eye everytime it opened. I didn't have a clue what I was looking for, so every time it opened my stomach clenched for just a moment, waiting for something to stand out that would definitively tell me it was Princess Neryls. I chewed my lower lip.

A waitress came over, her apron was covered with mango bits that had flown out of the blender. "What can I get you?" she asked, tired sounding.

"I uhhmm.. I dunno..." I said, "What's the um... do you have uh..."

She stared down at me. The door opened behind her and, distracted, I leaned around to see a teenage guy walk in carrying a skateboard and talking on his cell phone. "Sir?"

I looked up, "What would you recommend?"

"I don't know," she replied, "What do you like?"

I looked up at her again. She was kinda hot. I licked my teeth. "Do they make a smoothie with your flavor, baby?" I asked, winking.

She stared at me, unamused.

"Acai berry with wheatgrass," I muttered, feeling her glare down at me, "Medium."

"We only have large and small," she answered.

I hate when places only have large and small. It pisses me off. Like a lot. "Why don't you have a medium?" I demanded.

"Because the boss only orders two sizes of cups," she said dryly, "You can call one of them medium if you want but depending which way you go then we either don't carry a small or we don't carry a large."

"Your boss should order medium," I said, "Because there's a lot of people in LA with commitment issues that would be in the same position as me."

"I've worked here five years and you're the first person to have a position about this," she replied, glancing at her watch. The door jingled and I glanced around her again. "Large or small?" she asked.

The person that had just come in was a mother with two kids. I hoped to hell that wasn't Princess Neryls.

I looked up at the waitress. "What if I order the large and I don't like it? Then I'm wasting all that smoothie."

"So order the small."

"But what if I order the small and I love it?" I asked.

"You can always order a second one."

"But then I'm spending like twice as much," I said, pointing at the menu, "The large is only twenty cents more than the small..."

The waitress stared at me.

"It seems like a waste of money to order two smalls when I could order one large."

"Tell you what," she said, "When you decide, you can tell Thomas at the counter what you want. My shift is over and I have some place to be." She turned and walked away.

I stared after her, horrified. "Bitch," I muttered. I turned back to the menu and started trying ot do the math about which one to order while glancing up every time the door opened, half expecting to see Princess Neryls' avatar and bear walk into the room.

Ten minutes went by before I spotted Princess Neryls for sure.

I know it was her because she had the D&D module in her hands - the one that Princess Neryls was in.

I stared at her for a long moment.

It was the mother fucking waitress. She'd come out from the back of the counter after evidently changing somewhere out back, dressed in jeans and an olive green tank top. She had the module in front of her on the table, and a canvas messanger bag all covered with pins and buttons, which she dropped to the floor beside her Doc Martin clad feet. She stared down at the module, her lips pursed, staring at the door with wide brown eyes.

I pressed my palms against the table.

Of course. Like this week could get any worse.

I stood up, fully intending to go out the door, when I realized I didn't want her to think I'd stood her up. She deserved to at least know why I was leaving: because obviously she was gonna decide we weren't compatible, if I couldn't even decide between a large and a small drink. So I swung back and came to a stop at her table.

She looked up as my shadow crossed over the cover of the module.

"Thomas is right up there," she said, waving at the counter, "He can help you. I'm off my shift. I'm just waiting for someone."

"Well I got some kinda bad news for you, Princess," I replied.

She looked up at me. She stared at me with these big chocolate-brown eyes. Her hair hung in messy curls around her slim face. She had a spackling of freckles across her nose and she was that color of tan that said she liked doing stuff outside. I imagined her roller blading down Sunset Boulevard.

"You've gotta be shitting me," she said. "You are NatetheGreat?"

I nodded.

She sighed and looked down at the module. She scooped it up and stood up. "Sorry for wasting your time," she said. She stood up and shoved her chair into the table.

"Hey, listen, I'm sorry for the whole thing with the drink sizes," I said, "I'm not an idiot, I was just distracted... I was looking for you to come in the door, not to be a waitress here... and I just -- Please don't go."

She wouldn't look at me. "It's not that. That's fine. I hate when places don't have mediums, too. I feel like a fatty ordering large and small is never enough. Medium is safe. I get it. I just -- I can't do this, okay? This isn't gonna work."

"Why not?" I asked, "You already get me more than most people do, I mean you get my small-or-large phobia and most people think I'm fucked in the head when they find out I'm afraid of menus without a medium option."

She sighed, "Because. It just isn't gonna work, and I'm sorry, Nate."

She ducked around me and rushed out the door. I hurried after her out onto the sidewalk. She was rushing away, hugging the module to her chest. "Wait! Hey! Waiiitt -- uh, YOU!" I shouted, realizing I didn't even have a real name to call her by, I shouted, "Princess Neryls!"

A couple people looked at me like I was mental as they passed by.

She disappeared around the corner.

I sighed.

Then something on the sidewalk caught my eye.

It was like Cinderella's glass slipper except it wasn't a glass slipper at all. It was a Fresh Oasis name tag, magnetized to a slip of paper with shifts written on it in girly handwriting.

On the name tag, in orange marker, in the same handwriting as the schedule, was Becky.

Chapter Nine: We Still Don't Have a Medium


When I got home, I immediately logged onto WOW and searched for Princess Neryls in hopes of catching her and getting to talk to her about the rondevous and let her know I had her name tag and schedule. I wanted to try again to find out exactly what had gone wrong because I couldn't think of a single thing that had gone wrong - other than the deliberation over the size drink to order, and that she'd said she understood.

She didn't log on all night.

I woke up the next morning on the couch, my computer balanced on my chest, still no sign of Princess Neryls. I glanced at the clock and got up and got dressed and made my way to Fresh Oasis, standing outside the front door at 6:55am with a girl in fitness pants that kept huff-puffing and jogging in place, glancing at her wrist watch. At exactly 7, Becky came out to the front door, still tying a yellow apron around her waist. She spotted me through the door as she pulled the key out of her jeans pocket. She raised an eyebrow, unlocked the door, and held it open. Huff-Puff jogged inside and up to the counter as Becky stepped out and lowered a crank-style awning that hung over two tiny metal tables sets that were chained to the front of the smoothie shop.

"Hey," I said.

"I didn't think I'd see you here again," she said, heading back inside.

"I didn't really get a chance to talk to you yesterday," I said.

She went up to the counter, rounded it, and ignored me, focusing instead on Huff-Puff. Huff-Puff ordered some protien whatever whatever thing that sounded ridiculously healthy and Becky made it for her, and flecks of green spackled the front of her apron and she handed off the small juice to Huff-Puff and she jogged out of the shop. Becky took her time washing the blender, then turned to face me. She stared at me for a moment, took a deep breath. "What can I get you?"

"I don't want anything."

She stared at me. "You have to order something or else you should go."

"I have this." I held out her name tag. I'd kept her schedule though. Just in case. She took the name tag. "You dropped it on the ground yesterday, Princess," said.

She magnetized it to her apron. "Thanks," she said. "I guess you know then that everyone in the real world calls me Becky, not Princess Neryls."

"I was rather disappointed that you weren't really named Neryls of Hatteras," I replied dryly. I grinned. She stared at me with those big wide eyes of hers. The door behind me jingled and some new people walked in.

"Seriously order or leave," she said.

"Acai wheatgrass smoothie," I ordered.

"We still don't have medium," she cautioned.

"Large."

"So decisive today."

I shrugged. "I have my reasons." She turned to make my smoothie. The people that had walked in got in line behind me as the blender rumbled. She turned back to me a moment later with the smoothie. It was a gross purple-green color, almost brown. "Think about the quests and the experience points," I said, popping the wrapper off the straw.

"Nate, just drop it." She turned to the next customer. I stood there a couple feet down the counter from the register, watching her make the next two smoothies. I sipped my drink. When they left she glanced over at me, then grabbed the blenders and made a huge production of washing them off and ignoring me.

"Just -- please, explain why you ran off yesterday," I said.

"Can't handle the idea that a woman would run off from you, huh?" she said sarcastically, "No matter how ugly she may be?"

"Ugly?" I laughed. Becky put the cleaned blenders back on their cradles and cleaned down the counter. "Look, c'mon, I think we could really make a good team. You can't tell me that you seriously could tell from like the thirty seconds that our rondevous lasted yesterday whether I'm a good WOW player or not."

"That's not what this is about," she replied, and she disappeared through a beaded curtain into a back kitchen area.

I leaned against the counter, "What is it about then?"

"I don't wanna talk about it," she called back out.

I sucked on my straw, then called, "C'mon, you gotta tell me what the hell I did wrong."

Becky returned holding a box of grapes. She put the box on the counter and started pulling grapes off the little tree thingies they come stuck to, tossing them into a little covered bowl. "You didn't really do anything, Nate," she replied, "It just was -- it was just painfully obvious we weren't on the same page and -- I couldn't take it. That's all."

"What page were we not on together?" I asked.

Her face flushed. "Can we please just let this go?"

I waved a hand in front of my face, "This is not a face that lets things go easy," I said.

"I just felt so stupid. Like there's even a chance that a guy like you would... ugh. I can't believe I even told you that. Nate, can we just please pretend none of this ever happened?"

"What? A guy like me would what?" I creased my brow.

Becky shook her head, "Forget it."

"A guy like me would what?" I persisted.

"That a guy like you would go for something like--" she waved her arms to indicate herself, "--this."

"What's wrong with that?" I asked, eyeing her, trying to spot a flaw that had been overlooked the day before. The only thing I noticed this time that I hadn't the day before was the small nose ring on the left nostril. "You're gorgeous," I said, "Why the hell would you say something like that?" And I wasn't really lying. I mean maybe a little. She wasn't like a supermodel, I mean. She was typical, average, I guess. Her hair was gorgeous. It hung in long soft curls around her face and her dark eye make up made her big eyes look even bigger, almost animae-like. And sure she could use to lose a couple pounds - maybe even ten to twenty - but she wasn't like fat...

"Please. If I was gorgeous you would've noticed me yesterday before you realized I was Princess Neryls."

"I noticed you," I argued, "We held a whole conversation."

"And in that whole conversation you never once looked at me."

"I looked at you," I said defensively.

"You looked through me."

"I looked around you."

"That's crap. You're a man. It doesn't matter if you were waiting for someone, you'd still notice if a - " she did quotations in the air around the word, "gorgeous woman came over to your table."

"Maybe I'm not like most guys," I argued. She was right, normally I would've noticed her, but I really was just focused on waiting for Princess Neryls to show up at the shop. My distraction really wasn't a reflection on her looks for once. Honestly, if I'd been paying attention, and she hadn't turned out to be Neryls and everything, I probably would've hit on her and planned to come back to tie up Chris's score or something. Which reminded me. "I hit on you, remember? I ordered a you flavored drink," I said.

She rolled her eyes, "You hadn't even looked at me when you said that. It was an automatic response."

"Nuhuh!" But I couldn't remember if it had been or not. It probably had been. I ordered waitresses on buns all the time at this burger joint Chris and I frequented. I always made the you on the rocks joke to sexy bar tenders. It wasn't the first time I'd made a comment like that on auto-flirt.

"Besides, you looked let down or something when you came over," she said. "I didn't miss the look on your face."

"I wasn't let down..."

"Yeah you were. I know I'm not hot like my avatar is but --"

"I wasn't let down," I said, "It's not like I had incredibly high hopes to begin with or anything," I added. "I thought you were gonna be a 57-year old man. At least you aren't that." She blinked at me. I realized that came out wrong. "I mean that in like a good way..." I said.

Becky sighed. "Look, Nate I'm not an idiot, okay?"

"I know."

"You were let down, period. The end of the story. No more conversation." She turned pulled a drawer open, silverware and kitchen tools clanged loudly.

"I wasn't let down, okay, I was scared shitless. I thought you were gonna rip my balls off for not ordering one size or another. I thought I'd blown the chances of you wanting to start a clan with me, okay?" I don't know why, even when I was saying the words, being in a clan with Princess Neryls was so important to me.

"Just... go, okay? Please?" She turned and started sweeping the tile behind the counter.

"Becky, I don't see what this all has to do with the WOW clan idea," I said, "I mean --"

Becky's face was all but neon. "Okay look I thought -- I thought yesterday was a -- a -- you know, a date," she replied.

"A date?" I said, surprised.

"I know, it's ridiculous," she said, rolling her eyes, "God. I can't believe I was so stupid. And then whenever it turned out that you were you..." she shook her head, "I just can't." She stared at me for a long moment, like she was daring me to say something. And I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what to say. No words would come. Then she headed for the beaded curtain, headed back out to the kitchen. "You better be gone by the time I come back out," she said.

I watched the beads swing until they hung still behind her. I imagined myself sitting at a table and putting my feet up, waiting defiantly for her to come back. But I wasn't sure what I'd say when she did.

So I left.

Chapter Ten: I Want A Do-Over


I went out that night again and evened up the score between Chris and I with a ditzy chick at a club. We'd gone back to her apartment and I snuck out after she fell asleep and texted Chris from the backseat of the cab on my way home. When the cab drove past Fresh Oasis, I glanced at the glow of the overnight security lights in the window, and wondered what Becky had thought when she came back from the kitchen and found I'd obeyed her commands. I wondered what she'd think of me now, riding home in a cab after using some random chick from a club to win the first pick for life prize from Chris.

The house was too big when I got home. I signed onto WOW and searched for Neryls only to discover she'd unfriended me. I sent her a new friend request but if she was online and received it, she didn't respond.

I consulted her schedule, glad that I'd kept it, and set my alarm for the next morning.

I was waiting outside of Fresh Oasis the next morning same as I'd done the day before. This time I was alone. Becky paused at the door, a black apron already tied around her this time, her badge already stuck to her chest. She hesitated, staring out the glass at me, then sighed, rolled her eyes, and unlocked the door. "What do you want?" she asked.

"A large blueberry smoothie," I answered.

She stepped outside and lowered the awning, then went in and I followed her. She stepped behind the counter. "Large, huh? You came to terms with the either/or ordering system?"

"Large just takes longer to drink," I replied.

She started making the drink and I tossed ten bucks onto the counter and walked over to a table and settled myself in. When she'd finished making the drink, she turned and hit some buttons on the register, then carried my change and the drink back to me. She put the drink down, but before she could drop the bills and coins I said, "Keep the change."

"What are you doing, exactly?" she asked. She didn't hesitate to pocket the money, though.

"Having a breakfast smoothie," I replied. I lifted the cup and took a long sip of blueberry goodness.

"You're like... stalking me," she muttered.

"I'm not stalking you," I replied.

"Are, too," she answered.

I shook my head.

"Then why are you here?"

"I want a do-over," I said. To be completely honest, I wasn't sure what I was doing there until the moment that the words had come out. It had been something that I'd done on a whim - almost without thinking, almost naturally - and I hadn't fully thought through where I was going with it. But now, with just four, I guess technically five, words, I was John Cusack with a boom box held aloft, In Your Eyes blaring across Ione Skye's backyard.

Becky blinked back surprise, "A do-over? What are you, a five year old playing Monopoly Junior?"

"You thought the rondevous was a date," I said, "So lemme show you a date."

"Bullshit." She turned and walked back behind the counter and I heard her dismantle the blender and toss it into a sink. She looked back at me. "You didn't think it was a date," she said, "Why the hell would you wanna make it a date now?"

"Because," I said, "I desperately wanna prove you wrong."

She raised an eyebrow.

"So?"

Becky disappeared again. Water ran. The blender banged around in the sink. I could only just see the back of her head as she worked. I leaned back in my chair, put my feet up on the chair opposite me. The door dinged and another person came in the shop with a handful of squealing monsterous children. Becky took their orders and made the smoothies and handed them over. A guy came in carrying an orange apron and wearing a Fresh Oasis hat. I recognized him as Johnny - the one I was supposed to order from on the rondevous day - and he nodded to Becky as he headed through the beaded curtain.

Once the family was all settled at a big table across the room from me, Becky came out from behind the counter and stood beside me. "When?"

"Tonight," I replied.

She chewed her lip. "...Where."

"It's a surprise. You can just meet me here."

Becky hesitated. "Are you a good driver?"

"What?"

"How many tickets have you been given in the past?" she asked.

"I dunno... why? What're you --"

"I'm trying to decide if you're driving or if I am. I think I am, if you don't even know how many tickets you've been given."

"Is this a yes?" I asked.

Becky took a deep breath. "I must be crazy."

"Crazy and gorgeous. You're just my kind of woman."

Becky shook her head and walked away, ducking behind the beaded curtain, her cheeks red.

I stood up and carried my blueberry smoothie out the door. If I invested my time wisely today, maybe I could take the lead from Chris before going out with Becky that night... I decided to hit the gym.

After all, there are always desperate ladies at the gym.

And after I found one of them and got my lead... then I could think up some crazy thing to do with Becky that night.

Chapter Eleven: Ectoplasm-Green


I made a mental note that in the future I should just return to the gym whenever Chris said that he was taking the lead again.

It was almost too easy.

Jenny in the Locker Room was a good time, and I felt good about my lead. Chris had failed to respond to my text about one-upping him, which could only mean that he wasn't on the fast track to scoring that night. Which meant I could relax for the night with Becky.

I threw some gel into my hair and a decent shirt.

At Fresh Oasis, I glanced around and quickly affirmed Becky wasn't there yet. I bought a bottle of water and sat in a chair by the door, waiting for her. I glanced at my watch. When I looked back up, I choked on a mouthful of water I'd just knocked back.

Becky was standing in the doorway wearing a pair of bright yellow short-short-shorts and flip flops. She had on a tight white tank top with tiny red flowers all over it. Her hair hung softly on her shoulder, a red flower pinned in it. She held a purse in her hands. She saw me and she smiled and came over. "Hey," she said, coming to a stop beside the table.

I stood up. "Damn," I said.

Her cheeks turned red, "Shut up." She smirked, "You don't have to exaggerate, just be for real, please."

I shook my head, "I'm not exaggerating. Damn." She had thighs of steel.

Becky looked uncomfortable, like she didn't know how to answer my appreciation or something. She thumbed at the door, "Are you taking me on a date to my own work or are we going somewhere?" she asked.

"Holy shit, is that you Beckers?" Suddenly a guy in a Fresh Oasis apron was at my side appraising Becky, too. "Lookit yooou all dolled up!" Then he looked at me, raised an eyebrow, smirked, "Is this Mr. Yummy?"

"Shut up Ricky."

Ricky turned to me. "You are yummy." He winked. Becky looked mortified and swatted at him. Ricky laughed, "Have a good time, Beckers," he called and ran off.

I looked at Becky. "Mr. Yummy?"

"Ricky's gay," she said. "I told him I had a date tonight and he decided you were Yummy. That was not my word."

I grinned.

"Seriously."

"Uh huh."

Becky rolled her eyes and stepped out of the Fresh Oasis doors and I followed her, laughing. The lights of the city were bright. "So where are we going?" she asked as the door of the smoothie shop closed behind us.

"On the perfect date," I replied with a shrug.

"Does the perfect date include food?" she asked.

"Of course," I answered. "You eat real food, right? You aren't like one of those bird seed-and-lettuce chicks right?"

"Food is the best," Becky answered.

"And you aren't a vegetarian?" I said.

"Food is spelled M-E-A-T. I have a cow shaped hole in my heart."

"Good. Then you'll like dinner."

"What about after dinner?"

"There's some entertainment I think you'll enjoy."

Becky laughed. "Okay." She stopped next to a neon green Honda that was parked around the corner from the Fresh Oasis. "Here's my ride," she said, waving her arm.

"Where in the hell did you find an Ectoplasm-green car?" I demanded, stunned by its beauty.

Becky's face broke into a grin, "You are the first person that I haven't had to explain my color choice to!" she laughed. "Look at the plate."

I rushed to look. SLYYYMR.

"Jesus this is the coolest car ever," I mumbled. There was a bumper sticker of the Ghostbusters Ø symbol next to the plate.

"Right? All it's missing is Bill fuckin' Murray," Becky laughed. She unlocked the doors and we climbed inside. She stuck her key in the ignition. A bunch of pins covered the roof of the car. I looked up at them as she turned the car on. Suddenly music filled the speakers. It was Dirty Dancing by New Kids on the Block.

I froze.

If she knew New Kids...

"Sorry." Her face was bright red. She muted the stereo. "I thought I muted it before I got out."

"S'all good," I said, laughing nervously. "So you're a Blockhead, huh?"

"Hugely," she admitted, rolling her eyes up to emphasize. "For like ever," she added. She paused. "You knew who that was?" she asked.

I shrugged.

"Nate, are you a New Kids fan?"

"No," I replied quickly. Maybe too quickly. Donnie and I had been in hot competition during the entirety of the NKOTBSB tour and now apparently I had to compete with his ass with this chick too. "I mean. I have sisters. You know."

Becky laughed. "Uh huh."

I forced a smile. Then. "Do you like any other boybands? Just curious?"

Becky shrugged, "Eh. I mean, I kinda feel like everyone kinda copied NKOTB. Since they were first, you know? They're the greatest, obviously. Donnie Wahlberg is just... oh God, I don't think there's even an adjective."

I had to bite my tongue.

She grinned. "Do you have a thing for boybands, Nate?" she teased.

I shook my head. "Although people tell me I look like I should be in one," I said.

Becky shook her head, "Oh God no."

"No?"

She made a face, scrunching up her nose, "Nawh. You're not -- let's see, how to say this delicately -- you're not girly," she said.

"Girly?"

Becky nodded. "Yeah. I don't know. I went to see New Kids on the Block last year and they were touring with the Backdoor Boys and they're soooooo lame. Oh my God. It was like torture sitting through their parts of the show."

I think my tongue started bleeding.

"They're not so bad," I choked.

"Yeah they are. They were trying so fucking hard..."

I wanted to make a come back. I wanted to talk about Jonathan's trick hip and Danny's mere existence in the band. I wanted to discuss the finer points of some of Jordan's falsetto moments. I wanted to point out that BSB had sold way more CDs than NKOTB. It was killing me not to defend myself. I about opened my mouth to say something about it, to tell her who I was, when she said, "So how old are your sisters?"

I blinked. The question felt deep into left field because I'd been so focused on the her not liking Backstreet Boys bit that I'd forgotten that I'd said I had sisters. I couldn't think fast enough to come up with an answer that was Nate-tailored, so I just said, "Late twenties, earlie thirties."

Becky laughed. "How old are you, for that matter?"

"Thirty-three," I answered. "You?"

"Twenty-nine twice," she replied.

"What?"

"I'm thirty-one," she answered.

"When's your birthday?"

Becky laughed, "April Fools Day. Turns out my entire life is one gigantic joke to the world." She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yours?"

"January," I answered. Then, "Why are you so down on yourself all the time?" I asked.

Becky shrugged, "When you're told something enough times you start to believe it."

Chapter Twelve: Dirty Secret


In Los Angeles, when you bring a girl to dinner, they order a salad then pick at your plate for the rest of the night and drink your beer while their water glass with a lemon slice sits there collecting dust. They say 'no thank you, I'm watching my figure' and wave away the dessert menu, then eat half your dessert and spend at least fifteen minutes complaining that they went over their day's alloted calories.

Becky ordered the same steak and beer as me, refused the starter salad and asked for soup instead, and happily agreed to order dessert. She got chocolate lava cake with strawberries. She actually finished her beer and ordered a second one. It was kinda refreshing to see a girl pack away food like that. I understood where the extra weight was coming from. But obviously the weight wasn't completely unmonitored. I mean, she obviously worked out a little at least because her thighs and arms weren't flabby or nothin'... I grinned up at the surprised look on the weighter's face when he dropped her second beer in front of her and found she'd finished dessert. Apparently he wasn't used to girls who eat, either.

We talked the whole time, too, which was something that was a little new to me because usually when I went out with a girl all we talked about was me, but since I wasn't being me, and I already knew how Becky felt about BSB, we didn't hardly talk about me at all. Instead, we talked geekdom. And I found out Becky was an avid basketball fan, that she literally requested time off for March Madness and spent the week on her couch screaming at the television. She was a Celtics fan, like me, but had a thing for college ball. "It's more interesting," she said, "There's more at stake for the players personally, so they try harder. They're not a bunch of overpaid asshats running around," she explained.

It was nice actually having things to talk about with a girl. My last girlfriend had asked me which sport the Celtics played in and when I told her basketball she said, "I thought the Super Bowl was the last episode of the season on basket ball?"

After we wrapped up at the restaurant and I'd insisted on paying - even though Becky had pulled her wallet out and tried to pay too - we headed back to the Slyyymer and I told her to drive out to the boardwalk. The lights were bright and a bunch of different songs mixed together in the air until there was sort of a music of its own on the boadwalk. She parked and we climbed out and walked along, the salty air breezing by and the roar of the ocean not far off. Piers stretched out across the beach and down below people were sitting on blankets near controlled campfires as the sun was extinguished for the night.

The arcade on the boardwalk is a hot mess of lights and sound and we went inside and I bought us a couple bags of tokens and we walked around laughing and playing the games. She beat the crap out of me at Whack-A-Mole, but I proved way better than her at Ski Ball. We found a couple multiplayer arcade games to play side by side and racked up prize tickets, which we hung around our necks to carry like they were mantles of greatness. I saw little kids watching us, awed by the amount of tickets we'd picked up. We cashed them in for a couple free games of laser tag.

"Do you wanna play now or wait for another time?" I asked.

Becky smiled, "You think there's gonna be another time?"

I shrugged, "Isn't there?"

She laughed, "I guess so. I mean, I can't play laser tag alone." She slipped her pass in her pocket.

Outside it had cooled down. "Shit it's cold," she said, rubbing her tank-top clad shoulders.

"Here," I said, and I pulled off my plaid shirt and held it out to her.

"Now you'll get cold," she complained.

"I have sleeves at least," I said, gesturing at my plain white undershirt. "The crisp air feels good," I added. Becky tugged my shirt on over her shoulders. It hung about fifty lengths too long and she rolled it and tied at at the waist.

We walked out to the end of the pier and leaned against the wood balcony, the ocean thundering below us, the moon turning her skin blue like the people in Avatar.

"So what's your dirty secret, Nate?" she asked, clutching the wood and leaning back, then forward, back, then forward.

"My dirty secret?"

Becky nodded. "Why are you still single, what's wrong with you? Because every nice guy left on the planet is already attached." She shrugged, "What's your dirty secret? Are you an axe murderer? In the closet? A sexaholic? Are you dying of cancer or AIDs or something? Escaped the padded rooms they've kept you locked in since they came to take you away - ha ha, ho ho, he he? Might as well 'fess up, I'm gonna find out eventually, and we might as well know the dirty stuff now."

I shrugged, "There's not really anything, I guess," I said, "I'm just a bachelor. I've just always liked the single life, you know? Not answering to anybody, not having to grow up. I can do what I want, when I want. Nobody bitching I spend too much time on video games and stuff. Plus work keeps me busy."

"What do you do?"

I said the first thing that came to mind. "I work at a recording studio." This wasn't a complete lie.

"Very cool," she said. She stared out at the water.

"What about you?" I asked. "What's your dirty secret?"

Becky blinked in the silence for a moment. Finally she turned to me and rolled up the sleeve of my shirt from her wrist and held it out to me. I looked at it. There were scars all along her wrist and forearm. Thin diagonal stripes, faded with time, but there none the less. She was staring at me, waiting for a reaction but I didn't know how to react, what to say. It was like my ability to speak had been taken. After a long moment, she shook the sleeve back down and turned back to the ocean.

"Why?" I asked. It was the only thing I could think to get out.

"I weighed over three hundred pounds in high school."

"Damn," I said. And I wanted to smack myself the moment the words had come out because that was not the response that needed saying at that moment. "I mean... because you lost the weight and all, that's impressive. I didn't mean it like --"

"It's fine if you did, I'm not who I was in high school anymore," she said, shrugging.

"So how did you lose it?"

"I started throwing up," she said. "Every time the kids at school made fun of me I'd throw up and I took these crazy diet pills. I tried so hard to lose weight but it never seemed to come off. And they'd laugh at me and yell boom bada boom bada boom when I walked through the halls. They called me Big Becky. For senior prank they tied me to the flag pole out front and stuck an apple in my mouth in the morning before class and nobody noticed or came back for me until fifth period."

"Jesus," I said.

Becky shrugged.

"High school kids are assholes," I muttered.

"I started cutting in senior year," she said, "I'd get so depressed and I'd lock myself in the bathroom during lunch and cry and cry in the stall... Everyone in my family was heavy, we're Italian by descent and my grandmother was a chef so... And when I'd cry to my mother and tell her about the kids calling me Big Becky her response was always that in time things would smooth out, that I was beautiful like I was, that they'd see that in the world after high school I'd be the one that triumphed. But that didnt help when they made fun of me and threw food at me in the cafeteria, you know?" Becky's eyes were tearing up. I felt a hollow pain in the pit of my stomach for her. I wanted to make it better, I wanted to take the tears away. She swiped at them with the back of her hand, "When I started cutting, my mom sent me away for treatment. They found out about the throwing up, and even though I was super overweight I was technically anorexic because I hadn't been eating and my insides were hella messed up... It took a long time for me to get better. It's an ongoing recovery." She looked out at the ocean again, leaned against the wood railing.

"Well, I think you're gorgeous," I said.

She closed her eyes.

"I ain't just sayin' that either," I added. "You really are beautiful. Really."

"Thanks," she said, her voice only just above a whisper. "I wish I believed you."

Chapter Thirteen: Like A Virgin


We stood out on the dock in silence together for a long ass time before some obnoxious drunk teens started showing up around us and Becky suggested we walk. So we made our way down onto the beach and Becky kicked off her flip flops to walk barefoot. "So tell me about you," she said, "There's gotta be more to you than WOW and work. Just tell me something. Anything."

I licked my lips. "I don't know that there is much, really," I said. "I'm a relatively uninteresting guy."

"That's bullshit."

I laughed, "How do you know? You don't know me."

"You're right I don't," she said, "But I'd like to. So c'mon. Tell me something. Anything."

"Do I at least get a category?"

"Favorite band."

"Journey, hands down."

Becky laughed. "I love Journey too. Don't Stop Believing is genius."

"I like Lights," I said, "It reminds me of home for some reason. I don't really know why, I don't think it's really about Tampa, but I always just picture Tampa when I hear it and it makes me homesick sometimes."

"Where's home?"

"Tampa Bay," I answered.

"Florida."

"Yeah."

Becky laughed, "When I picture Florida, I picture old guys in Speedos, plastic lawn flamingos, and alligators."

I laughed, "I do, too. That's what's great about it, though. It's all those things. It's laid back. Not like here where everything's fast paced and glitzy and beautiful. You know? The only way to fit in here is to be an innovative botox laced celebrity or you're shit." I shrugged.

"Or serve those that are," Becky said. "I get asshats like that at Oasis all the time. They bitch me out over the stupiest things."

"Like not having medium cups?" I asked.

Becky laughed. "That's exclusively you."

"Yay, I'm exclusive," I grinned.

Becky smiled. "It's just like high school, Los Angeles is. I'd love to live somewhere that they don't give a flying fuck if you're fat and have wrinkles around your eyes. Florida sounds like Oz."

"If you replaced munchkins with old people, pretty much."

We'd walked a long distance from the pier and the boardwalk. It was completely dark other than the moon glowing off the ocean. Becky sat down on a rock, dropping her purse and flip flops to the sand beside her feet. I sat next to her. The ocean rumbled and white foam hissed a few feet away. Tide song. I closed my eyes and felt the salt air brush on me.

"I love the ocean," I mumbled.

"It's nice," Becky said.

"Sometimes it's the only thing that centers me. It's like the ocean sound echos my heartbeat. When I've had a shitty day, I come here and just breathe and it's like everything falls into place again, like everything's made right by it."

"That's how I feel about my favorite song," Becky said.

"What's your favorite song?" I asked, looking over at her.

"Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley," Becky answered.

"Not a New Kids on the Block ballad?" I said, mock surprise in my voice.

"And I suppose yours is?" she teased.

"I already told you mine."

"Lights."

"Yep."

"What's your favorite non-Journey song?" she asked.

It'd been awhile since I'd thought of that. My tastes had changed. There was a time I'd had a ready answer. Now my second favorite song could be any song from an ever growing list of songs. Pretty much every other song on my iPod had the moment when it became my second favorite song. They took turns. I was an equal opportunity listener. After a long pause, I said, "I've had Down Under by Men at Work stuck in my head for the last week."

Becky cracked up. "Oh God Nate, are you sure you're not gay?"

I laughed, "Don't judge it."

"Why in the hell do you have Men at Work stuck in your head?"

"I dunno, it came up on my shuffle and --"

"You own Men at Work music?"

"I own pretty much everything," I answered, "My music collection is quite extensive."

"I'd like to see it."

"Okay," I replied.

We got up and started walking back down the beach. We were almost back to the boardwalk when Becky cursed. "I forgot my purse and my shoes," she said.

"I'll go get 'em," I answered.

I ran back, the sand kicking up behind me as I went. I heard her laughing when I stumbled. I got back to the rock and grabbed her purse and shoes from the sand. My phone vibed in my pocket. I pulled it out real quick. It was Chris.

He'd scored after all.

We were tied again.

Shit.

I handed her her stuff when I got back to her, but my mind was now reeling on how to take the lead back from Chris yet again. When we got to the car Becky said, "You got quiet. Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't offend you making fun of Men at Work, right?" she asked, "Or like suggesting you were gay? 'Cos I was kidding. Ricky's my best friend and he's as flaming as it gets. If you were gay, he would've known it back at Fresh Oasis. I know you aren't."

I laughed, "You mean Ricky's the only reason you know I'm not? My manly qualities didn't tip you off?"

Becky snorted. "You recognized New Kids on the Block, if it wasn't for Ricky you'd totally have me stumped."

"You're making me reconsider showing you my record collection, you know."

"You have a vinyl collection?" she asked.

"Everything's better on vinyl," I answered.

"I'll be good, I swear," she said in a robotic voice, "Take me to your vinyl."

Laughing, I directed her how to drive back to my house. When we entered the gated community, she muttered, "Shit, you must be loaded."

I shrugged.

We pulled into my driveway and I walked up to the front door and unlocked it. I led her quickly through the foyer to the stairs and up to my music room. I made a mental note to be careful not to take her into the living room because that's where all my BSB stuff was. I'd have to take that down if I wanted to stay being Nate to her. And I kind of liked being Nate. It was freeing. It was like there wasn't any expectations, which was something that I'd always struggled with: living up to what was expected of Nick Carter.

The music room though was a small den-like area I'd made for myself with bean bag chairs and the best sounding equipment money could buy. I'd lined the walls with posters and album artwork. I had a black light in there, candles, you name it. The carpet was soft. I flipped the overhead light on. One entire wall I'd covered with shelving units that held my records, like an old time radio station's sound booth. Becky's eyes lit up. "Sweet Jesus," she muttered. She rushed over and started flipping through the various records.

I watched her, watched the way she moved, the way her hips moved. I watched her fingers. It occurred to me suddenly that even if she wasn't technically part of the bet, even if it hadn't been my initial plan, it would still count as a +1 if I slept with her because she didn't know who I was.

I closed the door. My heart was pounding in my chest.

I felt slightly guilty for even considering doing this.

I reached for the box of matches I kept on a side table with my various pairs of headphones. I started lighting candles as Becky squealed over records. "Oh my God, I can't believe you have this one --" she'd say, holding one up to read it, "I love this song. Oh my God, I bet this is so good on vinyl."

She didn't notice the candles. Or if she did, she didn't act like she had.

"Madonna!" she squeaked. "Nate, you have an incredible --" she turned around. The candles were all lit around the room, giving it a low. I was back at the door, about to turn off the light. "-- collection," she finished.

My finger brought the switch down. "Thanks," I said. I walked over and took the Madonna record out of her hands and put it up on the shelf in a random spot. She stared up at me, terrified-looking. I leaned in, about to kiss her, when she backed away, like shrapnel being shot from a gun.

"I can't," she said from a couple feet away.

"Why?"

Becky took a deep breath, "Nate, I've never..."

"That's okay," I said. Actually it was better than okay. A virgin? Seriously? It was too good to be true. Nobody that beautiful was a virgin in Los Angeles. "I'll be gentle..."

"No Nate, it's not just about sex," she said. "I've never even kissed before."

I could all but hear the scratching record sound as the thoughts in my head came to a complete, sudden, and total stop. "Say what?"

Becky's face turned a shade just shy of magenta. "I've never kissed. I don't know how to. I'm afraid I'll be bad at it."

"How are you thirty-one and never been kissed?" I demanded.

"I told you about high school and everything," Becky said, "Nobody wants to kiss Big Becky."

I shook my head, "I do." I took two quick steps forward and started to lean in again. Becky looked terrified, but she let me come closer and closer until our lips met. I tilted my head slightly so our noses wouldn't bump. At first she was stiff and scared feeling, but she melted and the next thing I knew I had the softest, sweetest lips against mine. I pulled back. Her eyes were still closed, still relishing the feeling. After a moment they opened.

"Thank you. I should go," she whispered.

"You sure?"

Becky nodded. "Positive. But thank you." She started for the door.

"Wait."

She turned.

I turned to the shelf, looked through the records quickly, and pulled out a copy of the first NKOTB album on vinyl. I held it out to her. "This deserves a home where it'll be taken care of." Donnie had signed it the year before when he'd come here to record a couple samples at my home studio for Don't Turn Out the Lights. He'd dug through my LPs, and found it, laughed, and signed it without me asking for him to. Honestly it'd kind of annoyed me because I'm one of those people that like their albums in mint condition. I hadn't even taken it out of the plastic because I literally had only bought it to round out a collection, not to actually listen to it. But his signature was in a silver sharpie that scrawled across the front of it.

Becky stared at the cover, at the signature. She looked up at me. "Thank you," she whispered.

I showed her down to the door and watched her walk across the lawn to the Slyyymer. She waved from the driver's side door and swung herself in, putting the record on the passenger seat. She started the car.

I ran out across the lawn to the car. She unrolled her window when I got there. "Yes?" she asked.

"When can I see you again?" I asked.

Becky laughed, "I just assumed you'd be getting another breakfast smoothie tomorrow," she replied, smirking, and rolled her window up again before backing down the driveway.

I went back inside and spent the rest of the night tucking my gold records, awards, and pictures with the guys into a spare bedroom.

I'd just have to find another girl to take the lead back from Chris again with, that's all.

Chapter Fourteen: Pictures


Rhonda was a twenty-seven year old who caught my eyes while she was running on the treadmill. She was lean and blonde and the perfect candidate for taking back the lead. I caught her attention by buying her a bottle of water. We talked and within twenty minutes we were in her car, parked behind the gym and getting pretty serious. She had her legs wrapped around my waist and my tongue was somewhere around her tonsils and my shirt was gone and hers was mostly unbuttoned. I ran my hands under it, across her flat abs and towards her stretchy lyrcra gym shorts.

But the entire time I was thinking of Becky.

I'd spent the morning at Fresh Oasis, where Becky had made me a Blueberry Oatmeal smoothie for breakfast and I'd watched her clean off tables while we chatted for a couple hours about WOW quests and the prospect of a new Ghostbusters movie. We debated about current storylines going on The Walking Dead and reminisced about Choose Your Own Adventure books that we'd both owned when we were kids.

Then, when the mid-morning rush had hit Oasis, I'd gone to the gym and met Rhonda.

I kept glancing at my watch, calculating how long until Becky got out of work and I could go see her.

Meanwhile, outside of my head, in the back seat of her car, Rhonda gasped as I pushed my hand into her underwear.

I wondered if where I was right now was close enough to sex that if I were to stop it would count as a one up. I mean, did I have to follow through once I ascertained that they would've had sex with me if I'd wanted them to? Did I have to be a manwhore in order to prove my point?

Rhonda slipped her hands around my neck and into my hair, clutching onto my hair. Her chest heaved as she breathed beneath me. "Oh God yeah," she groaned.

Suddenly my phone vibed. Rhonda jumped and moaned. The phone was in my pocket in my jeans, which were currently pressed between us. Thank you, I thought, Whoever you are, I owe you big time. I pulled it out of my pocket. Rhonda opened her eyes as I answered it. "Hello?"

Rhonda looked pissed.

"Nick? It's AJ."

"Jay?" I said, I paused, then I said, "Where are you? Are you okay?"

AJ sounded confused. "What?"

"Oh my God. I'll be right there." I hung up. I looked at Rhonda. "I gotta go," I said, feigning shock. "Oh God. I gotta go." I grabbed my shirt from the seat behind me and struggled to put it on, hitting my wrist on the roof of the car.

"What happened?" she asked. Concern flickered on her face.

"My friend Jay's been in an accident," I answered. I crawled back and opened the door of the car. "I'm sorry. I gotta go see him. Call me." I took off across the parking lot, knowing full well that I hadn't given her my phone number.

I climbed into my car, started the ignition, and peeled out of the parking lot like I really was hustling to get to the hospital. I drove a couple blocks and parked, then called AJ back.

"What the fuck was that all about?" AJ demanded when he answered the phone.

"I was in a situation I needed to get out of and I kinda used your call as the catalyst," I replied.

AJ laughed. "Oh. Love life not going so smooth, Nathan?" he joked.

"Ehhh," I replied.

"Who's winning?"

"I am now," I replied.

"By how much?"

"Five to four," I answered.

AJ let out a low whistle. "I can't believe Chris has slept with four girls in a week and a half," he laughed.

"Me either."

"You said you were gonna give me details, though," AJ said, "You've failed me."

"You failed me first," I replied, "You should've seen the fun house joke your damn idea sent me off to."

AJ laughed, "Oh really? This I need to hear."

So I sat there in my car for almost an hour recounting my sexual adventures with Monica from San Diego, Heather at the Club, Jenny in the Locker Room, Ditzy Blonde from the Gym, and Rhonda in the Parking Lot.

"Sounds like you've been busy," AJ said. "So which one of these girls is the one you were out with last night?"

"What?"

"You ain't seen Twitter today, I take it?"

"No, why?"

"There's pictures of you online from last night. Some drunk chick on the boardwalk spotted you with a girl, took a couple pictures, posted them online bragging she saw Nick Carter and his new girlfriend...?"

"Fuck."

"So which one was that, 'cos she was pretty hot, I'm just saying. She's gonna be damn shocked to find out the random dude she fucked last night was a Backstreet Boy," he laughed.

"No, no... AJ, you gotta help me get those pictures forgotten about."

"What?"

"She can't find out like that. You gotta help me get rid of the pictures."

"How the hell do I get rid of the pictures?"

"I dunno. Post on Twitter that I was with you last night. Use one of the pictures you've got of us hanging out somewhere with my blonde hair before we dyed it. Please. We'll play off the look-a-like thing."

AJ was quiet a second. "What's the big deal? So what if the girl finds out who you were after the sex? It doesn't change the bet or the score... right? Or did Chris put some fucked up claus in the bet?"

"He didn't, this has nothing to do with the bet. This girl is different. Please AJ."

"Who is she?"

"Her name is Becky."

"Becky?" AJ sounded real interested now, "Where's Becky fit into the picture?"

"I met her on World of Warcraft," I answered, "We've hung out a couple times. I stuck with the Nate thing because... well just because. Please, can you help me? I don't want her to find out who I really am."

I felt like I was gonna be sick. There was no way in hell that Becky could find out who I really was. She just couldn't. No way. She'd never speak to me again. It was better this way, with her completely clueless and me just playing along, being myself without actually being myself -- no expectations.

"Okay. I'm logging onto Twitter right now." AJ said. A couple moments later, "There... you and I were bowling last night. You had blonde hair and I beat your ass a good'un." He chuckled.

"Really? You beat me? You could've at least made the lie believable," I joked. Relief felt like a cold glass of water on a hot-hot-hot day.

Chapter Fifteen: I Get That A Lot


When I pulled up to the Fresh Oasis, I was about fifteen minutes early to pick Becky up. Ricky was standing outside, squatting, smoking and texting on his cell phone, leaning against a potted palm tree that stood to the left of the Oasis' door. I parked and got out of my car, hit the lock button. Dwoop, dwoop, the car sang. Ricky looked up, took the cigarette out of his mouth, and stood up. "Hey Mr. Yummy," he said. He had on a pink apron and a yellow gingham button down shirt with a pink tie. He wore pink skinny jeans and a pair of the classic Van sneakers in yellow. Everything on the guy matched. He looked like he could have starred on Queer Eye back in the day.

"Hey," I said. I shoved my keys in my pocket and started for the door.

"Wait," he said, "I need to talk with you."

"What?"

"You're aware how freakishly similar you look to Nick Carter from the Backstreet Boys," he said.

It was a statement more than a question, so I just nodded my consent. "I get that a lot," I said. I figured trying to deny it would seem weirder than just accepting and moving on. I started to walk away again, but he caught my arm.

"I'm, like, a huge fan of them," Ricky said, "Just so you know." He stared at me for a long moment.

I nodded.

He shrugged. "I just wanted you to know," he said. He started toward the door.

I had this sinking, deep feeling he knew.

"Don't tell her," I begged.

He glanced back at me. "If you hurt her -- I swear -- I might be tiny, and I might be weak, but I will so, so, so kick your ass like there ain't no tomorrow, you hear me?" He snapped his fingers. "I got friends that work out, I'm just saying."

"Okay Ricky," I said.

"She doesn't deserve no more pain, she's been through enough," Ricky warned me.

I nodded.

He turned and shoved his way into the Oasis' front doors. I followed at a slight distance, my mind reeling over what he'd just said. Becky smiled and waved from behind the smoothie bar as she untied her apron. She disappeared into the kitchen for a couple moments, then came out, high-fived Ricky, and came over to me, tugging her hair out of the pony tail she'd put it into. "Hey," she said, smiling, "Have a good day?"

"Yeah it was a'ight," I replied.

She breathed in, "You smell funny."

"What?"

"You smell like --" she leaned closer and pressed her face into my chest. "You smell like perfume." She looked up at me, one eyebrow raised.

I laughed, "I went to the mall. You know the guys that squirt random scents on you as you walk by?"

"Really? They sprayed you with girly perfume?"

"It's cologne, believe it or not," I lied.

Becky laughed, leading the way out the door, "Well never buy that kind cos it makes you smell like a woman."

We walked down the sidewalk to the Slyyymer. I kept glancing around for renegade photographers, half expecting a full fledged paparazzi crew to leap out of the bushes at any moment.

"Soooo," Becky sang out, "Do you wanna use the laser tag passes tonight?"

"Nawh." Going back to the boardwalk sounded dangerous to me somehow. Like returning to the scene of the crime after pulling a bank job.

Becky laughed, "Okay. So what do you wanna do then?"

I tried to think of something that we could do without the chance of being spotted. I wanted to fly under the radar. "We could go home and watch movies," I suggested.

"What movies?" Becky asked lighting up.

"I dunno," I replied. "What movies do you wanna watch?"

She thought for a moment. "I haven't watched the Lord of the Rings in awhile," she said. "I don't work tomorrow. Do you work tomorrow?"

I didn't work again until the Boys and I went on tour.

"Nope," I replied.

"See? Serendipity," she said, grinning. "We can pull all nighters and watch Gollum get devoured by the power of Mordor."

I laughed, "Okay. Lord of the Rings it is then."

"And maybe if we stop by my place real fast I can get my lap top and maybe while we're watching the movies we could go on a quest." She grinned.

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow, "A quest requires being in a clan."

"I know," she replied.

"So you wanna be in a clan with me now?"

She shrugged, "Maybe."

"Decided I'm not so bad after all huh?"

"Eh. You're okay."

"Damn straight I'm okay," I laughed.

Becky rolled her eyes. "Don't go getting full of yourself, sir," she warned, "Or I'll have to slice your gnome's head off."

"Oh baby, my gnome likes it rough."

Becky drove from the Fresh Oasis across town to a squat house on a corner. A Lincoln sat in the car and a sprinkler ran on the lawn, turned onto its lowest setting. She parked on the curb out front. She stared at the door for a moment. "You want to wait here, or..."

Something about her voice told me she wanted me to wait in the car. Which peaked my interest, of course. "I'll come in," I said. "I'd like to see where you're from."

"Okay." She climbed out of the car and I did, too. I followed her up the walkway to the squat house. She paused at the door, her keys in her hand about to slip into the lock. She turned to face me and looked me square in the eyes. "I live with my Dad," she said in a rush, "He's old and he's half blind and half deaf and he's crotchety and he's probably going to say something offensive and embarassing and probably call you Bill because he calls every guy ever Bill." Becky's eyes were wide with anxiety. "And also my brother's probably here somewhere. If he shows up... just... ignore him."

"Okay?"

"He's kinda crazy. Like seriously he's crazy. He gets freaked out by new people in the house."

"Okay..." I was starting to think maybe I should've stayed in the car. "Where's your mom?" I asked.

"She's dead," Becky replied. And before I could even wrap my mind around the words she'd said, much less come up with a response, she'd turned back to the door and opened it up. The first thing I saw was a giant fish tank. And the second thing was a giant dog... as it leaped through the air and knocked me backwards to the ground.

Chapter Sixteen: Nice Meeting You, Bill


"SCOOBY! NO! DOWN!" Becky's voice was shrill. The dog wasn't just giant, it was humungous. It'd knocked me down flat on my back, knocking the wind out of me, and proceeded to stand on top of me, lapping my face and hair with this colossal tongue that felt rough as sandpaper. Becky yanked the dog off me by its collar and I crab-walked backward a few feet across the lawn. It was a Great Dane. Or maybe a horse. It was that big. "SIT!"

The dog sat.

It was almost as tall as Becky.

"Jesus," I gasped.

"This is Scooby Doo," she said.

"Then I guess I should've said Zoinks."

Becky laughed. "If your hair was blonde, you would look sorta like Shaggy actually." She held the dog's collar tight and offered a hand to me. I leaped up though in a single fluid move that I'd perfected over the years on stage with the fellas. Becky looked impressed. "How agile," she commented. Then she started dragging Scooby back into the house.

Anyways, like I was saying before the dog thing -- the first thing I saw walking into the house was a giant fish tank, which glowed blue in the otherwise dark entry way. Saltwater fish zoomed around inside and the filter hummed quietly. Somewhere in the house, a TV was running and I could just barely make out the sounds of some old western cowboys and indians movie echoing off the walls.

Becky let go of Scooby's collar and he proceeded to come over and shove his nose in my crotch, sniffing.

I waved him away, but he stayed there sniffing anyway, keeping me cornered by the door.

Becky didn't notice. "Dad?" she yelled, walking out of the entry way.

I stared down at Scooby. "Good Scooby," I muttered, hoping he didn't suddenly decide to bite my crotch off.

"Nate?" Becky called a momet later.

"Uhhh huh."

"My dad's in here if you wanna come meet him..." she appeared in the door way again and saw what Scooby was doing. "You sick bastard," she said, "Get over here Scooby." She clicked her fingers and he quickly trotted over to her. The crotch of my jeans were now all wet from his nose. Oddly enough I think I had the start of a hard on, too. God damn it. "Sorry about that," Becky said.

"Yeah," I replied, wiping my jeans as best I could with my palms, not daring to press too hard lest said hard on got more obvious.

I was kind of freaked out that Carter Junior would come to attention for a dog sniffing my nether regions.

Becky led the way through the house. It was old fashioned, like the last time it'd been renovated was the mid-seventies. It had this weird burnt orange colored wall paper with strange triangular patterns in a more goldish-yellow color all over it, with dark walnut colored paneling lining the rooms at waist-height. We stepped through an arched doorway into a living room and we found the source of the cowboys and indians - it was Gunsmoke, playing on an old TV that looked like the one my grampa used to watch in the eighties. A guy who was probably in his late sixties sat on the couch. He looked like Archie Bunker.

"Daddy, this is Nate," Becky said, "He's the guy I went out with last night."

Becky's father stared up at me, squinting. He clapped his hands and the lamp beside him turned on. The lamp was close enough it would've been just as easy to flip the switch as it was for him to clap. "Impressed?" he asked when he caught me judging how close the lamp was and appraising the effort it took to clap compared to flip it manually. "It's a clapper," he said.

"I see that," I answered, "Very cool."

"Claps on and --" he clapped again, "Claps off, too."

"Very cool," I repeated.

"You two get acquainted. I'll go get my computer so we can go," Becky said and she jogged out of the room.

Scooby Doo came over and shoved his nose back into my crotch.

Her father clapped the lamp back on. He stared at Scooby attached to my crotch, then looked up at me. "Are you hiding pot up your yazoo?"

"Excuse me?"

"Scooby Doo was trained in the K-9 police force. He's retired, that's how he came to live with us."

"That's very cool," I said.

"That dog can smell drugs a mile away."

"I don't do drugs," I replied.

Scooby Doo continued sniffing.

Becky's father shrugged, "Must just like'ya then." He hit the mute button on the TV. He studied me a second. "What'd she say your name was? Bill?"

"It's Nate, sir," I replied.

"My names Bruce," he said.

"Nice to meet you Bruce."

Scooby Doo was still in my junk.

"So, Bill, you're dating my daughter," said Bruce.

I decided not to correct him. "Yes sir."

"Why?"

Why? What the hell kinda question was that. I waved at Scooby Doo, trying to get him to go away. How do you answer a question like why are you dating my daughter? I glanced around. I didn't see any shot guns or shovels. Scooby Doo wouldn't stop, no matter how many times I shooed him. Maybe Bruce had trained him to do such so that if he decided to castrate the guy that dated his daughter all he had to do was say Sick Balls like the guy at the junk yard in Stand By Me.

"She's beautiful," I answered, "And funny and we like the same stuff." It was a lame answer but it was all I had.

He studied me, then grabbed the remote and turned the TV volume back up.

At least he hadn't told Scooby Doo to sick my balls.

I stood there awkwardly cornered by the dog and ignored by Bruce when Becky returned hugging an orange laptop to her chest. "Scooby! No!" she yelled, shooing him away. "Dad, why didn't you tell Scooby to back off?"

"Was he doing something wrong?" Bruce asked, looking up.

"Besides being obnoxious to our guest? No."

Bruce was focused on the TV now.

"Dad, I'm going over Nate's, we're gonna watch movies. I'll be home in time to make you breakfast. Don't wait up."

Bruce didn't even look up, "Nice meeting you Bill."

"Bye sir," I replied.

Becky ushered me out of the house, and she pushed Scooby Doo back in when he tried to follow us out. She pulled the door shut and locked it behind her as we walked down the walkway to the Slyyymer. "Sorry about that," she apologized, looking down at my slobber covered jeans.

"It's all good," I replied.

"At least you weren't subjected to my brother," she laughed.

"Your dad was nice," I said.

She snorted. "He's never nice."

"Well he did accuse me of having pot shoved up my penis, but that's about it."

"He what?" Becky laughed. "Oh Daddy, that is a new low." She climbed into the Slyyymer. I was climbing in, too, when I noticed a guy standing in an upstairs window, staring down at us.

But Becky pulled away from the curb before I got a good look at Boo Radley.

"I always wanted to be adopted," Becky commented.

Chapter Seventeen: Molly's The Yellow One


Becky was laying across my couch, her legs up on the arm of it, her hair in her face. I was laying on my back on the floor, my computer propped on my chest. We were halfway through The Two Towers, and about a quarter way through a quest on WOW. On the screens, epic battles raged. Princess Neryls was destroying more orcs than the characters on TV were.

"So what's the story with your brother?" I asked. He'd been haunting me all night. I was Scout and I wanted to know about Boo Radley. I could still see him in my mind, watching us walk to the Slyyymer from the window upstairs, eyes trained on me like a sniper.

Becky was biting her tongue on the couch. "He has aspergers, among other things," she replied. "I've been taking care of him and my dad since my mom died." On the screen, Princess Neryls just barely escaped being cornered. She managed to get to a safety zone away from the orcs and me, where I was swinging my sword as quick as my fingers could click the swing button. She sat up, pushing her computer away and watched me as she spoke. "He was getting better for awhile but then we had to switch doctors."

I ran my gnome over to her in the safety zone and we both logged out of the system. I put my computer up on a chair and crawled across the floor and sat down next to her. On the screen, Frodo's journey was continuing on. "Why?"

"The cost," Becky shrugged. "My mom's medical bills were rolling in and my dad was unemployed, he almost never leaves the house now. So basically his social security checks, my brother's disability, and my paychecks from Oasis have to cover everything." She ran her hands over her knees, "Luckily, my boss at Oasis understands that and he pays me well and gives me a lot of hours. Tips help, too."

I wrapped my arm around Becky and pulled her into me. She stiffened at first, but, like with the kiss, soon melted into me. She leaned back against my chest, her head rolled to rest on my shoulder and she let out a breathful of tension as her muscles relaxed. I kissed her forehead softly.

I didn't have words to say, there weren't really any. But I could feel my insides twisting into knots and my heart ached for her. I wanted to do more than hold her, but that was the best I could do, so that's what I did.

But it wouldn't be all I would do. It would take some time, but I'd figure out something to do to help her.

We put her computer up on the coffee table eventually and stretched out across the sofa, but she returned to my arms even after we'd moved, and we watched The Return of the King laying on our sides on the couch, her tucked into me, my arm around her. It was weird because usually when I lay like that it has a really sexual, sleeping together feeling about it, it's all charged and electrifying and everything. But with Becky that night it was just... nice. Really nice. And instead of making a pass or trying to feel her boobs or sleeping with her, I just literally slept with her.

"Nate..."

I hummed a response, my eyes felt glued together.

"Nate...?"

My body felt like it was full of cement.

"Naaa-aaaate...."

I forced them open when I felt her move off the couch. "Nate, I gotta go home and make breakfast for my dad. You're welcome to come if you want." Becky's voice was low.

I blinked myself awake. I nodded.

"Okay. Wake up, then, sleepy head," she whispered. "Where's your bathroom?"

"Upstairs, third door on the left," I answered.

"Thanks," she whispered, and she disappeared from the room.

She came back downstairs a few minutes later, after I'd rolled over and closed my eyes again. "Nate, get up."

I heard her packing up her computer. I stretched my muscles and rolled onto my stomach, doing a push up from the couch's cushions. I sat up. "I'm gonna go change real fast," I said, and I got up and went upstairs. I pulled my phone out on the way down the hallway. Chris had texted me a photo last night of him with a girl in a club and I was holding up five fingers in front of them, smirking. The girl was grinning, leaning into him.

Tieeeee, it read.

I pushed my phone back into my jeans pocket without responding. I pulled my shirt off and tossed it into a corner, selected another one and sniffed it for air quality control purposes. I swiped deoderant under my arms. I realized as I tugged the shirt over my head that I didn't care that Chris had tied me.

I went back downstairs and Becky was sitting on the couch again. Her computer was packed up in front of her on the coffee table. "It feels weird not heading to Fresh this morning," I joked, leaning over the back of the couch. "It's my usual stalker hours."

Becky laughed. "You think it's weird not going to Fresh first thing, how do you think I feel? I always feel like I'm forgetting something on days off, like I was supposed to be there and I'm gonna end up fired or something."

"It's a good thing I control my own hours, I'd be fired in no time at all for being late. I'm terrible at being on time for anything. Even when I mean to be I never am."

"Better late than never," Becky answered. "But speaking of late... Let's go before I'm late making breakfast. My dad won't mind so much but my brother will."

"What's your brother's name?" I led Becky to the front door.

"Bradley," she replied.

Irony, I thought. If you said Boo Radley fast enough you almost said Bradley by accident.

"Does everyone in your family have B-names?" I asked.

Becky laughed, "My mom was named Brenda, so, yes. Except mine is technically an R."

"Rebecca?"

She nodded.

"It's a pretty name."

"It's okay."

"It's nice."

At Becky's house, we were prepared for Scooby Doo at the door this time, and she caught his coller before he could peg me to the grass again, and she dragged him back out of the entry way, "He can take a nap in the laundry room," Becky said as she hauled him away. "He has a bed in there."

I watched until she had disappeared into the depths of the house. I stood there awkwardly waiting for her to come back. I could hear cartoons echoing through the house from the TV. The fish tank gurgled. I took a couple paces closer and leaned down to stare in through the water. A couple fish swam around a rock formation, grass wavered in the water motion from the pump. A blue fish swam up close to the glass and hovered right in my face.

"That's - that's M-Madison."

I turned around.

Boo Radley stood behind me. He was about Becky's height - aka, shortish - with a shock of shaggy brown hair and the same wide brown eyes as her. He was standing in the doorway behind me, watching me watch the fish.

"You're Bradley, right?" I said.

He didn't answer. He inched closer and tapped a finger against the glass of the tank to point at the fish. "That's M-Madison. Madison is blue. She's blue see. Molly's yell-yellow." He tapped at the glass a little further to indicate another fish that was in the back. The blue one hurtled behind a rock at the sound of his finger on the glass. "Molly's yellow," he repeated.

"They're really cool," I replied. "Are they your fish?"

"Since they were small," Bradley said, "They were small when I got them, now they're not small. But they were sm-sm-small when they became -- became mine."

"I have a fish, too," I said.

Bradley didn't answer.

"I'm Nate," I said, "I'm Becky's friend."

Bradley didn't answer or acknowledge this statement in anyway. Instead, after a moment's pause, he leaped forward and tapped the tank again. "There's M-Molly, she's yellow. SHe's yellow, see? Like the sun, she's yellow."

"She's pretty," I said.

"Yeah," he agreed.

Becky reappeared suddenly, "Okay, Scooby Doo's in the laundry room and --" she stopped short, stared at Bradley for a long moment, a surprised look on her face. "Hey Bradley," she said slowly.

"Oh hey," he answered.

"What'cha doing?" Becky asked. She looked at me, then back at Bradley.

"Showing N-Nate about Molly and Madi-Madison," he said. "I was saying how - how Molly's - Molly's blue and M-Madison is yellow."

Becky's face still registered surprise, "Wow, awesome that you were sharing your fish. Thank you for sharing that with my friend," she added. She smiled.

Bradley grabbed my wrist, "You should watch Spongebob with- with me and- and with daddy and me." He dragged me through the house, back out to the living room where I'd met Bruce the night before. Becky followed, her eyes even wider than normal as Bradley showed me to one particular chair and told me to sit down.

"Good morning, Bill," Bruce said as I walked by.

"It's Nate, dad," Becky said. She watched as Bradley pushed me into a chair and turned Spongebob Squarepants up on TV. She smiled. "I'm gonna make breakfast," she said, and she turned around to leave the room.

"Want help?" I asked, about to stand up.

"Nooooo you're watching watch-watching Spongebob with me," Bradley whined from the couch.

Becky smirked, "You're stuck right where you are for at least one hour," she said, and she disappeared from the room.

"What happens in an hour?" I called, but she didn't hear me.

"WhoLivesInAPineappleUnderTheSea!" sang out Bradley double-speed. He clapped and the lamp beside Bruce turned off and on and off and on.

"Stop that!" Bruce said, frowning up from the crossword puzzle book he was working in.

Bradley laughed, his voice shrill.

"What happens in an hour?" I asked again. But if Bruce was listening, he didn't answer, and Bradley continued on with his song.

"IfNauticalNonsenseBeSomethingYouWishTheDropOnTheDeckAndFlopLikeAFish!"

Chapter Eighteen: Yankee


Almost exactly an hour later to the minute - at 9:15 - Bradley stood up, turned off the TV, and announced, "It's time for breakfast!" and left the room. I blinked at the abruptness of the move, the exactness of the time, and the certainty he'd said it with. I looked over at Bruce.

Bruce was struggling out of his chair. When he got to his feet he said, "We've had breakfast at exactly 9:15 AM for the last thirty-one years," and he started out of the room, following after the direction Bradley went. "C'mon Bill," he said, "Let's eat."

I got up and followed after him. I thought about what he'd said. "Are they twins?" I asked, "Becky and Bradley?"

"Of course," Bruce answered, as though it should've been obvious.

I could think of nothing that was less obvious.

He led the way into a small dining room. I could just see a kitchen off to the left with swinging saloon-style doors. Light poked through the shutter-like slats in the doors. Bradley came pushing out of them carrying a cereal bowl full of cut up fruit in his hands, cradling it like one might cradle a baby bird, and put it on the table, his excitement electrifying the air. Bruce sat down in the chair at the head of the table. "Sit-sit there," Bradley said, waving at the chair beside him. I went over and sat.

Becky came out of the kitchen next with a bowl of yogurt, which she put in front of Bradley and a plate of blueberry pancakes that she put in front of me. Then she disappeared into the kitchen again. I stared down at the pancakes. "My Becky makes the best pancakes there ever was, Bill," Bruce bragged. Becky came back a moment later with two more plates and a stein of syrup.

"This - this one's a kiwi," Bradley informed me, holding up a piece of gooey green fruit. "And a ba-ba-banana." He held up a couple banana slices. "Here." He grabbed my hand and shoved one of the banana slices into it. "Have - have a - a banana."

"Thanks," I said.

"Bradley, Nate doesn't want your fruit," Becky said. She got up and returned a moment later with some paper towels. "Eat your fruit, Bradley."

"I am," he said, and he dipped the banana into the yogurt and shoved it into his mouth.

Bruce was pouring copious amounts of syrup over his pancakes. "Best pancakes there are," he annouced again, handing the syrup off to Becky, who handed it to me first. I poured some on, then gave it back to her so she could put some on hers, too.

And Bruce was right. Becky's pancakes were amazing.

As we sat around the table eating breakfast, it occured to me that Becky was the glue holding this little family together and that she was doing it alone. I looked over at her, and she smiled, her slightly uneven teeth pressing against her lower lip ever so slightly, a small dimple I hadn't noticed at the corner of her mouth. Her wide eyes were reflecting the light of the overhead lamp, making them glow all warm and friendly. As Bradley smacked his mouth and ate the fruit and yogurt and Bruce launched into a conversation about a biography on Lincoln he'd watched on the History Channel, I realized that, as completely out of my element this was, it was kinda nice.

"Where's the dog anyway?" Bruce asked suddenly, looking around, holding up a piece of blueberry pancake.

"I put him in the laundry room so he wouldn't bother Nate again," Becky answered.

"That's right. He was sniffing your yankee last night, wasn't he?" Bruce asked.

"Yankee!" Bradley hooted. He covered his mouth and laughed uproariously into it, his eyes squinting.

Becky made a face, "Seriously?"

"Well what do you want me to call it?" Bruce demanded, glaring over at her. "What do you call it?"

"I don't call it anything," Becky said, her face turning fuschia.

I smirked. "I call it Carter Junior," I said. And as soon as the words came out of my mouth I felt my heart stop for just a moment.

Fuck.

"Carter Junior?" Becky said, raising an eyebrow. "Why the hell would you call it that?" She laughed.

"I don't know," I answered, my neck felt exceedingly hot. How the fuck was I gonna explain my way out of this one?

"Junior! Well," Bruce snorted. "My wife used to call mine --"

"DAD!" Becky yelled, cutting him off. "GROSS! No! I don't want to know that!"

"Gr-grosss!" Bradley yelled, imitating Becky.

Bruce puffed up. "I don't know why it's so gross, if she hadn't called it something, you two wouldn't exist."

"I don't need to know the details," Becky whined.

"Sex is a natural thing, and you're damn lucky you get old enough and your pantoola still works," Bruce went off on a tangent just like that about youth being wasted on the young. Becky was scarlet and her eyes showed exasperation at her father.

And I'd never been so damn thankful for an old man talking about his penis in my entire life. In one fell swoop, Bruce had managed to call the attention away from my slip. That was an exceedingly close call, I thought to myself, and I focused on my pancakes trying to get the flush in my neck to fade off.

Carter Junior was always getting me in trouble... a lot of trouble these days.

That was when I remembered Chris had tied me again last night.

I antsed around in my seat. It was frustrating that he kept catching up and tying with me because I wanted to just get ahead of him and be done with it so I didn't have to be sleeping with anymore random women. I picked at my pancakes, thinking about how later I'd have to go to the gym and find some chick that wanted to have sex with me. I sighed down at my pancakes.

Becky looked over. "You okay, Nate?" she asked, her eyes softening with concern at me.

I looked up. "Yeah I'm okay," I replied.

"You sure? You got quiet. We're just kidding around. I'm sorry if we're making you uncomfy."

I shook my head, "No it's cool. I just -- I have a little bit of a headache," I lied.

Becky got up, "Let me get you some Advil," she said, and she disappeared from the room.

"I used to get headaches when I got back from the war," Bruce announced.

"Don't - don't tell all the - the war stories again," Bradley begged. "They're b-boring."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." Bruce muttered, sitting back.

Becky came back with a bottle of Advil and shook two into my hand. "Here, Nate." I downed them. She smiled, "That'll make you feel better." Becky sat down and screwed the cap back onto the bottle.

"I want some to feel better too," Bradley requested, holding out his palm.

"You have your own meds to take sir," Becky replied, and she pointed to Bradley's breast pocket on his shirt. He pulled out a small pill box and snapped it open and tipped out three pills into the palm of his hand. "Bottoms up," Becky cheers him as he knocked them into his mouth and took a big swig of juice. "Atta boy," she said, smiling.

And I realized the reason I felt so anxious about going ot the gym and finding a girl was because I didn't wanna be with anyone but Becky.

Chapter Nineteen: Your People


It happened fast - - but it also seemed to crawl along at a snail's pace, too. We fell into a habit, a routine, where I would meet her at Fresh Oasis for my breakfast smoothie, she'd come over my place after work, we'd pick some movies, and go back to her house to watch them with Bruce and Bradley. Then we'd go to my place and spend the night. I'd hold her until she fell asleep and we'd wake up the next morning in time to head back to Fresh Oasis to start all over again.

The best was the night we all watched the Star Wars original trilogy back to back to back, and Bradley, who had seen the movies, according to Becky, only about 'a hundred billion umpteen times', was whisper-yelling the lines along with the characters excitedly under his breath. He knew every line. Every. Single. Line. "LUKE!" He shouted, "I AM YOUR FATHER!" Then, in a slightly different voice, "NOoooooOOoOooo!"

I laughed and looked over at Becky, who was smiling at Bradley with eyes that were a mixture of pride, amusement, and sadness. I reached my arm around her and pulled her close. She looked up at me, and smiled and leaned her head against my shoulder and breathed let out a little breath that sounded like maybe some of the worries and cares that had rested on her shoulders for all her life were lifting just a little bit.

I felt good that maybe my arms around her helped the world be better for her.

Six days later - almost two and a half weeks since I'd first met Becky as Princess Neryls of Hatteras - I'd completely forgotten about Chris and our stupid bet. And I probably never would've remembered if it hadn't been for Chris texting me one morning while I was sitting in Fresh Oasis sipping on breakfast and arguing playfully with Becky about the new Spiderman movie and if it was a legitimate addition to the Spiderman franchise (she argued no because it rewrote Spiderman history in a way she didn't feel was canon, which I felt was bullcrap).

Up by one, man. What's down? (Obviously not the Ladies!) They ain't as slutty as you remembered? ;)

I made a face at the phone.

"What?" Becky asked.

"Nothin'," I muttered. I started typing out a reply to Chris.

I ain't even been trying, dude. The ladies are just as slutty as they always been. Took u awhile to get laid again I notice u ugly bastard. ;)

"You know, I've never met any of your people," she said suddenly.

"What?" I looked up from my text with Chris. I sent it by accident. I'd been meaning to take the wink face off before sending. Oh well.

Becky came over and sat in the chair opposite of me. She held a towel she'd been wiping the counter down with. "Your people. You know. Family. Friends. Brief aquaintences. I've never met anyone of yours."

"I don't really have anyone to meet," I answered quickly.

"No friends?" she asked, surprised. I shook my head. "What about your family?"

"Nawh."

"What about your sisters?"

"I'm an only child," I said.

Becky made a face. "I thought you said you had sisters," she said slowly. "That's why you knew who New Kids on the Block were that first night we went out."

Fuck. I had said that, hadn't I? I felt a crawling, creeping sensation rise up in my stomach and reach across my middle part. I knew I should tell her the truth, but the time just didn't feel right. Not here, in Oasis, when she was just about to start her shift. That was something to talk about in privacy. She was staring at me, waiting for a response.

"They're step sisters," I answered, "They haven't been around in awhile. I had'em back when New Kids were, you know, relevant." I smirked. If only Donnie could hear that dig now, he'd be piii-iiissed.

Becky narrowed her eyes, "They are relevant, thank you very much. Blue Bloods, man. Blue Bloods. It's like a super popular show. And Donnie is in it. The New Kids are relevant." At least she was pissed about something meaningless now, I thought. She could've been ripping my balls off for lying.

And I had a feeling when I did come clean she'd be pulling a Lorena Bobbit.

Carter Junior's too beautiful to be Bobbited!

Luckily a bunch of customers came in the store. I stood up as Becky rushed behind the counter to help them. "I'll be back when your shift's done," I called, waving.

"Okay," she called.

Out on the side walk I let out a streaming sigh of relief that I'd managed to - yet again - scramble my way out of a big pile of shit that I'd got myself into.

My phone vibed and I pulled it out and looked at it.

Ur the ugly bastard dude!

I'm fucking amazing man...get the memo...millions of bsb fans cant be wrong!

Too bad they all know who you are then cos theyre apparently the only ones that'll fuck you man... haha

I felt my blood boil a little.

Chris certainly knew my buttons and how to work'em to get me going. He'd always been good at that. I had got in more shit over the years thanks to Chris and his fucking button-pushing. Countless drug-induced mistakes (not the least of which included a nipple piercing) could be directly traced back to Chris and his persistent button-pushing and bet-placing.

No way in fuck was I gonna let him win this damn bet - if for no reason other than I wanted the power to cockblock the bastard every time we went out for the rest of his forseeable future.

I climbed into my car and drove to the pharmacy. I needed to buy more condoms if I was gonna do this because I hadn't brought any along with me that morning (I'd forgotten to carry any for the past few days that I'd spent with Becky). Once I'd got my little box of raincoats it was off to the gym to find me a woman that would have sex with me before Becky got out of work at three-thirty.

And then, I promised myself, I would tell Becky the truth that night before things got any further out of hand than they already were.

Before we were in so deep that she couldn't forgive me.

Chapter Twenty: A Wonderful, Awful


I dunno what was going on.

It seemed that in just six days all the sluts of Los Angeles had formed a group and migrated away. I dunno where they all went, but they sure as hell weren't out in LA. I'd been to all my sure-fire pick-up zones and not a single one had yielded any interested fruit; not even the gym had pulled through for me.

I was sitting in my car outside the grocery store - where I'd invested a good twenty minutes or so milling around the produce section, waiting for some overworked and under-attended-to housewife walk by. The only attention I'd attracted, though was that of the produce guy, who kept eyeballing me, evidently thinking I was planting bombs in his veggies because every time I touched something and he started going over and checking it out immediately after I moved on.

I sighed and smacked my forehead against the steering wheel in a steady beat. "Fucking A," I moaned. "Who in the hell am I gonna sleep with tonight?"

My phone vibed.

I looked down.

It was Becky.

Like the Grinch looking down at Whoville - I had an idea. A wonderful, awful idea. Which, at the time, seemed like a stroke of brilliance.

I'd thought it once before, in passing, and I'd blown it off and hadn't revisited it yet. But at that moment, sitting in the parking lot in the midst of my misery, desperation, and patheticly bruised ego, I was willing to revisit the idea that if I could get Becky to sleep with me, it would count as a one up because technically Becky didn't know who I was either.

By bet standard rules, that is.

I mean in reality she knew me better than probably anyone else in the world did.

My name and my status as a Backstreet Boy were magnificently small factoids about me compared to the things she knew that I'd told her in the dark nights and in rambling, wild conversations we'd carried over the last two weeks. She knew my heart.

But she did not know my name.

And for the bet, that was what mattered.

But I was going to be telling her the truth that night, I reminded myself, before it got too late. I couldn't tell her and then have sex with her because if she knew then it wouldn't count and Chris would probably end up winning the bet. I couldn't let Chris win the bet. I also couldn't have sex with her, roll over, and say hey thanks for the fuck but I'm not really who I said I am by the way, either.

I was at an impasse. A catch-22.

I was royally fucked.

Ironically, I was royally fucked over hoping to be fucked by a Princess.

I glanced at the clock. It was almost three and I needed to get my ass to Fresh Oasis to pick Becky up. My palms were sweating. I wondered how much harm it could possibly be to just push back telling Becky the truth one more night. Just one night couldn't possibly make a difference, right? And that would give me a night to try to get her to wanna sleep with me so I could be tied with Chris. And if we did it twice before she knew, I thought, I could count that as two up because Chris had never said that it had to be different women that we slept with, only that they couldn't know who I was.

I thought about this all the way over to Fresh Oasis, my throat aching.

I thought about how I would go about seducing Becky. I thought about flowers, about candy, about serenading her. I thought about just grabbing her and pulling her close and gettin' down in some wild, kinky place. I thought about formally asking her. About making out on my couch and just smoothly moving into something more than kisses. I tried to come up with a list of things to say, things to do, ways to draw her in and open her up and take advantage.

Take advantage.

The words echoed inside me, made me feel hollow. I felt guilty for even thinking the words about Becky.

It wasn't really taking advantage, I told myself. I really liked her. It wasn't like the girls at the gym that were just about the notch in the bedpost. It was different. Very different.

Very different.

When Becky came out of the Oasis at 3:35, she was smiling, her hair pulled up on her head in a messy bun, her eyes glowing with excitement. She was carrying two Oasis cups and as she swung into the car, she handed one to me. "Banana milk shake," she said, smiling. "You'll never guess what happened today."

"What's that?" I asked.

She grinned. "Ricky surprised me with a gift." She held up an envelope. It was pink. It had her name scrawled across the front of it in messy boy handwriting.

"What'd he get'cha?" I asked.

"Tickets to the New Kids on the Block!" she squealed.

"Say what?"

"Well not really to a show, I mean they aren't coming here 'til July, but he got tickets to go see them when they do a guest appearance on Ellen in two weeks!" She was practically exploding with excitement.

I felt my stomach churn. "No way."

"Way."

"That's pretty awesome. How'd he pull that?"

"Ricky's boyfriend does make-up for Ellen."

"That's crazy."

"I know!"

"You're gonna have a blast."

"Don't be silly, Nate. We are gonna have a blast. I wouldn't dream of going to it without you..."

Suddenly I knew there was no way in hell I could put off telling her until the next day. Not with something like this hanging over me. I was gonna have to just buck it up and find someone else that could help me tie with (and take over the lead from) Chris. "Becky, I gotta tell you something that I kinda lied about before --" I started.

"Oh it's okay Nate," she interrupted me, "I know you lied about your sisters."

"What?" I was so stunned by the statement that I forgot what I'd been about to say.

"I know you're really a closet NKOTB fan," she laughed. "It's okay. I won't think you're gay or anything like that."

"Oh," I said. I laughed nervously. "Damn," I said, because every other response had suddenly been swallowed up in a sea of insanity inside of me. "You got me."

It wasn't like the show was the next day. She'd know before the show at least, I promised myself. And maybe, just maybe, this show would work to my advantage because once I told her who I was I could tell her that I'd get her backstage at Ellen to meet Donnie. Yeah. Yeah! See, now I could still sleep with her, tie up with Chris, and then tell her, and have an instant one-way ticket right back out of the doghouse that my lie would have me cornered into.

Maybe, I told myself, I wouldn't be Bobbited after all.

Now I just had to figure out how to seduce Becky.

Chapter Twenty-One: Whatever's Bugging You


That night, I had issues sitting still. I felt like my entire body was on vibration. I looked around the table as we ate dinner - macaroni and cheese for Bradley and homemade eggplant parm for the rest of us - my mind reeling over the things that I had planned for later. Everytime my eyes met Becky's over the table I imagined she could read my thoughts and I'd look away quickly. I barely heard the dinner conversation, I felt like my mind was on a completely separate planet from the others and I spent most of the night nodding blankly.

It was after we'd finished and Bruce was in the living room watching a ball game and Bradley had gone upstairs after Becky told him to take a shower, and Becky and I were in the kitchen. I was absently wiping dishes and putting them into their old dishwasher. Becky came up behind me and put a pan into the soapy water. She studied me a moment. "Nate, are you okay? You've barely spoken all night."

"I'm okay," I answered. I put the dish into the washer.

Becky studied me a moment. "You know you can talk to me about whatever's bugging you," she said. "Or you don't have to if you don't want to. I just want you to know I'm here for you if you need me to be."

I took her hand in mine and pulled her close. I kissed the top of her head and closed my eyes as she strung her arms around my waist. She leaned against me and she felt so warm and comfortable and nice. I smelled her hair and relished the fact that she was there, against me, feeling wonderful and comfortable and warm.

I knew right then that I couldn't follow through with using her for the bet with Chris. I also knew that I couldn't beat Chris. I couldn't be with anyone else. I didn't even want to be with anyone else. The bet suddenly seemed so impossibly immature. I was gonna have to talk to Chris the next day. And now, tonight, I needed to talk to Becky.

"Actually," I said, "I do need to talk to you."

"Okay." She looked up. "What's wrong?"

"Well Becky, when I met you on WOW, I had just started this ---"

"BECKY BECKY BECKY BECKY!" Bradley came bounding into the room. There was soap in his hair and he wore only a pair of neon green swim trunks. He held a towel in his fist. "There's a spider in th-the the shower!"

Becky pulled back from me. "Hold that thought, Nate. I'll be right back." Becky kissed my chin and ducked off to save Bradley from the spider.

"He better not be trailing water all through the house!" Bruce shouted from the living room. "Over a god-damn spider!"

"He's afraid of them, dad, he can't help it," Becky called back, her voice fading as she climbed the stairs.

"He's thirty-one years old," muttered Bruce, and I heard the TV channels flicker out in the living room.

I turned back to the dishes. The soap bubbles from the dish soap I'd been using were all but evaporated. I added some more and ran the hot water and went back to rinsing the dishes and putting them into the dish washer. Becky was gone almost an hour before she came back downstairs. I'd finished cleaning the kitchen up and had joined Bruce in the living room by the time she returned.

"I'm sorry," she said, "He didn't want to get back in the shower and he still had soap in his hair and I had to get it out and I got it in his eyes and he freaked out and then I had to get him to bed and he wanted a story and --"

"It's okay," I said, "I finished the kitchen for you."

Bruce was staring at the TV, a look of regret on his eyes. His lips were pursed.

Becky looked relieved. "Can we go back to your place now?" she asked me, her eyes pleading.

I nodded, "Sure." I stood up and Becky grabbed her purse.

"Be back before nine," Bruce instructed, "You know how he freaks out if I cut the fruit for him."

"I know. I already cut it. It's in a bowl in the fridge," Becky replied. "I work in the morning, Dad."

Bruce sighed.

"Night Daddy," she said and she bent down to kiss his forehead.

"Good night Princess," he said. Bruce looked at me. "Night Bill."

"Night sir," I answered.

We walked in silence across the yard to my car and we climbed in. Becky closed her door as I was going around to mine and as I swung into the seat, I realized that Becky had leaned forward, covered her eyes, and was sobbing into the palms of her hands.

"Becky," I said gently and I reached over to touch her shoulder.

"It's not fair," she sobbed.

"What's not fair, honey?" I asked.

She looked up, "It's not fair that he's my brother and I have to take care of him like he's my son. It's not fair that he doesn't have a brain that works right. It's not fair that my father sits there and watches TV and I do all the work. It's not fair that I don't get to have a life that doesn't revolve around taking care of everybody else." Her face was crumpled and her breaths came out shaking and her voice was weak. "Please... just... take me away from here, Nate." She looked into my eyes.

I nodded, and turned the key in the ignition.

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Angel and The Devil


Becky cried during the entire drive to my house. I felt so awkward because I didn't know what to say to her to make it better - didn't know if there even was anything to say to make it better. Her shoulders were still shaking by the time we got to the house and I turned the car off. She was silent, aside from the sharp inhales and exhales that were coming from her side of the car.

"I'm sorry that things have been so hard for you," I said, because I didn't know what other words to say. "I'm sorry the world's so cruel to you."

Becky looked up, her eyes were bloodshot, her nose red. Surely this would be unattractive on any other face, but on Becky's... well, she was always beautiful. Just in this particular moment in a more tragic way. I took her hand in mine, closing my fingers around her small hand. My hand had never really looked big to me before, but the contrast between us was so great that mine suddenly seemed to belong to a giant. Her eyes seemed to look into me instead of at me, like she was seeing my soul instead of my skin. I felt penetrated somehow, like a fortress that had given way to those trying to break in. Except it wasn't an enemy force winning, it was like I'd been rooting for her to get there all along, just waiting for the moment that she'd surmount the gates.

I took a deep breath.

I was about to say the words.

Becky reached up and grabbed my face, wrapped her fingers into my hair, pulled me into her, and pressed her mouth against mine, a force to be reckoned with.

I could barely breathe.

After a long, strong kiss, she pulled back, her breathing heavy. Her eyes wavered, searching my eyes. "I don't know how to ask for what I want from you right now," she whispered. "I've only ever seen this happen in movies. Usually really unlikely situations lead up to them." She grabbed my hand and pulled it to her chest. "Can you feel my heart beating?"

It sounds crazy, but I think I could. I nodded.

"You effect me," she whispered. "I've never felt like this before. You make me feel alive. You make me feel like you see me. Me."

"I do see you," I said quietly.

"Do you understand what I'm asking you?" she asked.

"If I see you?"

She shook her head.

I licked my lips because I had a feeling that I did know.

Becky reached for the door and pushed it open. She climbed out, then leaned down and looked at me as she closed the door behind herself. She reached for the top button on her sweater and undid it. She walked across the yard toward the front door.

I thought of the old movies when there would be a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other shoulder.

The angel was leaning against my ear. Tell her. Tell her right now. You can't have sex with her without telling her. She thinks your name is Nate.

The devil shook his head, If you don't do it now, she might change her mind. You'll have to forfeit to Chris and you'll lose the First Pick. And your pride. Remember pride?

The angel rolled his eyes. You don't need First Pick. You've got Becky.

But the pride.

Pride is overrated.

Look at her. She's taking off her sweater.

I looked up at Becky. She was standing on the porch in a strappy little tank top. Her sweater was hanging on her arm. She was staring back at me.

She was practically begging you for sex, the devil whispered.

The angel cried out, You can't!

Becky beckoned me with her finger.

The devil reached around my head and threw the angel overboard. I climbed out of the car and ran across the lawn, pulling my belt off as I went. Becky was leaning against the door. I took the steps up in a single bound, pressed her to the door, my mouth on hers, my hands digging into my pocket for my keys. I shoved the key into the lock, reached for the handle. Becky and I all but fell into the house.

"Is this... what you... were asking... for?" I muttered through kisses.

Becky didn't answer... instead, she just pulled me toward the stairs.

As we stumbled up the steps, my hands were unbuttoning my jeans, and the little Devil on my shoulder was dancing Gangnam Style. Becky was clutching my elbows, holding onto me, keeping me close to her as we moved, lips still locked, hungrily kissing all the way up the steps, bumping along the wall. We were on the second floor, in the hallway. I dropped my jeans and stepped out of them. My fingers found the button on her jeans. I started fumbling with that button, too. Suddenly, the Angel crawled back up my shoulder.

Don't do it! Stop! STOP! You need to tell her the truth! he yelled, clutching my shoulder.

The Angel was right. I had to tell her. I started to back away.

"Nate," Becky said, her voice throaty, "Make love to me."

The Devil looked over at the Angel.

Aw fuck it, even I can't resist that, the Angel said.

Becky and I pushed our way into the bedroom.

Chapter Twenty-Three: If She'd Been Calling Me Nick


I'd call Chris in the morning first thing, I told myself. I'd tell him that I was done with the bet. I wouldn't even tell him about this. This would have nothing to do with the bet -- no guilt attached. I hadn't started this, Becky had. It would've been cruel to interrupt her and tell her I'd been lying to her. She was heart broken enough without me telling her that. I'd tell her after.

Becky pulled off her tank top and threw it just before her back hit the mattress of my bed. She lay beneath me in just a plain cotton bra and underpants. She had a small spackling of freckles across her collar bone. Her eyes were closed as I kissed her neck, her shoulder... "Nate," she gasped. "I've never done this before."

"I know," I whispered against her skin. My mouth slid to her along the dip of her collar, across the plain above her breasts. "I'll be gentle."

"I don't know how to --"

"It's okay."

She ran her hands down my spine.

"You're doing good so far," I said.

Her skin tasted so good, like it was made of honey or vanilla or something. She moved under me, and we scootched up further onto the bed, until her head was on the pillow, her hair pooling around her head. Becky pushed my undershirt up over my head and I tossed it to the floor with her tank top, then moved so that I was kneeling over her, straddling her, and I stared down at her, at her bright, wide eyes, at her chest heaving up and down as she gasped in air.

Her bra clasped in the front, a little N shaped hook keeping the two cups together. I reached down, my hands shaking. I don't even remember the last time I was actually nervous before sex but this time - with Becky - I was nervous. She'd never had sex before. She'd never been touched before. I was the first. That meant she didn't know what she liked, so she didn't know how to direct me. It was up to me to discover it all. My fingers held onto the clasp, her eyes on my eyes. I could feel her stomach moving as she breathed.

It was like Christmas, pulling open that clasp.

Becky was a small girl, but she was perfect. I bent forward, my hands sliding under her, lifting her gently just enough to put an arch in her back. She moaned as my mouth descended onto her, and I felt her shift her hips against mine. I spent a good time just kissing her, tasting every square inch of her.

Finally, I slid my underwear off, and hers, too, and I kissed her ankle, her shins, her knees, her thighs. She was pushed up onto her elbows, watching me as I neared her. My kisses reached the top of her thigh, where it joined to her pelvis and I moved across her abdomen to her belly button and kissed the soft skin just below it. She was pushing up towards my chin with her hips, her heavy breathing moving her breasts. I put my hands on her hips, slid them around the orb of her butt, cupping her to me like a man stranded in the desert about to drink from an oasis. She swallowed as I moved slowly south, planting kisses every couple centimeters until I reached her center and I paused, hovering, my lips only just off her skin.

She reacted like she'd been struck by lightening, dropping back onto the mattress, her hair like a firework around her, fingers gripping the pillow case. "Holy shit," she gasped.

I'll be the first to admit that usually I'm a selfish lover. I like things done my way and usually, because the girl knows who I am, she's more than willing to oblige. Usually, I get exactly what I want and don't even think about what the girl wants.

With Becky, it was different.

I felt like it was my duty to make sure she had the most mind-blowing experience that a man could provide her with. I wanted it to be perfect for her, for every trouble and care she'd ever had to melt away into the depths of the sheets and the dark. And by the moans and cries that she made I'm guessing that I did pretty well.

By the time I was leaning over her, staring into her eyes, about to slide into her, she was shaking and covered in sweat. I kissed her again, our lips pressing against each other, my hands curled into her hair as I leaned on my elbows.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," I whispered.

"Don't stop," she gasped.

So I moved slowly forward and she wrapped her legs around my waist and she gasped into my mouth as we connected.

It was the most amazing sex I've ever had.

And as you're aware, I've had a lot of sex.

"Nate, oh Jesus," she gasped, tears forming in her eyes as we moved together. Her hands were clutching to my shoulders, hooked under my arms, her nails in my skin, heels pressing into the small of my back.

The only thing in the world, I thought, that could possibly have made it better was if she'd been calling me Nick.

As I moved my hips and she clung onto me, I wished more than anything in the entire world that I'd told her before I'd had sex with her. I wanted to roll back time and tell her. I could feel the regret building inside of me, could feel the remorse. My heart was breaking even as she climaxed, crying out against my skin, her face buried into my neck. I let her finish out, and I rolled away without finishing myself, suddenly unable to stand the thought of what I'd done. Suddenly unable to stand myself.

Becky was gasping for air, coming down from Cloud Number Nine, her eyes closed, chest heaving. She rolled into me pulling my arm around her, pressing my hand against her breast and heart as she breathed. I pressed my face into her hair, closing my eyes and smelling her, trying to work up the courage to tell her the truth.

"Oh God Nate," she said, "You are so... incredible... I love you."

I opened my eyes.

"What?" I whispered.

She turned, craning her neck to look up at me. "I love you, Nate," she said thickly.

Now, I thought. Tell her now.

I opened my mouth, about to say the words. Then, "Thank you," she added. "I don't think I could've taken even one more bad thing happening to me today. But you made everything better." She smiled, her eyes sparkling. "I love you. And I've never said that to anyone before. You just make me feel so happy."

I looked into her eyes. I knew that I should tell her, but I just couldn't hurt her like that. Not right then, right there, at that moment.

I couldn't rob her of the happiness. She got so little of it.

First thing in the morning, I promised myself, I'd tell her first thing in the morning. And then I would call Chris, and I would tell him the bet was off.

I'd messed up, I thought. I should've told her before -- when we were in the car, when we paused on the door step, when we hit the mattress, when our eyes had locked, before I'd had sex with her. Before this moment when she'd declared her love. Before the guilt had set in, before the remorse, before the moment that I'd taken something from her that she could never get back, something that she'd now given to a complete stranger.

I lay there in the dark, my face pressed into her hair, and holding her bare back against my bare chest, listening to her breathe.

And I felt like shit.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Calling the Bet


I had a long night. It took hours of staring into the dark berating myself silently before I'd finally fallen asleep. My dreams had haunted me, piling on more remorse, and by the time I woke up, my stomach had turned and twisted its way into nausea. I opened my eyes, expecting to find it still dark, expecting Becky to still be there, but instead I found light and an empty bed. I crawled across it quickly and dove for the bathroom door that connected to my bedroom. I landed on my knees in front of the toilet and threw up all the anxiety I'd bottled up overnight. I stayed there until my knees ached and my stomach was empty of everything except a tight, knotted feeling that ached and persisted.

Finally I peeled myself off the floor and moved back to the room. I found Becky's clothes were missing, and I pulled a fresh pair of boxers out of the drawer and tugged them on. I moved down the stairs, and every place that we'd left clothes along the way from the door to the bedroom had only mine remaining.

In the kitchen, I found a note scrawled across a pad of paper on the table.

I had to go to work, you looked too peaceful to wake-up. See you at 3:30? Thank you for last night. I love you. - B

She'd underlined the word love twice, and drawn a heart beside the B.

I took a deep breath. Okay. So I'd just tell her when I picked her up. No excuses this time. And speaking of no excuses... I went back to the stairs and grabbed my jeans, pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and texted Chris.

We need to talk.

I went back downstairs and made a piece of toast in hopes that it would settle my stomach, even though I knew the only thing that would really settle my stomach was telling Becky the truth.

My phone rang. It was Chris.

"Hey," I said, "We need to talk."

"Okay."

"Where can I meet you?" I asked.

"There's a place on Central --"

"Fresh Oasis?"

"Yeah."

"Not there," I answered firmly.

"Got a thing against smoothies?" Chris teased.

"I'll explain it to you when we talk."

Forty minutes later and I was waiting for Chris in a pizza place downtown. It was crowded, and it took a good twenty more minutes before I got a booth. Chris came in a couple moments after I'd sat down and slid into the bench across from me. He threw a handful of Polaroids down on the table. They were revealing shots of women. I quickly threw my hands over the pictures, pushing them together to cover them up. "What the fuck man?" I asked.

"I assumed that's what the talk was about?" Chris said, "Proof? Speaking of, where's yours?"

"I wasn't gonna ask about proof," I replied.

"Oh." Chris looked a little disappointed. I had a feeling he'd been hoping he'd get to brag about all his conquests. "What was this about then?" he asked.

"I need to call off the bet," I said.

Chris looked surprised. "Call off the bet?" he said, "Why?"

"Because, I don't think we should be doing this. It's wrong."

"What's the matter, running out of sluts to bang? Is it not as easy as you thought?" Chris laughed.

I shook my head. "No, that's not it," I said, "Although I do have to admit, it wasn't as easy as I'd thought it would be. In fact, it'd been rather hellish for me overall." I looked down at the photos in my hands that Chris had handed me. I absently flipped through them.

"Funny enough it was easier than I thought it would be," Chris said, shrugging. "But hey if you wanna call it off while I'm winning, that's fine by me. I'll win by default."

"You aren't in the lead right now," I said, "We're tied."

"No we aren't. I took the lead the other day."

"No, you tied the other day."

"I took the lead, stop being a sore sport," Chris answered, "You're the one pussy-footing out of the bet," he reminded me with a smirk.

"I ain't pussy-footing out of nothing," I argued, my temperature heating up. Remember that thing about Chris and the buttons I mentioned before, how he always managed to push just the right ones to really piss me off? Yeah. "Even if you had been winning," I added forcefully, "I had sex with a girl last night. So even if, we'd still be tied. And as a matter of a fact --" I pulled up my text history with Chris and held up my phone for him to see it, "I am winning."

"Well no wonder you wanna call it quits early, then," Chris snorted. "You're scared you'll lose. You must really be getting hard up." He paused. "And where's your proof? You've got mine right there. Lemme see yours." He snatched the phone away from me and started clicking around in it.

"Gimme that," I snapped and I grabbed for it, but he hit my hand and the pictures he'd thrown on the table went flying out of them, landing on the floor. I launched after them to pick them up before they got into the wrong hands. We were in a family place after all.

As I scrambled on the floor for the pictures of bare chested ladies Chris had slept with, I heard him howl, "Who's this dog?"

I looked up. He was holding up my phone with a picture of Becky on it.

"Gimme that," I snapped again, the fist full of pictures securely in my hands. I grabbed at my phone and Chris let me have it. I sat back down and shoved the pictures back at him. But in the motion of pushing them back, I realized I recognized one of the faces in the pictures he'd supplied, and I pulled it back.

I looked down at the image for a long moment, then I looked up at Chris. "You're so full of crap," I hissed.

"What?" he asked, trying to look cool, but looking nervous instead.

"This is Scarlett Johansson," I said, jabbing my finger at the picture.

Chris looked like he was about to puke.

"This leaked like all over the Internet like a year ago..." I flipped to the next one. "And this one's Ashley Green..." I looked up at him. "You mother fucker. You haven't been sleeping with anyone. You've been lying to me."

"Well c'mon now man, it's not like you were really banging people that didn't know you. You were getting it way too easy. I had to have some chance of winning. So I padded myself with a couple points."

"None of mine knew who I was, I didn't pad myself or lie to win the bet," I said hotly. I threw the pictures at him.

"Please, that's bullcrap, you can't tell me that none of the girls you fucked in the last couple weeks knew who you were. You're Nick Carter, and no amount of black hair dye and fake-ass glasses is gonna hide that."

The people in the booth behind Chris turned and glanced over their shoulders when he'd said my name.

"Although that one there, I gotta give you credit for that one whether she knew you or not." He motioned at my phone, "I mean, you really did get desperate, huh? Sleeping with an ugly bitch like that? Jesus Christ, man, she's either a really good fuck or you were just the most desperate son of a bitch I've ever met. Have some pride, dude..." Chris laughed.

I've never felt so angry in my entire life.

"Take it back." I snarled under my breath.

Chris looked moderately surprised, "What?" his laughter died.

"Take. It. Back. Now."

He stared at me for a long moment, then he choked back a laugh, "Oh my fucking holy hell, you can't be serious. That bitch is what you're calling this all off for? What're you like, in love with her now? Is that some weird ass fetish you're just discovering? Ugly fat chicks?"

I leaped across the table.

And fifteen minutes later, I was face-down and bloody-nosed on the floor, a cop kneeling over me, handcuffing my wrists behind my back.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Iron Bars


I used my one phone call on Jason, my lawyer-slash-solo-manager. He said he would get me out of there. Just hang tight, he said. So there I was in the cell at the police station, hanging tight, sitting on a concrete bench, leaning against a concrete wall, staring out iron bars the concrete hallway. My mind was whirling. I stared at my sneakers. Chris was in the same cell. He was pacing back and forth by the iron bars. He'd used his one call on his mommy. Every once in awhile, he turned to look back over at me. Chris's face looked like hell. There was no question who'd won that, at least. A pretty pissed off looking guy that reminded me of Bruno from Popeye was taking a leak in the john.

I looked up at a clock that I could only just barely see. It was in an office a little ways down the hallway. I'd positioned myself perfectly on the bench to be able to see it. There was only one angle it was visible from. It was nearly seven o'clock at night. I wondered how Becky had gotten home, if she was okay, if she was worried about me. I wondered if Bruce and Bradley were asking where I was. I hung my head and hooked my fingers together behind my neck, frustration and regret mixing in my gut.

The guy from Popeye was settling himself back onto another bench against the other wall. A part of me wanted to know what he was there for. I was willing to bet whatever it was it wasn't as bad as what I'd done, lying to Becky like I had.

Chris turned around, "I can't believe you got us arrested over a whore."

"Seriously," I said, looking up, "I will beat your ass seven ways to Sunday, right here, right now, if you don't shut the fuck up and stop making fun of her."

Chris scowled. "You're a bachelor," he said, "A bachelor for life. How can you possibly be falling for the ultimate anti-bachelor type girl?"

"You don't know her," I replied. "She's incredible."

"Does she know voodoo magic or something?" Chris asked, "Because she's got you under a spell."

"There's no voodoo magic about it," I said. "Chris, you know how you spend your entire life just dreaming of what the perfect girl would be like?"

"Huge tits and a great ass?" Chris said.

"Personality wise," I said. "Like they love the things you love, even though they aren't particularly girly things or they can cook really good or they have that one kind of laugh?"

Chris nodded. "Yeah, I guess."

"Chris, Becky's got every single one of my things like that, like she was designed by the master list of stuff in my head. So what if I can't tick off supermodel on the list, too?" I shook my head, "She's absolutely beautiful to me anyway, no matter what you think about her. She ain't fat, except maybe by Hollywood standards, and she ain't ugly." I took a deep breath, "She's... she's fucking perfect. I love her."

I wished suddenly as the emotion ran through me that I'd told her that last night. I love you were three impossible to say words until just the right moment. But I did, I loved her. And I wanted her to know. She deserved to know.

Chris was leaning against the bars. "So those girls really don't know who you are?"

I shook my head.

"Does this Becky chick know?"

I shook my head again.

"Who the hell does she think you are?" Chris asked.

"She thinks my name is Nathan Crosby," I replied, shrugging. "They all did."

"Nathan Crosby. And you just happen to look like a Backstreet Boy."

"I get that all the time," I said with a shrug.

Chris shook his head. "I really slept with girls, too," he said. He turned away and his tone changed, "But they weren't hotties. I printed those pictures so you'd think I was scoring hot mommas." He was quiet a moment. "I used this dating website. There's some fucked up chicks on the interwebs."

I thought of Monica from San Diego. "No kidding."

Chris glanced back over his shoulder. "So how are you gonna tell Becky the truth?" he asked.

"I don't know," I replied. "But I'm gonna tell her the second I get outta here."

Chris nodded.

We spent the night in jail. Jason, I assume, was flying from Nashville to Los Angeles, and Chris's mom was probably trying to scrap together bail. We didn't really talk again after that conversation, and although we'd fought I knew that we'd sort of pseudo made up there in the cell. It'd take awhile but eventually maybe we'd be friends again. Or maybe not, who knows. It didn't really matter. Chris was a part of an old version of myself that I'd shed slowly over time spent with Becky. I was a new me and the new me wasn't really cut out for old me's friends.

Around eight in the morning, Chris's mom showed up and posted bail and a cop came and got Chris outta the cell. It was just me and Bruno, who was snoring loudly, his belly fat jiggling as he huffed and puffed against the wall. I hadn't slept a wink all night, I was too nerved up, too focused on how in the hell I could possibly find the words to tell Becky what I'd done.

At nine-fifteen, I knew Bradley was eating breakfast and I wished I was there eating breakfast, too.

It was around eleven before Jason and a cop finally came down the hallway. Even Bruno had been released around ten and I was sitting alone in the cell when the cop unlocked it. "C'mon, Carter," Jason said, "Let's get you out of here as discreetly as possible."

I looked at him, "What?"

"There's enough paparazzi outside to wall paper the Taj Mahal in just a few clicks of their cameras," he said, shaking his head. "So keep low and I'll do my best for damage control. I've been up all night trying to smooth over what's already got out there. Seriously, a brawl at a pizza place at noon," Jason rolled his eyes. "You don't pay me enough to get you out of bullshit like this."

I felt my mouth go dry. "I made the news?"

"TMZ is having a ball, man," Jason replied. "You have a particularly attractive mug shot that's gone viral."

I hung my head.

Jason and a couple officers ushered me through a waiting throng of people. Photographers shouted various words trying to get me to turn to look at them so they could get a good shot, but I kept my head down and climbed into the waiting vehicle out front as quick as I could, and Jason followed. Hands banged on the tinted windows, flashes went off, cameras pressed against the tinting. I covered my face with my hands, completely ashamed, and ducked low.

"It's going to be okay," Jason said, "I'm going to smooth this all over. All publicity is good publicity, just remember that. We'll spin it. You'll probably see a spike in album sales."

I didn't care about album sales. I cared about Becky.

Jason glanced at his watch, "We have just enough time to get you home before I go get your press release written up..."

"No, I don't want to go home. I need to go to the Fresh Oasis on Central Ave," I said.

"Really, is this the right time for a smoothie, Nick?" Jason demanded.

"It's not about the smoothie," I replied, "My girlfriend works there. I need to talk to her before the shit hits the fan and she finds out about this the wrong way."

Jason laughed, "I'm sorry to tell you this Nick but she'd have to be living under a rock to have not heard about this."

Chapter Twenty-Six: You Will Taste My Blade


When I got into Fresh Oasis, Ricky was behind the counter and Thomas was wiping down a table in the corner of the room. There was a line three or four people deep. Ricky looked up at the jingling of the bell and called Thomas over and I stood awkwardly, looking around, not seeing Becky. Ricky wiped his hands with a towel and came striding over as soon as Thomas got to the counter. He came to a stop a couple feet in front of me. He was wearing skinny jeans and a hot pink t-shirt under a black apron. He stared at me for a long moment. "She isn't here," he said darkly. "She called out."

"She called out?"

"Yeah." Ricky nodded. His eyes narrowed. "How could you do that to her?" he demanded.

My throat ached. "She knows?"

"You're all over the god damn TV, of course she knows," he snapped. "She isn't stupid."

"I was going to tell her," I said thickly, "Last night, but I --"

"You were too busy breaking her to pieces," Ricky said, shaking his head. "Did you think about her for even a moment? About what this would do to her?" He brought his hands up and shoved me squarely in the chest. I hit the wall beside the door. I wasn't about to fight back. Ricky glowered at me. "You're a selfish bastard. They should've left you in jail." He turned away.

"I really do love her," I said. "I made a mistake."

Ricky turned around and came back in a couple quick strides. "If you loved her you wouldn't have done this to her." Ricky walked away.

I slipped back out of the Oasis, back to the sidewalk. Jason was already gone. I'd just assumed Becky would be there and I'd be able to get a ride back with her. I'd pictured me telling her and her forgiving me and everything being okay.

I knew I still needed to talk to her. So I walked down the street and called for a cab and got a ride to Becky's house.

I waved off the driver when I got out of the car and I walked across the yard, muttering to myself, trying to think of what words to say. I climbed the steps with heavy feet and reached up to knock on the door but before my fist could come into contact with the wood, the door swung open and Bruce stood there in the doorway, hovering. He stared down at me, his eyes narrowed, his jaw set, nose flared with emotion. I took a deep breath.

"You've got a hell of a lot of balls to be showing up here," Bruce growled.

I lowered my gaze, not quite daring to look him in the eyes. "I need to talk to Becky," I choked.

Bruce shook his head, "Hell will freeze over first," he snapped.

"Please," I begged, "I can explain..."

Becky suddenly appeared at Bruce's side. She pushed around him, stepping out onto the porch. I took a couple steps back as she advanced at me, her eyes red-hot with anger. "How dare you," she screamed into my face.

"Becky, I can explai--"

"No! You don't get to explain! There is no explanation for this. You lied to me! You lied about everything! I trusted you, I told you everything about me, I told you everything that hurts me and haunts me, and you told me a bunch of made up shit that isn't even real. I had sex with you! I gave you everything that I had, everything! I fell in love with you, and I was dreaming about spending every day of the rest of my god-damned pathetic waste of a life with you and you -- you! This whole time you've been just using me. This whole time! Probably laughing at me in your fancy-ass mansion over there in Beverly Hills, probably telling all your rich, beautiful Backstreet Boy buddies about the stupid, no-life bitch you'd been duping for the last month."

"I haven't Becky! It's not like that. Please, let me explain. See, it all started with this bet I had with Chris --"

"What was the bet? Huh? To find the ugliest, stupidest person you possibly could that would fall in love with you?" she cried.

"Becky, you aren't ugly or stu--"

"YOU HAVE SHATTERED ME!" she bellowed. Bruce was holding onto the door, looking down at his shoes, his knuckles white in the grip. Becky's voice trembled as she shouted, "DO YOU HEAR ME? YOU HAVE SHATTERED ME!"

The words seemed to reach right into my very core, and a burning shame and rage at myself burned all over me like fire. "Becky, I'm sorry," I choked the words, because I couldn't even get the oxygen through my lungs to say it in a normal voice.

"You are not forgiven," she hissed.

I dropped to my knees. The floorboards stung against them as I looked up at her. "Please," I begged, "Please Becky, please understand I made a mistake. Please. I love you... Please."

Becky stared down at me and her eyes softened, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Before I met you," she said thickly, "I thought no one could possibly love me. I thought I was worthless and that I was gonna die alone, having done nothing and never been loved." Her lower lip trembled. "Then you came along into my life, like a burst of light out of no where. You were the first person that wasn't morally obligated by blood and biology to love me. You were the first person that really saw me. You made me feel special. Every time you touched me I felt like I was worth something to someone. Every time you said my name I felt like maybe it wasn't so horrible to be me after all. Like maybe I could be loved. And the other night when you made love to me, I thought maybe, just maybe - by some unbelievable miracle of God - that maybe you did love me." She shook her head, "I was so naive. Now I know you lied to me about everything. Your touches and your words and your eyes, they were all lies. All the feelings I had were lies."

"No Becky," I whispered, "Not all of it was lies. Not all of it. I do love you."

"I don't believe you," she choked the words out. "I don't believe you because everything you've ever said to me is a lie. I don't want to hear anymore lies.."

"Becky..."

"Leave."

"Please!" I cried, my throat bursting as I looked up at her. I crawled forward and hugged her knees. Inside, Scooby Doo was barking. "Becky," I wailed. I felt like my entire world was imploding, blowing up all around me. I'd finally found someone worth living for and I'd been too fucking stupid to see it. Becky had been right that first day, when she said that I hadn't seen her. I hadn't seen her until it was too late to undo what I'd done. Until it was too late and I'd broken her heart.

"You don't get to be sad, Nate," Becky said thickly. "Or Nick. Or whatever your name is." She shook me off her, and turned and walked away. As she went, I felt like all the colors were going with her, like everything was draining away.

"Don't go," I sobbed. "Please. Becky. Please. I love you. I love you."

She went inside and Bruce closed the door behind them, leaving me kneeling there on the edge of their porch. I covered my eyes with my hands, sobbing into my palms, gasping for oxygen like a man who'd been trapped underwater.

Suddenly the door opened, and I looked up, expecting Becky.

Instead, it was Bradley.

And he was holding a lifesize replica Star Wars light saber. He stood there in the doorway, holding the light saber in front of his face for a moment, one hand clutching Scooby Doo's collar, staring ahead at me. And then, he let out war cry and released Scooby Doo.

"You-you will taste my bl-blade!" he yelled.

I scrambled to my feet as Bradley and Scooby launched forward. I ran down the walk away. Bradley was waving the light saber in front of him, making whirring noises as he ran after me. They apparently had an electric fence, because Scooby stopped right at the edge of the lawn as I ran out into the quiet suburban street. Bradley ran after me with his light saber. I jogged a little ways down the road before I stopped, clutching my knees, gasping for air. Bradley came up behind me. "Y-you hurt m-my Becky!" he yelled, "Why-why di-did you hurt my B-Becky?"

"I didn't mean to Bradley," I choked.

He swung the light saber, hitting me right in the side with it. Of course it didn't slice through me like they did in the movies, but it was hard enough that I was sure to have a bruise there later. Bradley glowered at me, his eyes glistening with tears. "You - You were my - my friend," he said thickly, "And you - you hurt m-my Becky."

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"BRADLEY!" Bruce was standing at the end of the driveway of the house, staring down the street at us. Scooby Doo was running frantically, right along the boundary line of his yard, his head craned, trying to see us, barking loudly. "Come home this instant," Bruce shouted. "Let the tash take itself out."

Bradley lowered his light saber. He stared at me for a long moment. Then he turned and started walking back, dragging the Jedi sword behind him.

I stood there and watched that he got back safely. Watched as Bruce pulled him along inside, called for Scooby Doo, and climbed the porch. Bruce paused at the door and looked back at me, and even from that distance I could see that he was looking back at me with a mixture of regret and sadness.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Jenny from the Gym


I didn't know what to do.

I walked back into the city from Becky's house, and by the time I reached downtown my back was coated in sweat. I couldn't believe what happened. It kept playing over and over in my mind like a horrible movie, getting worse and more distorted every time. I sat down on a park bench and bent forward, my head between my knees like I was in a bomb drill in the 1950s. I breathed down at my sneakers, my heart thumping in my ears more than my chest.

"Nate?"

I didn't look up.

"Nate is that you?"

Suddenly there was a hand on my shoulder, tapping. I looked up and found myself staring into the eyes of one of the girls from the gym. Her name started with a J. I squinted, trying to remember the name.

"Jenny?" I finally guessed.

"You never called me," she said, frowning. I could tell from her eyes that she was relieved that I at least remembered her name. Like knowing her name made what I'd done better. Like maybe it was a mistake that I hadn't called her. Even though she knew better deep down.

"I'm sorry," I said.

She looked around then sat down on the bench next to me. She had long blonde hair that was in a braid that hung over her shoulder and down almost to her waist. She was wearing training clothes and running shoes and an iPod was strapped to her biceps. "What happened? Did you like lose the number?" her voice was hopeful.

I shook my head.

She took a deep breath. "Oh. Too nervous to call?"

I shook my head again.

"Oh," she said again.

I stared at my sneakers. I thought that she'd leave, or get mad, or something. I half expected her to whip out a light saber of her own and chop me down Bradley style. She was quiet. I looked over at her.

"I should've told you this before," I said. It was the speech that I'd meant to give Becky. Someone needed to hear it, it might as well be another one of the girls I'd hurt. "My name isn't Nate Crosby. My name is Nick Carter. I told you my name was Nate because I had a bet with my friend, Chris." I looked over at Jenny. She had a petrified expression on her face. "Yeah," I said, reading the expression, "The Nick Carter."

She shook her head, "No way. You're full of crap."

"Way," I replied. She still was wide-eyed, staring at me in denial. I decided to just go on with my speech. "Our bet was which of us could sleep with more girls in a month, but to make the playing field even I had a handicap where the girl couldn't know who I was so that they weren't just sleeping with me because I'm a Backstreet Boy." I chewed the inside of my mouth.

Jenny blinked in surprise. "I guess that makes sense."

"I needed to be anonymous, you know?" I said.

She nodded.

"I didn't really think about how it was effecting anyone else besides me," I said. "And then I met this girl and I told her the lie, too. I don't even know why, I mean I didn't really intend for what I had with her to turn out to have any connection to the bet. I didn't really intend to have much more than a new sidekick in World of Warcraft when I met her, though. But I told her the lie and then I realized she was pretty awesome, and I dunno, then I didn't wanna tell er that I'd lied to her, and it got harder and harder to tell the truth the longer I waited."

Jenny nodded. "Did you tell her?"

"I got arrested yesterday and she saw me on the news."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

Jenny shook her head. "How'd she react?"

"Her brother ran me off the property with a light saber," I answered.

Jenny sighed.

I looked at Jenny. "But I'm sorry that you ended up in the path of that, too," I said. "And not just because of what happened with me and Becky, but because you didn't deserve that anymore than she did. Because I didn't think about you, only about me."

"It's okay Na-- Nick," she corrected herself midway through.

"It's not really okay," I said.

"Not really. But I do forgive you," she said.

It helped a little that Jenny had forgiven me. It made me wonder if Becky would've if I'd had the chance to tell her the right way. I breathed deep, filling my lungs. "I wish there was a way to make Becky forgive me, too."

Jenny shrugged, "Maybe you can," she said. "Maybe it'll just take awhile. Or maybe you'll never get that particular girl back again, but at least you'll know for the future."

I shook my head. "It has to be that particular girl," I said. I looked over at her, at eyes that I hadn't even looked into before. It was a miracle that I'd remembered the girl's name at all. "I don't think I want to go back to living without her."

"Maybe you just need to find a way to apologize that's as big as the lie you told," Jenny said.

"How could I ever do that?" I asked.

Jenny shrugged. "I'm sure you'll think of something." She stood up. "I know I at least appreciated the apology, even if she doesn't..." She paused. "And since you didn't lose the number... If things don't work out with Becky..." Jenny smiled sadly, "Maybe give me a call sometime. I'd like to get to know you."

"Thanks," I mumbled, "But I know I won't do that." I looked up at her. "And it's not because you aren't an amazing person or anything. I'm sure you are. I mean I don't even really know you, you know? But..."

"But I'm not Becky. It's okay. I get it." Jenny nodded. "Thank you for your apology, Nick Carter," she said. And she jogged away.

I sat there on the bench in the park awhile longer, letting all the stuff Jenny had said mill around in my head. She was right. I needed to find a way to apologize to Becky. No, not just to Becky, I realized, but to all of the girls that I'd ever wronged. That was a lot of girls, I thought, and I had no idea how I'd even get into contact with more than half -- yeah, okay, with like 99.999999% of them. Even the ones I did know the names of I didn't have a clue where most of them were these days. But it was important that they know that I was sorry, that I had changed, that I knew what I'd done to them was wrong.

Just... how in the hell was I gonna do it?

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Ellen


It took me a week to figure out how to do apologize to every girl that I'd ever wronged from Random Nameless Chick #1 to Monica from San Diego to Becky herself. A whole week of moping and thinking and staring blankly at the wall of the bedroom as I lay in bed for hours exhausted from just the sound of oxygen going in and out of my lungs. But when the idea occurred to me, it was so blatantly obvious that I didn't know why I hadn't thought of it to begin with.

Luckily, I had the resources to tap to make it happen.

I spent the next week trying to come up with the words to say that might make Becky understand how incredibly sorry I was for what I'd done and that I wasn't just saying words to try to make her believe me, but that I was actually feeling the things I was saying. It was a challenge and I spent several nights wide awake staring at the ceiling mumbling to myself before I had some resemblence of the words I felt inside me.

I just hoped it'd be enough.

Because certainly nothing else I'd attempted had been. I'd been on WOW sending her messages every chance that I got over the two weeks. But I don't think she even signed on because the messages went unread and unresponded to and she had yet to unfriend me. I spent a lot of time sitting in my computer chair, staring at the profile image of Princess Neryls of Hatteras on my computer screen and the picture of Becky on my phone, waiting, and praying that my idea was going to be enough to reverse the damage I'd done.

On the day that my diabolical plan was to take place, I made my way to Studio 1 in Burbank.

Donnie was standing outside signing autographs to the long line of fans that lined the wall. As my car pulled up along side the line up, I scanned my eyes for Becky, but I didn't see her anywhere. A terrible feeling of dread eeked into my stomach as I worried that she didn't end up going to the show after all. I unrolled the window as we rolled to a stop behind him. "Hey," I said.

A couple girls that recognized me let out a few tame shrieks. One shouted "NICK! HI NICK!" at the top of her lungs and a few heads turned, necks craning to see my face peering out of the car.

Donnie finished up with the autograph he was singing, then turned to me. "Hey brother," he said, lifting up his hand to bump fists with me, "Long time no see, how's it hanging?"

"Tough," I answered.

He grinned, "So punny. You headed inside?"

"Yep."

"I'll be in after I say hi to this lot," he waved at the rest of the line. "The three-J's are in there, I think. Danny's runnin' late."

"Thanks."

Donnie waved my driver through and we came up to the door, and I thanked the driver and climbed out, headed inside. The girls at the head of the line let out cries as I went by and I distributed a few high-fives but, for the most part, I stayed focused on the mission at hand. I was repeating the speech I'd come up with over and over in my head, carefully reviewing that I wasn't going to miss anything when I delivered it for Ellen and her audience.

Inside, I was directed to a green room where Joey, Jordan, and Jonathan were eating sandwiches. Joey had a squirt gun that his son had given him and he was spraying the other two with it. They stopped goofing off the moment I walked in the door and Jon gave me a hug and Jordan said, "Imagine seeing you here. It's like a flashback or something."

When Danny and Donnie came in a little while later we caught up on each other's business, including the guys telling me about their new tour and album and some upcoming event plans they had, but my mind was still focused elsewhere, even as Ellen's crew came for them to drag them off to soundcheck. I was ushered off to a make-up department. After awhile, the immistakable sounds of girls rushing for seats in the main auditorium filled the studio and I was whisked back to the green room where the five New Kids and I waited for the show to begin.

I was scared to fucking death, I'm not gonna lie.

All I could picture was getting out there and screwing the whole thing up, making her more angry with me somehow.

I focused on what I was gonna say.

Even as Donnie, Joey, Jordan, Danny, and Jon were led out to the main stage. "Don't worry," Donnie said, seeing the paling of my face. He patted my back, "You speak your piece, you apologize. It's the most you can do. If she isn't interested after that, at least you can tell 'em all that you did your best." He sighed. "Sometimes that's the best we can do is our best."

"Thanks," I answered.

He nodded. "And Carter?"

"Yeah?"

"You pull crap like this again to one of my Sisters and I'll have to kill ya." He grinned, then ducked out of the green room, following after the other guys.

I listened to them perform, listened to Ellen interviewing them, every moment my stomach churning because I knew once they got to this certain point I'd get my cue and I, too, would be ushered out of the green room and out into the studio to face my fears.

And the moment came too quickly.

"And next up on my line up I have a guy who proves that although women are able to fake orgasms, men are capable of faking whole relationships..." The audience laughed. One particularly amused girl let out a shriek. Ellen paused in her speech, grinning into the camera. Her eyes glistened. "Seriously, though, isn't it true, Donnie?" she looked over at him. The camera swung to Donnie.

"Hey don't get me involved in this," he said, waving his hands and grinning.

Ellen laughed, "Aw you're scared now, you're scared. It's okay Donnie, I'm not out to get you. I don't bite."

"Thank God for that."

"Okay so my next guest is a friend of yours."

"Yeah he is!" Jonathan said enthusiastically.

Joey, Jordan and Danny just nodded. Donnie nodded, shrugged, then nodded, "Yeah I guess you could say that. We were more competitive than friends. You know."

Ellen looked over. "Competitive? You beat each other up ever, Donnie?"

"After hearing what he's about to talk to you about I thought about it seriously," Donnie chuckled.

"Cos the Wahlberg temper... I mean..."

"I knowww, I know..." Donnie laughed.

"He's beat me up," Jordan laughed.

"Dude my toddler beats you up," Joey said.

"That's not good," Ellen chuckled.

"Joey's toddler is like Xena Warrior Princess," Jordan supplied.

Ellen laughed, too. "Well anyway, here he is... Nick Carter from the Backstreet Boys."

I got up from the couch I was sitting on in the green room and travelled through the backstage hallway and out onto the set. As I stepped into the blinding studio lights, making my way across the hardwood flooring of the set toward the chairs Donnie and Ellen sat in, Ellen stood up and Get Another Boyfriend played over the loudspeaker.

"You really dug in the vault for that one, huh?" I laughed as Ellen held out a hand to shake mine and I sat down. More than half of the audience members were screaming and freaking out. Ellen looked out and motioned for them to quiet down as she lowered into her seat. She pulled her feet up onto the cushions, sitting Indian style.

"I wanted to give you a proper enterance for your harrowing tale," she sad.

I nodded, "I guess that one is a good one."

"So tell me this story, what happened exactly?"

I scanned my eyes across the audience until I spotted Becky, who was sitting in the third row next to Ricky. Her eyes were wide, her jaw dropped. I looked right at her. "I had this really stupid bet with a friend of mine and because of it, I've lost the best thing that's ever happened to me," I said. I turned to Ellen. "And I'm here to apologize to every woman I've ever wronged."

Ellen chortled. "Every woman? Oh Nick. What happened? Did you learn the law about women? We might not hit harder but we'll always hit lower." She winked and the audience whooped with laughter.

Joey chuckled beside me, "I'll attest to that."

"You telling us something about Barrett, there Joe?" Jordan quipped.

"See, the New Kids know," Ellen gestured at them. "They've been around the block and stuff. You know?"

I laughed, "Yeah they have. Cos they're old."

"Hey now," Donnie laughed.

"But seriously," I said, looking over at Becky again, "I just realized that I'll never be able to be really sorry until I've apologized... to every single one of the girls I've ever hurt."

Donnie laughed, "Every single one? Oh Jesus. We're gonna be here awhile."

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Are-Are You Sorry?


I've never been one of those people that apologies come easily to. I mean, I don't mean to be one of those people, it's just how I am. I like to be right and when I'm wrong I'm too stubborn to admit it. I like to think I apologize easily, though, and if directly asked I'll usually say that I do. Even though I totally don't. Usually, apologies are only just barely easier than pulling teeth. So apologizing in front of the entire viewing audience of Ellen, which was inflated by all the Blockheads -- and by now, thanks to the power of Twitter, probably most of my own fan base, was a huge ass step for me.

A step that I wasn't sure how to take now that I'd gotten myself the platform.

I looked around at the bright lights and stuff, at the audience. There was a palpable feeling of anticipation as everyone waited for me to speak my piece. But it was like every word that I'd rehearsed and scripted for myself flew out of my brain now that I was on the spot.

I looked over at Becky.

She was getting up.

"Don't go," I said. Ricky was holding her purse as she climbed over the girls in the seats blocking her access to the aisle. She started to trot up the steps, toward the exit of the studio. I stood up. "Becky, please." Heads turned to look at her and she froze on the steps and turned around slowly. She stared at me. "Don't go."

She bit her lips.

"Becky, I made a mistake. I should've told you the truth a long time before I did... I should've never have agreed to any stupid bet. I hurt so many people and in the pursuit of What I Want all my life and I feel so... guilty... for that, for not thinking about other people. And I'm sorry, not just to you, but to every girl I've ever done wrong to. And I know there's a lot of them... I know there's more reasons to feel guilty than any amount of guilt I could possibly feel." I shook my head, "I know I don't deserve a second chance, I know I don't deserve your trust after what I did... but..." I took a deep breath and I looked down at my sneakers, "Becky, you didn't know my name, or my occupation, exactly, but you knew me. The me that's under all that, the me that nobody else knows." I could feel tears falling from my eyes, rolling across my cheeks. "I am... so... incredibly sorry..." I choked, "Please... forgive me. Give me a chance to prove to you how much I love you."

I looked up.

But she'd left.

I stared at the spot where she'd been feeling like my guts had been ripped out of me.

"So wait a minute, you lied about your name and your occupation to women to sleep with them?" Ellen said. The audience looked torn between shock, horror, amusement, and even anger. A select few were staring at the door Becky had gone through, the ones near where she'd been even had looks of pity.

I nodded wordlessly to answer Ellen's question. "But I'm more sorry than anyone could ever know," I said thickly. The lights of the studio set were bright and hot and I suddenly felt like a cornered animal, like I was choking. My shirt became too tight at my neck. I grabbed for it, pulling it away from my skin. "I'm sorry..." I said, "I'm so sorry." I had to get out of those lights. The New Kids were all staring at me, everyone but Donnie looking shocked, too. Donnie was looking at his knees, a sad expression on his face.

I quickly climbed over the coffee table and ran for the door the audience members that had seen Becky leave were looking at. I launched myself through it and into a long hallway. I ran down the hall, out the door and into the California sunshine, which was too bright too fast and blinded me for a moment. I dashed down the sidewalk and pulled my shirt off as I went. Finally I jogged to a stop a couple blocks away, bent down, and gasped for air.

Slowly the city sounds and atmosphere melted back into perspective as I stood there. Honking car horns, talking people, laughing people, street musicians, air traffic, the smell of smog and hot cement. I caught my breath and I stood up and swiped my eyes with the back of my hand. Some people were glancing at me, obviously worried about the weird guy that had burst onto the scene and stood there breathing all funny for a few moments. I ducked away before they could recognize me.

I felt horrible, like I imagine those hollow chocolate bunnies at Easter would feel if they were alive. Like the pitiful ones you see at Walmart that were stocked too low on the shelf and a toddler got hold of them and smooshed them in and the tin foil bends in and the chocolates all broken and nobody ever buys the bunny and he's thrown away and never lives up to his full potential of being prominently displayed in some Easter basket... I felt all pushed in and broken and thrown away, too. And the worst part was it was my own damn fault.

When I got home I laid down on the bed, curled into the pillow, smashing my face into it, and closed my eyes. I stayed like that until I couldn't breathe and I moved my head enough to expose my nose, smooshing the pillow into a new position.

A glimmer caught my eye.

I opened my eyes and inspected the glimmer. It was a necklace, one I hadn't seen before. A locket. I pulled it closer and clicked the little locket open. Inside was a picture of a woman who, although I didn't know her personally, I could knew who it was. It was Becky's mom. I closed the locket and held it in my fist.

I got up and carried the locket down to my studio. Fishing through the drawers, I found an envelope and I slid the locket inside and sealed it, then scrolled Becky across the front. I grabbed my keys and drove to Becky's house. I parked out front and walked over to the mailbox. The door opened just as I was opening the mail box to shove the envelope inside. It was Bradley, but he didn't have the light saber this time. He ran across the lawn, his legs and arms flailing awkwardly like a little kid. He reached the edge of the lawn and stared at me for a long moment.

"Wh-what are you d-doing?" he stammered.

"I found something of Becky's at my house," I answered. I looked at the envelope then, instead of putting it in the mailbox, I held it out to Bradley. "Make sure she gets it." He didn't take it. He glanced at it, but he didn't take it.

"I saw y-you on - on the Teee Veeee," he said, drawing out the letters. "Y-you were wi-with the New K-Kids on the B-Block. They're my Becky's fave-ritt." He pronounced the last word funny.

I nodded. "They're friends of mine, I guess. Becky was there, too." I shook the envelope, but he still didn't take it.

"Th-they showed my Becky," he answered.

"They did?" I hadn't noticed any cameras aiming her direction.

"Y-yes, when you - you were saying sorry."

"Oh," I said.

Bradley's eyes narrowed. "Are-are you sorry?"

I nodded sincerely.

Bradley reached out and took the envelope from my hands. "I-I will give th-this to my B-Becky," he said, and he turned on his heels and rushed into the house, leaving me there on the side of the street.

"Thanks Bradley," I said, long after he'd disappeared into the house. I went back to my car and got in. I was pulling my seatbelt across my chest when the house door opened again.

Chapter Thirty: You Don't Know Me


Becky walked across the lawn, her fist clutched around the locket. I let the seat belt slide back into it's socket and climbed out of the car. She was almost to the sidewalk as I moved around the nose of the car. On the porch, Bradley and Bruce were standing just outside the door, Bruce holding onto Scooby Doo, who struggled to follow after Becky as she stepped onto the sidewalk, her eyes boring into me.

She shook her fist, the locket danced beneath it. "Where did you find this?"

"It was in my bed," I said. "It probably fell off when we... you know." Becky stared down at the locket. "I figured it was probably really important to you, I saw it had your mom's picture in it."

Becky nodded.

"I just wanted to return it. I found it when I got home from Ellen."

Becky looked up at me. "How could you do that? Put me on the spot like that?" she asked.

"I didn't know how else to make you listen to what I had to say," I said quietly.

"I didn't want to hear what you had to say," she answered.

"But I had to say it," I said.

Becky put the necklace on, tucking it behind her shirt. She folded her arms across her chest. "Everyone in Los Angeles saw that. My Dad saw it. Bradley saw it. Donnie Wahlberg saw it. Everyone saw it." She shook her head, "It was humiliating."

"I'm sorry." I hadn't even thought of that aspect of going public like that. I hung my head. Again with the only thinking of myself, I thought. At least it was getting easier to apologize for it.

Becky sighed, "My dad and Bradley think I should give you a second chance," she said.

"They do?" I looked up.

"Yeah," she said, "They do."

I all but stopped breathing, not daring to moving or interrupt the balance of whatever it was that was shifting to make that even a possibility. Alternate universe maybe? Had I stepped through a green pipe and landed in an another world like Mario? I waited. Then, whe several long, breathless moments had passed, I whispered, "What do you think?"

She hesitated. "My dad asked me if I was in love with Nate or with you. I asked him what he meant and he asked if it was about your name or your black hair and glasses and the things you'd told me about 'Nate' or if it was the person that made me laugh and who ate breakfast with us and kept me company at the Oasis in the mornings, the person I debated with over my geekdoms with."

My heart slowed in anticipation.

"And I realized he was right. It really had nothing to do with 'Nate' or the things you told me about yourself, it was about who you were on the inside and the things you said that couldn't have been lies." She paused. "But I still don't know how to trust you."

"I can earn it back," I whispered. "I'll do anything."

"Anything?" Becky asked.

I nodded.

"Then pretend you don't know me." She paused, then she turned and walked back to the house, climbed the steps, and went inside. Bruce stared after her, then looked out at me with a questioning expression on his face. I shrugged. Bradley went inside after Becky. Bruce hesitated, glancing between the door and me, and then finally stepped inside and the door closed behind him. I climbed into my car and drove home, completely confused.

When I got home, I signed onto WOW to see if she'd sent me a message or unfriended me or anything. But she still hadn't been online. I sighed and went to get a drink, my mind still reeling over what the hell she could've meant. Had it been a command to leave her alone? Or was it an invitation to reintroduce myself? Had she expecte me to follow her into the house or to knock on the door? Was I supposed to show up at the Fresh Oasis and maybe try to order a medium again?

I went upstairs and set my alarm clock so I wouldn't forget to set it later so I'd be up in time to go to the Oasis first thing in the morning.

When I got downstairs, my computer was blinking.

I looked.

I had a message from Princess Neryls.

[PrincessNeryls] says: AFK as usual i see
[PrincessNeryls] says: how would u feel about a rondezvous?

I sat down at the computer, my heart racing.

[NatetheGreat] says: Are you a granny porn model?
[PrincessNeryls] says: Do you have a problem with that?
[NatetheGreat] says: granny porn is sexy
[PrincessNeryls] says: so theres this smoothie shop on central...
[NatetheGreat] says: fresh oasis
[PrincessNeryls] says: go there tomorrow around lunch
[PrincessNeryls] says: I'll be there.
[NatetheGreat] says: How will I know its you?
[NatetheGreat] says: besides the fact that you're obviously world famous for your granny porn
[PrincessNeryls] says: you'll know.
[PrincessNeryls has logged out.]

Chapter Thirty-One: It's Nice To Meet You, Nick Carter


My palms were sweating when I got out of my car and walked to the door of the Fresh Oasis the next morning at 11:30. I pulled open the door to find the shop was crowded inside with people, kids yelling and grown ups reading off their tablets. Ricky and Thomas were behind the counter, but I didn't see Becky anywhere. I found a seat and lowered myself into it. After a few moments, Thomas came over, "Can I get you anything?" he asked.

I shook my head. "I'm waiting for someone," I said.

He looked at me in a way that told me he knew who I was and whom I was waiting for (it was a little easier to tell now that I'd had AJ come over the night before to help me get my hair back to blonde in preparation for introducing myself to Becky). But Thomas didn't say anything if he did, just shrugged and walked away. I had a feeling he was gonna go tell Ricky I was there. I fidgeted nervously in my seat, waiting, wondering, hoping it wasn't just a cruel joke to get me here for Ricky to have one of his friends come beat up or something. I checked my watch periodically. When it struck noon, I felt my heart crawl into my throat and my nerves tensed up.

Where was she?

Was I being stood up?

Had she changed her mind?

It was ten past when the door opened and she walked in.

Her hair hung in messy curls around her face, just the way it'd been the first day I met her here at the Oasis. Her wide eyes roamed the shop until she saw me, and then she started walking over. She had on a brand new BSB t-shirt. So new there were still fold lines in the thing. God only knows where she got it, I couldn't imagine any place in the area that sold the things. Yet there she was, wearing it just the same. She was carrying the D&D module again, too, the one with Princess Neryls of Hatteras in it. She was staring right at me, a smouldering, intense stare. I stared right back at her, too, my heart pounding so hard I swear it was like a kick drum in a hip hop beat. I stood up, my chair scraping the floor of the shop. She stepped up to me.

"Hello," she said.

"Hi," I said. Then, remembering I was supposed to pretend not to know her, I said, "You must be Princess Neryls."

"People in the real world call me Becky," she said. She raised her eyebrow, waiting for me to take my cue.

"And people in the real world call me Nick," I said, "Nick Carter."

A slight smile tickled the edge of Becky's mouth. "It's nice to meet you Nick Carter," she said.

"It's nice to meet you too," I answered.

She studied me a moment, her eyes crinkling into a smile, "I like your hair better dark, actually," she said, "But I guess this will do..." She reached up and smoothed a piece that must've been acting out on me.

"Yeah well, I like your shirt," I commented. "But I thought you hated the Backstreet Boys?"

Becky laughed, smirking, "I had a feeling I might be meeting one of them today so I wanted to be appropriately dressed."

I laughed.

"You look kind of like him," she joked, eyes twinkling.

"I get that a lot," I said.

"I bet you do," she said. She paused. "It's gonna be weird calling you Nick for awhile."

"I'm sorry."

Becky shook her head, "You've said that enough. Well --" she made a face, "Not enough I mean you really can't say it enough, but I'm sick of hearing it." She looked me over. "You said once that you wanted a do-over," she said.

I nodded.

Becky took a deep breath, "Well this is it. No more do-overs after this. You mess this up and we're done. Okay?"

"Yes," I answered.

Becky reached for my hand. "But you'd have to work pretty hard to mess it up this time." She looked into my eyes. Deep, deep into my eyes.

"So what did you have in mind for this rondezvous?" I asked.

Becky reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. The coupons we'd won on our last do-over first date. "You up to some laser tag?"

I nodded, "Hell yeah."

Becky reached for my hand and her fingers slipped into my palm. As we stepped onto the sidewalk, I saw Bradley standing a couple spaces away by the Slyyymer, inspecting the parking meter. "I hope it's okay that I bring my brother along," Becky said, "He really wanted to come meet you, too."

I laughed, "I'm really glad you did," I replied as Bradley spotted me and ran over, squeezing me and Becky both into the same hug.