Mr. Bieber's Chauffeur {BxB} ~ Book 1

Chauffeur ~ Chapter 18

Jason P.O.V

Today was Grammy night. To say Justin was nervous would be an understatement. He was walking around in circles while I was just sitting on the couch eating ruffles and staring at him as he bit his nails like it was the best show ever. Which it might, indeed, be.

"You're making me want to pee," I said with my mouth full. He stopped for a second to glare at me. I shrugged and stuffed my mouth with more ruffles.

It has been a week since the studio meeting and the pictures of us holding hands while coming out of the supermarket. A week full of me kissing the popstar as he kissed me back. A week of going almost all the way more than three time, but he always snapped out of it and started talking. His talk wasn't the most pleasant right before sex, I'll tell you that much.

Mr. Bieber wouldn't stop questioning nature.

But why do you have to stick it where I take a shit from?

What if I fart?

Is your dick going to come out dirty?

Why can't you just stick it in the slit?

Is it going to hurt?

As any human being would do, I just shook my head and stopped everything. I even offered him to take me instead but that only led to more awkward, totally unnecessary questions.

What if you shit on me?

Am I going to hurt you badly?

What if you fart and blow my dick up?

At that point, I just got him off of me and walked away in those situations, only to have him hot on my tail apologizing. Who can take that man serious when his mind is so childish?

"Justin," I tried again, "the only bad thing that can happen is that you get caught lip syncing," I chuckled but Justin didn't find it as funny.

"I don't lip sync, you imbecile," I smiled at him and held a chip in the air.

"Want a chip?" I asked.

"Why?" he retorted.

"You get a little nervous when you're hungry," I laughed making him huff in distress.

"I don't fucking like you," he spat, "you're not helping me," I licked my fingers while staring at him in the eyes.

"That's not my job Damsel. My job is to take you to such Grammy awards on time for the red carpet," he whined and started pacing once again as I grabbed another chip.

"What's the worst that can happen?" he asked as he stopped to look at me.

"You break a leg, forget the lyrics, don't win your nomination-"

"Fucking stop!" he yelled as he covered his ears. I laughed and decided that it was enough torture. Putting down the bag of chips, I stood up from the couch and stood in front of him. Holding his face in my hands, I made him look at me.

"I'm just kidding Damsel, you'll do great. You'll kill that stage and get a standing ovation. People are going to be getting out of their seats to dance to your music because they will genuinely be enjoying it. You will do great and there's nothing to worry about," he looked me in the eyes before moving his glance to my lips.

"Really?" he asked.

"Really," I affirmed, "I don't understand you, when you need to be cocky, you're insecure and when you need to be serious, you're a cocky little bastard. What is up with that?"