Rock Star Billionaire

The Dive was, to my great relief, not too packed. A few men in business suits were occupying the bar, but other than that and two tables with giggly couples, it was empty. We sat at the booth to the far right next to the dart board that nobody ever used. A waitress came over to us.

“Would you guys like anything to drink before you order?”

“We are here just for drinks, actually,” Nick said politely.

“Actually, can I just look at the appetizers?” I said to make her feel better, but then realized I actually could eat something. Aside from Stacey’s cookies, I hadn’t really eaten in two days.

“I’ll grab the special appetizers menu for you ma’am, be right back,” the waitress said and scurried off.

“So guys,” Stacey began to say, who had thus far been busy fiddling with her phone. She looked up. “Do you want to play Numbers?”

Nick and I both chuckled.

“There is hardly anyone here; women seem to be particularly missing so you guys have a clear advantage.”

Numbers was a game Stacey and I invented our freshman year. We only ever played it between the three of us and the rules were pretty straightforward: try to get as many numbers as possible. The three of us would usually separate into different corners of a bar or a party and talk to random strangers – appearance, status, and sometimes even gender did not factor into it – and try to get their numbers. In order to avoid cheating, the second part of the game happened the next day. Nick, Stacey and I would exchange the numbers we had managed to get and then call each one on the list. Nick would call the men, us the women. Then we would be like, “Is this Sally?” to make sure that it was the right person and we weren’t just making it up. When the person responded “yes”, we’d just make up a fake last name, apologize for calling the wrong number, then put a check mark next to the person. Whoever had the highest count of verified numbers would then be treated to brunch by the other two, and brunch was usually spent laughing about all the tactics and victims involved in the game.

It was fun, but Nick was right, this wasn’t the ideal venue to play the game. We would need a bigger crowd.

“Well, it shouldn’t be a problem anymore,” Stacey said, pointing towards the door. A large crowd that appeared to be celebrating a birthday party walked in. There were at least forty men and women who seemed to be in their early twenties, wearing goofy hats. The birthday girl was easily identifiable by her glistening tiara and a pink sachet that said “Happy Birthday, Brianna!”

“And I’ll make you a deal, Nick,” Stacey said. “Double points for Brianna’s number.”

I was starting to get excited in spite of myself. This game was always fun and brunch with the roomies the next morning even more so. I could use some harmless flirting with a bunch of guys.

And then it hit me: I wasn’t allowed to be harmlessly flirting. Not even for the game. Zayden Sinclair and his crazy contract.

“Guys, I’m sorry to be a party pooper, but I can’t,” I said, frowning at the menu the waitress had brought me.

“Don’t be silly, Aria, of course you can,” Nick said, eyeing Brianna as though mentally weighing how difficult it would be to get her number.

“No, I can’t,” I shook my head. “Not in a dramatic, crappy mood kind of a way. Not like I don’t want to. I really, truly, legally can’t.”

Stacey squinted her eyes. “What do you mean?” When I didn’t respond for a while, she said more sternly, “Aria? What do you mean legally?”

“Can we please talk about it tomorrow? I just… I am glad to be out here with you guys and want to try and enjoy my evening. I’ll tell you all about it, I promise,” I said, looking at Stacey, then Nick coughed. “You too, Nick. Brunch tomorrow. I’ll tell you everything. For now though, three shots of tequila?”

“I’ve waited all day to hear those words,” Stacy said, dumping her head onto the table dramatically.

I ordered some nachos to go with my tequila, and when it arrived, one of the guys from the birthday crowd yelled “woohoo!” and joined us from a distance. It was quite comical since he could barely stand and was trying to take that final shot that would make him pass out. This was obviously not their first party. It sucked that I couldn’t play Numbers; it was bound to be super easy under the circumstances.

With every passing drink, the reasoning why I couldn’t play the game sounded more and more feeble. So some guy made me sign some dumb contract; it couldn’t be legally binding. That’s not how contracts worked. And even if it was, what’s the worst that could happen?

Jail, I heard a tiny voice in my head say. I could get sent to prison. So? The drunk Aria fought back. I’d seen Orange is the New Black, I could totally withstand prison. I just had to learn how to smuggle cigarettes in and…

“Aria.” Stacey was snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Are you okay? You’ve been spaced out for a while now. Do you wanna go home?”

“Go home?” I laughed loud enough for the people on the other end of the room to hear. “Go home? It’s not even…” I looked at my wrist and was extremely disappointed to see no watch there. “It’s not even time…to go home…you know, like time?”

Nick was laughing uncontrollably now, and I wondered if he was on the same level as I was. If not – if they were both not – this was going to get really embarrassing tomorrow.

“Where are our shots?” I surveyed the whole room, as though they would just materialize from a random corner.

“We haven’t ordered any,” Stacey said, and I could swear she was slurring her words too, making me feel better.

“Well, we gotta fix that,” I said, then shouted, “SHOTS!”

Everything after that point was hazy. I was running around the bar talking to anyone and everyone. There were shots and more shots, and at one point I think I did a keg stand – or maybe Stacey did one and I felt uncomfortable just watching her. I was next to the birthday girl, cheering her on…we started taking shots together…I was fiddling with my phone. It felt like I was in a horribly made movie. After one last birthday shot with Brianna, everything went completely blank.