Authors: Claire Adams
“Oh really? How often do you go out for
coffee with someone you hate,” I challenged, my fingernails digging through the
palm of my hands. The pain was oddly soothing.
“Not very often. But you know what? Before
you came along, I would never ever have agreed to be friends with him. Because
in some part of me, I still cared. Now I don’t. Because I care about you. And I
have no reason to hate him. He almost did me a favor. In some ways, I am
grateful… if he hadn’t cheated on me, you and I would have never…”
She stopped, perhaps realizing that she
had said more than she intended.
“You can’t talk to him anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are not allowed to go anywhere near
that guy.”
She flared her nostrils. “You can’t tell
me who I can or cannot talk to. You think you own me?”
“Actually I kind of do,” I spat. “In this
regard anyway. It’s in the contract. Section 9. You’re not allowed to engage in
any sort of relationship – platonic or otherwise – with a man I disapprove of.
And I assure you, I disapprove of this guy.”
She opened her mouth in anger and closed
it again. Tears were now freely streaming down her face, her mascara running
down her cheeks. I didn’t want her to cry. But more importantly, I didn’t want
her talking to that guy.
She looked like she wanted to say
something a few times but changed her mind. After standing there in silence for
a few minutes, she stormed out of the office.
People had definitely witnessed the
production, and I worried about being insulted by my own employees. I did not
need this kind of attention. Why did I care who she spoke to anyway? She was
just some girl I had contracted to win a challenge in my own head, yet this
whole ordeal made me feel extremely vulnerable. So much so that I had ended up
creating a scene at work; something that had never, ever happened, in my entire
career.
Aria Roberts was turning out to be more
trouble than I needed in my life. Yet I knew just then that I would not be able
to rest peacefully until I knew for sure that no one else shared her attention.
She was to be – for whatever duration she had signed up for – completely and
utterly mine.
I didn’t care how that made me seem. I
wanted what I wanted, and I always got what I wanted. If she didn’t stop
talking to him, I’d have him shipped off the state in no time. Money talks.
She would then hate me if she found out. I
felt an uncomfortable knot in my chest. I didn’t want her to hate me. I would
have to find a better tactic. What happened today could not be repeated. If I
wanted to enjoy the remainder of these few months, it was in my best interest
to learn to keep my emotions in check.
The trouble was, I had never before had
trouble keeping my emotions in check, and I really did not know how.
Chapter
7
Aria
“Not now Stace!” I yelled from my room
after Stacey’s fourteenth attempt to knock on my door.
“I come bearing cookies. With huge
chocolate chunks. Don’t tell me your mouth isn’t watering smelling all the
freshly baked goods.”
I sighed. She was right; Stacey knew me
too well. The aroma of the cookies baking had definitely attracted my
attention, but if I knew one thing about myself, it was to not allow binging on
sugar while I was upset. It usually started with one cookie or just a spoonful
of ice-cream, and next thing I knew I would be laying amidst a mountain of
wrappers and empty tubs of ice-cream. I was such a freaking stereotype
sometimes. Since I literally had no time for the gym in my schedule between
work and classes, this always ended up being a horrible idea.
“Thank you, but I honestly just need to
continue stuffing my head in this pillow and ignoring humanity for a little bit
longer.”
“What if I promise not to make you talk
about whatever it is that’s bothering you?” Stacey offered patiently. “Though I
assume it’s Zayden related. You can talk to me when you’re ready, but don’t
take it out on yummy sugary deliciousness.”
“How delicious?” I couldn’t help but ask.
Stacey was a master baker, so it was a stupid question, in any case.
“Better than Halloween.”
I gasped and jumped to open the door. Damn
it, Stacey.
“It can’t be better than Halloween. You
had peaked. That’s physically impossible,” I said reaching for one giant
cookie, while Stacey made herself comfortable in my bed.
One large bite and I was ready to
collapse, all my troubles temporarily evaporating. The cookie seemed to be
ninety percent chocolate and just the right amount of crunchy, with buttery
sweetness and the tiniest hint of vanilla. I closed my eyes and ate the rest of
the cookie in slow bites, savoring every aspect of the immaculate taste and
texture. For a moment I completely forgot why I had myself locked in my room
for the last few days.
“Good?” Stacey was grinning at me, all
prideful, when I opened my eyes.
“Horrible,” I said returning her grin.
“Absolutely disgusting.”
I reached out for another one and devoured
it. “Seriously, the worse cookies I’ve ever had.”
Stacey chuckled. “I’m glad you think so
too. Now listen, I know you don’t want to talk about whatever is bothering you,
and that’s fine. But you’ve been locked in here for days and that’s not
healthy. Let’s do something. Outdoors.”
“Nah, I’m not feeling it,” I said
automatically. “You go ahead though. Leave me the plate of horrible cookies, of
course.”
“Aria. Come on. This isn’t good. You
haven’t gone to work and you need the money! And you missed your Stats
mid-term, didn’t you?”
No one was supposed to know about that.
This was unusual for me: letting personal matters affect my academic
performance. But I was in no mood to run into Zayden or Rick or deal with any
of that bullshit.
“I told my professor I had diarrhea. He
was all too glad to let me make it up.”
She raised her eyebrows suspiciously.
“Does not sound like the Stats dude, at all.”
“You want to see the email?”
I wasn’t lying. Apparently the professor
had recently suffered from food poisoning himself, and preferred staying away
from anybody with stomach related issues. My make-up test was next week.
“Fine. What about your other classes?”
“I have As in everything. They aren’t
going to bust me for missing a class or two. I’m the best they have.”
“How do you manage to stay so modest?”
“I don’t have to be. It’s true, you know
it’s true. And when have I done this before? Don’t I deserve one tiny break?”
That made Stacey hug me for some reason.
“Never. You have never done anything like this before, Aria. Which is what
makes me worry so much. You didn’t even miss a single class when Dick cheated
on you. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a break! Of course you do. You work
harder than anyone I know.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry for being such a
recluse. I just have a lot of things to sort through my head. I’ll tell you all
about it eventually. Right now I’m just confused and frustrated and just need a
little time to think things over. And the cookies helped. A lot. You’re the
bestest friend ever.”
“You know what else will help? A night
out. Just you, me and Nick, goofing around. No boy-talk, no moping, no
worrying, just an obscene amount of shots.”
“I lost my fake I.D. remember? Can’t get
in.”
“Don’t worry. What do you think Nick’s off
doing right now? We’re on it.”
“What do you mean you’re on it?” I
laughed. “How did you know I would agree to this? I still haven’t!”
“Please, I knew I’d convince you the second
you opened the door. There is a reason I spent all day baking, I know how to
get to you.” She winked.
“You manipulative genius,” I said with a
mock-shocked expression. “I’m not coming.”
She sniggered. “Then why are you walking
towards your closet?”
“Because, closet police, I’d like to
change into some nice clothes. It’s good for the morale. And these pajamas are
just about ready to disintegrate from overuse.”
“Do you want to borrow my red strappy
sandals? They’ll go well with the dress you’re holding.”
“Why would I do that?” I asked
defensively. “I don’t need to wear nice shoes to hang around the apartment in a
pretty dress.”
---
Two hours later we were in The Dive, a
small bar a few miles outside the university that Nick had discovered his
freshmen year. “It’s a good place to get away from college kids,” he’d said, as
though he was a very old man constantly aggravated by the youth.
My fake I.D. had worked brilliantly, even
though it had expired last month. Nick had somehow managed to convince a
redheaded senior from his Biometrics class to make me another one for free. I
suspected he’d be doing her homework for the rest of the semester, and felt
extremely grateful for friends like Nick and Stacey in my life.
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.