Page 18 of Animal Beats

“Nice try. Sober means you drink this.” I hold up a can of soda. “Or seltzer. Milk. Water.” I offer alternatives.

“Wine,” he counters.

My head cocks. “Seriously? Let’s look it up, shall we?” Despite being so tired I could fall asleep on my feet, I plug the word “sober” into my phone and read him the definition. I clear my throat. “The legal definition of ‘sober’ is ‘free of alcohol and drugs, except for prescription medications.’ Are you on any prescription medicine?”

“No.”

“Then you are to remain free of alcoholic beverages while under my careful eye.”

“I never consented to this.” He holds up his phone and presses a button. Luke answers. “Dude. When I agreed to be sober, I didn’t think it meant no drinks at all. Your watchdog is telling me I can’t even have a drink or two of wine.”

“Río, you literally caused a riot at the Trevi Fountain because alcohol impaired your reasoning about when to rein it in. What did you think I meant when I said you had to be ‘sober’? Simply not drunk?”

My thought exactly.

Both of my charge’s hands bang against his leg, his cell bouncing. I’m annoyed my word wasn’t the last, but at least Luke backed me up. This privileged rocker needs to learn to listen to me. Luckily, I’ve had practice with this type of behavior my entire life. He’s not going to get the best of me.

While Río hashes it out with his manager, I dump the rest of the alcoholic contents from the fridge into the garbage, leaving sodas and water. Plus the nuts and candy. He can get high off chocolate.

Off his phone, Río marches over to me. His gaze searches the bin in my hands, which I move behind my back. “I’m not letting you drink something you shouldn’t.”

“If I can’t have anything in here, I’m going out.” He turns and stomps over into the bathroom.

Great. My body needs rest, especially if I’m expected to handle him. Seems like this will be a test for both of us.

I enter my own room, opening my luggage. My usual routine is to spend fifteen minutes putting all of my clothes and toiletries away. For tonight, though, I select a pair of dark pants with a cute top and do a fast change. I have no idea how quick a dresser Río is, but I can’t leave anything up to chance. I’m changing my shoes when I hear Río’s bedroom door shut.

Standing up, I grab my purse, phone, and room key and scramble to the living room. The damn drummer is over in the kitchen, so I relocate next to him at the fridge, where he’s reaching for a beer. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

Note to self. Do a sweep of the room before he gets here. Better yet, ask the hotel not to stock alcohol in his rooms. Yes. I’ll make this request of Luke tomorrow.

“It’s only a beer. Barely any alcoholic content in it at all.”

“Sober.”

“Fuck you.” Río lets the bottle go. “I’m going out. I seriously doubt you can keep up with me.” He turns and walks to the door.

“Be ready to be surprised.” I follow him, hard on his heels.

After a quick elevator ride down, during which we don’t say a word to each other, Río walks through the lobby and exits into the crowded street. My watch says it’s nearly eleven o’clock. The Spanish must never sleep.

We walk through the bustling streets for about a block before he turns into a club. Great. How am I going to keep him on the right path when he has absolutely no desire to be there? Well, he’s literally my job. Plus, Bennett’s ten grand rides on me keeping him sober is all the extra incentive I need, and I follow him to the bar.

The bartender approaches Río. “I’d like a Gold Rush.”

The bartender’s head tilts. At least he doesn’t know English—and I took Spanish for several years in school. “Hola, él quiere una cerveza sin alcohol.” I point at Río. “No bebe.” Let’s hope a nonalcoholic beer tricks him. “Y quiero una coca cola dietética.” I’ll need all the caffeine I can get. Even though I’d love to have a red wine, a diet soda is the smarter choice for me. This is shaping up to be a long night.

Our drinks are handed to us, and we maneuver our way to the side. Río quirks his eyebrow at his brew. He sniffs it like it’s poison, then takes a quick sip. And another. “Nice try, Babysitter. I don’t do this nonalcoholic shit.” He slams the drink onto a nearby table and walks away from me.

My eyelids shut. Give me strength.

This time, instead of returning to the bar, he heads for the dance floor. His not causing a scene might be even more difficult than not letting him drink. He raises both hands into the air and I suck in a breath. He’s wearing one of the new shirts we bought in Rome and I mutter, “Please don’t take it off.” For the moment, I’m safe. He doesn’t try to unbutton anything.

He dances around to a few different groups. Of course, he gathers women like the Pied Piper, and soon is the center of attention of a group of at least eight. Since he’s on the dance floor, I sway in the outer perimeter. Not part of his harem, but close enough I can swoop in and stop any bad behavior.

Such as drinking from the ladies’ cups. Seriously? And they’re letting him? Should I step in? Bennett’s bet on the plane makes me take a couple of steps toward him. He has the gall to point at me with a glass, and the group of women surrounding him all look at me.

I’m only here to do a job. Knowing I have to get the upper hand, I approach the nearest girl glaring at me. How fun is this? “Do you speak English?”