Page 7 of Animal Beats

No, thank you. Bennett and Jenna can have their marriage.

I’ll stick to single and carefree.

I realize my arm has moved when cold air rushes past my thigh. Enough of this. I stand and readjust this itchy blanket around my body so it looks more like a toga. When in Rome, and all that.

The men surrounding me begin chanting, “Toga! Toga!”

I raise my fist high over my head to their applause.

“Tranquillo!” A guard comes by my cell.

We all quiet, standing next to each other. The guard stops in front of me. “Are you with UC?”

He asked me a question, so it would be rude of me not to answer. “Yes. I’m their drummer.” I start to extend my hand but realize bars separate us.

“I went to your concert the other night. It was fantastico.” He blows a kiss on his fingers.

“Thanks. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

The guard reaches into his back pocket. “Would you mind if I took a photo of us? It is not like we get such big celebrities in here every day.”

A few of the guys around me push against my shoulders, and I lurch forward. Not as if I needed their encouragement—I never shy away from the spotlight. Ever.

“Of course.”

The guard tries to get a good angle of us, but the bars prevent him from succeeding. He snaps a couple of shots, but his lips turn downward. “Listen, if I let you out of the cell for a minute, would you go back when I click a photo?”

Schooling my face not to react to his funny translation, I repeat, “Of course.” It’s not as if I could make a jailbreak or anything. Even though my fellow detainees might offer some cover, a guy wearing a toga would be spotted pretty easily.

He opens the cell and I slip out and we take several more selfies. The guys detained with me photobomb the shots, but the guard doesn’t seem to mind.

“Hey,” one of the more vocal guys says something in Italian and the guard nods his head. Once I’m returned to the cell, the guard disappears for a moment, and returns with a pad of paper and a couple of pens. “Grazie,” the guy says.

I spend the next several minutes writing autographs for everyone in my cell, most of whom were put in here for drinking and/or urinating in public. Minor offenses, if you ask me. I hand out my last sheet. “Sorry I couldn’t take photos with you all.”

“This is cool. No one will believe I spent time in lockup with the Río Sullivan.”

Something tells me the media will make a big deal out of my being arrested, so their friends may not be so shocked. I keep this to myself.

The same guard who asked for my photo returns. “Happy day,” he says. “You’re being released. Follow me.”

I give my new friends hugs and high fives before leaving the cell and following the cop through the various hallways. At least I was given slipper-like thingies for my bare feet. I’m all for being au natural, but don’t have an affinity for catching whatever might be on these floors. I used my one phone call to reach out to Coop for some clothes, who I’m sure will razz me for this latest escapade.

“Here you go,” the cop says as he opens the door to yet another room.

Luke and Hayden are inside. No Coop? Shit.

“Hey guys,” I stroll into the windowless conference room. Best defense is a good offense, right?

“Río,” UC’s manager begins. “Fancy meeting you here. Wearing a toga?” The tone of his voice raises on a question.

“You got that straight,” I reply, punching him on the shoulder. “How are you doing, Hayden?” I tip my chin.

“I was doing great until about an hour ago. Getting a call from the police in Rome wasn’t on my bingo card.”

“Yeah, well, they’re a tad picky. I was only playing around with my new friends.”

“Are these the friends for whom we had to pay fines for swimming in the Trevi Fountain?” Luke asks. “Or, are you talking about the ones who had the sense not to follow you into the water and left you to the tender mercies of the Roman police?”