(Arsyn's POV)
"Arsyn, I don't think that's a great idea. I think you should just get back here now," one of my bandmates said over the phone. I know they mean well, but I can't just sit around and let this slide.
"Don't worry about me. I'm just going to talk to them—nothing more," I say.
She lets out a long sigh. I can tell she's worried. "I don't know, Arsyn."
"Just trust me on this one, okay?" I end the call before she can say anything else.
If you're wondering what I'm doing right now—I'm heading to Deluxe Navigation's practice room. Somehow, our band got disqualified from the upcoming competition, and from what I've heard, they're the reason why. I knew they were arrogant, but this? This is a new low.
I knock on their door and wait. One minute. Two. Three. What the hell are they doing in there? Finally, the door creaks open, and I'm greeted by a half-asleep guy, rubbing his eyes like he just crawled out of a five-day nap.
"Uhh... where's the pizza?"
I stare at him. "Do I look like a pizza guy?"
He shrugs. "Oh. Well," he mutters and turns to shut the door. Before he can close it, I wedge my foot in.
"I need to talk to you."
He pauses, glances me over, and steps aside. "Come in."
As I walk in, I'm met with the lovely sight of guys sleeping all over the place and others just glued to their phones. Real classy. Is this their idea of band practice? The guy leads me further in and plops down on a cajón beatbox like it's a throne. "So, what are we gonna talk about?" he asks, yawning and scratching his head.
At least act like you care, dude.
I cross my arms, trying to stay calm. "It's about our band—Midnight Beats."
His brows knit slightly before he smirks. Recognition finally hits. "Oh right! You're the girl who punched me."
"You grabbed my butt first," I mutter, my glare sharpening.
He puts his hands up in fake innocence. "Which I told you was an accident."
Yeah, right.
"Oh no, looks like Midnight Beats' drummer is gonna punch me again," he teases, his grin widening.
He's loving this. I can feel the heat rising in my face, but I fight it. I'm here for my band, not for revenge.
"I'm sorry for hitting you," I say through gritted teeth. "Just cancel your report against us."
He blinks at me, the smirk slipping just a little. "A sorry isn't enough. You know how many people laughed at me because of that?"
I bite my tongue. You deserved it.
"Then what do you want?" I ask warily.
And that's when I see it. The grin creeps back, wider, smugger. I instinctively take a step back.
"Relax, Arsyn. I haven't even said anything yet."
"Then say it already."
He stands and walks toward me, a slow and lazy swagger in his step. "It's simple. I want you."
He reaches out, gently grabs a few strands of my hair, and kisses them. The gesture sends a cold chill down my spine. Gross. Creepy. Totally him.
For a second, my brain glitches. Then I shove him off me. Hard.
"Heck no!" I snap. Kendall was right—they treat girls like trophies. It's infuriating.
But what gets under my skin more is the fact that he's still smiling.
"You're not really in a place to argue, are you? You're the one begging right now."
"I'm not going to be yours!"
"You know what? I'm in a good mood today. How about a little bet?"
I narrow my eyes. Generous? This dude is the human version of red flags.
"Here's the deal," he says, voice lighter than it should be. "I'll cancel the report and get you guys back in the competition. But—"
And here it comes. I hold my breath.
"If we lose, I'll do whatever you want."
"Then you'll leave me and my band alone forever. No more schemes, no more flirting, no more games."
He chuckles. "Yeah, yeah. But if I win..."
He steps in, too close for comfort, his lips brushing against my ear. "You're gonna be mine."
I shove him again, harder this time. "I told you—I'm not some prize to be won!"
"Aren't you confident in your band?" he taunts, casually turning his back to me as he picks up his drumsticks.
"I am!"
"Then what's the problem?" He fiddles with his MP3 player, not even bothering to look at me.
"Nothing," I mutter.
"Then it's settled. Deal, Ms. Drummer Girl."
I storm out without saying another word. I know what just happened—we both do. I never agreed aloud, but I didn't say no either.
Zeff Graham is a lot of things—obnoxious, smug, infuriating—but above all, he's confident. And maybe that's the most dangerous part.
I don't know what the hell I've gotten myself into. But for the sake of Midnight Beats... I'll play this game.
Even if it means dealing with the biggest thorn in my side.
A chill guy named Zeff who teases like it's his favorite sport.
And unfortunately for me... I just became his new favorite pastime.