Taste The Rainbow

Party With The Rich Man

Party With The Rich Man

I slam the now empty shot glass on the black marble top of the bar and stand in triumph.

"I win!" I exclaim loudly right before I realize the world is twisting and turning, plus my head now feels fuzzy. I quickly slump back down into the plush black bar stool I had claimed while my friend Jessica huffs in indignation.

"Dammit! How can you drink the crap so fast?" She groans out before chugging the water bottle we had out for chasers. The rest of the people at the "party" have already deserted us to dance in the living room to some strange pop song. Or it may be rock, I have no clue.

In either case, the ten people who actually came to my little get-together s***h party have migrated to the living room in hopes of dancing. Of course, I never tried to explain to them that my living room is, to say the least, messy. It's as if a tornado swept through there due to my crazy ex who insisted on breaking as much of my stuff as she could.

She managed to destroy my fifty-inch flat screen TV, a good portion of my DVD's and video cassettes, and of course, she left my DVD s***h tape player in pieces. I don't mind that she destroyed my TV or my DVD's but it's near impossible to find a working tape player now of days, let alone a working tape player that also plays DVDs.

That's one reason I prefer men to woman, woman are insane. The first woman I dated and broke up with broke all my windows plus a few antiques that were worth more than she makes in ten years. Although, that isn't to say men are perfect. The last man I dated burnt all my clothes and family pictures in the fireplace along with my college degree. I'm just glad the degree I had hanging on my wall was a photocopy and I had copies of those pictures.

So, with this last disaster created from an ex, I decided it's best not to date anyone who knows I'm rich. All my previous partners only showed interest in me after I let slip that I'm more than a little well-off when it comes to my money. Then again, so many people know me now of days that it's near impossible I find someone who isn't trying to date me for my money. Which suggests I'm living alone for the rest of my life, according to my new rule.

I came to that depressing conclusion last night while I was searching for a new DVD s***h tape player online. It was with those disheartening thoughts that I decided to throw a party or get-together. Unfortunately for me, I have one friend in this world; my dear Jessica.

With her downright impossible burgundy hair, intriguing violet eyes, perfect body, and flawless ivory skin, it's amazing she's even my friend. She's a model, of course, so she can befriend anyone she wants. But instead, she befriends the boring billionaire who tries to blend, even though he doesn't because he wears custom made designer clothes all the time.

It's true that I stand out in a crowd, literally. I'm nearing six-five in height so I tower over everyone, and have some trouble with certain doorways. I inherited my obnoxiously bright, nearly white, blond hair from my mother that contrasts to my nearly bronze skin tone I inherited from my dad. It doesn't help that my eyes are such an incredibly dark blue with a sprinkle of bright green that has people literally stopping on the street to ask if I wear contact lenses.

Then again my choice of fashion, or lack thereof, probably doesn't help my cause. I'm usually seen out of the house in jeans and a bright T-shirt, usually having some kind of funny picture on it. I always wear these pink and black sneakers my little cousin gave me for Christmas a few years back, but I also wear my share of expensive clothing. I always wear my dad's gold Rolex watch with numerous fourteen karat diamonds encrusted around the face of the watch.

I'm always sporting some new necklace, usually a dog collar with diamonds set in the leather, around my neck. And of course, if that doesn't tip off people to my status then my custom crafted 2015 Mustang GT500 gives away my secret.

Although, it's been my experience as of late that people know who I am before I even introduce myself. I'm beginning to get so popular, what with being one of the youngest billionaires in the world, blah blah blah. Now my picture is all over the internet for all to see, along with a poorly written bio that's almost all inaccurate.

According to the internet, I'm a sadomasochist who's a part of the b**m community and is currently planning to become transgender. It must be the fact that I wear dog colors, and odd clothing, that could lead to the assumption that I'm a sadomasochist and perhaps practices b**m. But I have no clue why they think I'm transgender. I may be into both men and woman, and possibly dress like a woman at times, but I'm perfectly content with being a man.

"Erik." I turn to Jess with an arched brow, still trying to figure out how to get the world to stop spinning.

"Jess, I think I drank too much," I admit, now regretting my decision to have this pity-party s***h drinking contest. I feel her delicate hand patting me on the back as I lay my head on the cool surface of my beautiful black marble bar.

"There, there. Come on, let's get you upstairs so you can get some sleep." She soothes. She tries to help me up but I grunt and drunkenly wave her off. I sit up, blink a few times to stop the spinning world and sigh in relief when the urge to vomit ceases.

"I'll be fine, think," I mutter, realizing there's a slight slur to my words. Although, that's to be expected from someone who just downed thirteen shots in less than five minutes without food in my stomach prior. Jess heaves a sigh but nods and smiles nonetheless.

"Be careful, I need to get home. I have a shoot tomorrow at eight sharp and I don't feel like having my makeup artist get mad at me for having bags under my eyes." She states with a roll of her violet eyes. I don't bother to tell her it's impossible for her to get bags under her eyes, I've seen her stay up all night and get only one hour of sleep, she still looked perfect. Unlike me she can go without a lot of sleep and still be beautiful, if I lose even one hour of sleep I become worse looking than usual.

"Right. Be careful yourself, oh and while you're at it would you make sure my porch light is on? I don't need anyone to trip down my stairs." I explain in only slight worry. She nods and hugs me before she walks out of the kitchen.

As I sit there, cradling a glass of Vodka that I don't have an idea of how I got, I realize I just lost my drinking buddy. Or maybe she would be something else because she's a woman, drinking babe. Hm, that would actually fit her perfectly. Or drinking bunny.

The thought makes me laugh then wonder if she ever thought of being a Playboy bunny, she totally has the body for it.

"Excuse me, are you from Tennessee?" I roll my eyes, turning to stare at a man. I admit he's rather appealing, physically speaking. His raven black hair is cut neatly to clearly show off his bright hazel eyes, his muscles clearly defined with his tight white shirt and his black jeans clinging to his body like they were painted on. Although, his cheesy pickup line makes me want to vomit.

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," I grumble to the mystery man. He doesn't seem fazed by my comment and instead grins brightly, taking a seat next to me.

"Do you have a name or can I call you to mine?" I arch a brow over my glass.

"What's with the cheesy pickup lines? Can't you think of some original things to start a conversation?" I question. He shrugs than silently reaches over the bar to grab a glass and a half-full bottle of Everclear.

"Forgive me but I assumed cheesy pickup lines would be a better way to spark a conversation than stuttering like a buffoon." He explains. I snort a laugh of disbelief before waving my glass around.

"Dude, I'm three sheets to the wind. I'll probably forget all about this conversation in the morning so I don't remember if you stutter. But why would you stutter anyway? You seem like a good looking guy that could catch anyone else in this party, or rather anyone at all." I add with another snort.

"You're an intimidating guy." He states. I roll my eyes once more, finishing off the last bit of burning alcohol in my glass.

"Really? Doesn't seem like it. You're the one who's wearing a nearly transparent white shirt that shows off your washboard abs." I reply. The man glances down at his shirt, which is not at all transparent, then grins.

"You're Erik Mikhail, of course, you're going to be intimidating." He explains as if I didn't know who I am. I do indeed know who I am, which is exactly why I threw this party.

"How am I intimidating?" I wonder aloud. He makes a weird noise that I think maybe from disbelief that I don't know how I'm intimidating. Just because I have a good amount of money in my bank doesn't mean I'm any less of a human.

"Well, you're rich, you're hot, you're on TV all the time, and I read somewhere that you're a sadist." I roll my eyes at that.

"I'm not a sadist. Don't believe everything you hear on the internet." I state in mild irritation.

"I'm sorry." He replies immediately. I shrug him off before sighing.

"So, let me guess. You came over because you've seen me on TV and wanted to meet me. You thought you could get a taste of the good life." I mutter in irritation. This is exactly why I am destined to be alone. I can't find someone who doesn't know me anymore, now they all want in on my money.

Of course, those melancholy thoughts are what gave me the stupid idea of not only throwing this party that was supposed to be huge but also get wasted. Well, I accomplished one of those tasks.

"Cheers," I mutter bitterly to myself, allowing myself to delve into my self-pitying thoughts.

"The good life? Are you referencing that Three Days Grace song?" I glance at him in confusion, deciding to entertain myself a bit before shooting the poor guy down.

"What're Three Days Grace? Is it some kind of religious band or something?" I ask curiously and he stares at me as if I've just asked him if the sun is actually a star.

"You've never heard of Three Days Grace? Do you live under a rock or something?" The man asks me seriously.

"I'm kidding. No, that wasn't a reference to a song. What's your name anyway? It's a bit unfair that you know my name but I don't know your name." I add.

"I'm Jeremiah. But you can call me Jer." He replies, holding his hand out in greeting.

"I'd say nice to meet you but obviously it's not if you know who I am. I'm just going to leave now." I stand but he catches my hand in his. His hands are rough with calluses, leading me to assume he works with his hands a lot. This close to him I can now smell his cologne mixed with the powerful scent of alcohol.

"I didn't come talk to you just because of who you are. Come on, give me a chance." He pauses and grins crookedly. "I want our love to be like pi, irrational and never-ending."

"Where do you get these lines? They're so cheesy." I complain. I realize he's probably not going to let me leave, this is what always happens. Someone comes up to me, talks my ear off, then keeps me around in order to get me to agree to a date- which I do end up agreeing to in the end.

This situation is always irritating but I'm just really bad at arguing or saying no. That's probably why I haven't bothered to explain to the public that half the rumors on the internet are just that- rumors.

"I hear them all over. But come on, I'm not just talking to you because you're rich. You're also hot." He explains.

"Right, thanks. But I still don't want to deal with this again. I already had my ex destroy my living room when I told her it was over. And that happens every time I date someone." I add dryly.

"Is this how you treat all the people who hit on you with cheesy pickup lines?" He asks. I roll my eyes, huff out a sigh then sit back in my seat.

"Nope, which is why everyone walks all over me. Now can I go?" I grumble.

"I won't walk all over you. And to prove it I'll sign something that will make me liable for anything I break in the future. And I'll totally pay for anything if you agree to go on a date with me! But we'd have to go to Taco Bell and order off the dollar menu..." I stare at him in confusion and he laughs as if he'd just made a joke.

"I'm kidding. I'm not poor. But you get my point, right?" He asks. I sigh, dropping my head on the black marble countertop that smells like Kahlua.

"Okay. I give. Just promise you won't try to use any more of those cheesy pickup lines." I mutter, finally standing and hoping he'll let me go now.

"Oh, I can't promise that. You're just so beautiful that you make me forget my pick up line." I almost facepalm myself but refrain. "I just have to ask you one more thing, though." He states and I arch a brow.

"I have Skittles in my mouth, wanna taste the rainbow?" I open my mouth to remark to that but then close it and smirk. He expression becomes one of confusion until I lean over to capture his lips in a kiss, finally giving into his horrible pick up lines.