Walking through the crowd, weaving between excited partygoers, Ethan was met with all kinds of fans. Some called his name, others shoved their phones toward him, hoping for a quick selfie or autograph. He kept smiling, excusing himself constantly as he navigated through the chaos. He loved this—it felt incredible. This was the kind of energy he had dreamed about, the kind of fun he imagined when he first stepped into the industry.
Rebecca would say he had been "in the industry" for well over a year now, but if he was being honest, this felt like his first real Hollywood party. Technically, he had already hosted one—his album listening party—but comparing that event to this was like comparing night and day. That one had been structured, professional, and, most importantly, attended by his parents. This? This was something entirely different.
As he pushed forward, the music vibrated through the floor, people danced wildly, and flashes from cameras flickered across his vision. Every few steps, another hand reached out, another excited voice asked for a quick picture. He obliged a few, politely declining others, all while trying to keep up with Em, who barely slowed down.
Finally, they reached the entrance of a large private tent. Em stopped in front of it, pulling the curtain aside slightly before glancing back at Ethan. "Enter here," he said simply.
Ethan just grinned, stepping inside.
The moment he did, he was hit with a different atmosphere—still energetic but more exclusive, more intimate. If the main party outside was a chaotic storm of flashing lights and thumping bass, this room was the eye of that storm, the kind of place some people would consider a dream come true.
Inside, celebrities lounged in conversation, relaxed in plush seating, and joked around like they weren't some of the biggest names in the world. Immediately, Ethan's eyes landed on 50 Cent, who was deep in conversation with a woman—not Danielle Fishel, the one he had been with at the Super Bowl, but someone else. Ethan stared for a second, trying to place where he had seen her before. She looked familiar.
His gaze shifted around the room, taking in the star power. The Jumanji duo—Kevin Hart and Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson—were there, standing off to the side, laughing about something. Even sports icons were in attendance, with none other than LeBron James among the crowd, looking effortlessly cool as ever.
There were others, too—some Ethan recognized instantly, some he didn't. It was a surreal moment, standing in a space filled with so many people he had watched on TV, listened to on the radio, or seen plastered across magazine covers. And now, here he was, in the same room.
As he took it all in, a voice suddenly rang out, snapping him back to the moment.
"Ooo, that kid is here!"
Ethan turned his head toward the source of the voice and spotted Kevin Hart, grinning as he spoke.
The comedian started walking toward him, all energy and charisma. "Ethan Jones, man! How you doin'? Saw you at the Super Bowl, man!" he said, stretching out a hand.
Ethan took it, shaking firmly. "Wow, you are—"
Before he could even finish, another voice cut in.
"Short, right? Don't worry, he gets that a lot."
Ethan turned and immediately found himself face-to-face with The Rock. His eyes widened as he blurted out, "Wow."
Before he could process it, Kevin Hart wheeled around, arms flailing dramatically.
"Hold up! Hold up! How did you know he was gonna say that, huh?! You a mind reader now?! Boy, if you don't get your steroid-lookin', protein-shake-drinkin', boulder-head-havin', eyebrow-raising, Fast & Furious-every-year-star-in' self outta here!"
Ethan nearly choked trying to hold in his laughter as Kevin said all of that with a dead-serious face.
The Rock smirked. "That's it—you're dead."
Kevin's eyes went wide. "Now, Dwayne. Let's talk about this like civilized men."
"Nope, too late."
Kevin immediately took off—but instead of running, he started power-walking with exaggerated speed, waving his hands in the air like a kid who just got caught sneaking cookies. The Rock just watched him go, shaking his head.
"Man swears he's the fastest dude alive when he's running from an ass-whooping," The Rock muttered before turning back to Ethan, who was just standing there, laughing.
'He really is like this in real life,' Ethan thought to himself, still chuckling as he moved deeper into the room.
And then he stopped.
Because standing right in front of him, casually eating a bowl of cereal like this was his living room, was none other than Shaquille O'Neal.
Ethan blinked. Damn. The man was huge.
The former center of the deadly OKC duo looked relaxed as ever, spooning another bite into his mouth when he noticed them approaching. His deep voice rumbled through the space.
"Yo, Em, this your kid?" Shaq asked, gesturing toward Ethan with his spoon.
Eminem rolled his eyes. "Man, shut up. This is Ethan Jones, and I know you know who he is."
Shaq chuckled, a deep, booming laugh. "Ha! Ha! Ha! When you been hovering around him like a mama bird all night, how wouldn't I ask?"
Eminem sighed. "Not my fault he has a knack for attracting weirdos."
Shaq laughed even harder at that, finally setting his bowl down as he stood up from the railing he had been sitting on.
Ethan barely stopped himself from saying "Wow" again.
He had always been proud of his height—being over six feet tall made him feel solid, tall enough to hold his own. But standing in front of Shaq made him feel like he needed to rethink everything.
Shaq stretched out a massive hand. "Ethan, my man. How you doin'? Saw you at the Super Bowl—the crowd loved you, man."
Ethan quickly shook his hand. "It's an honor meeting you, Shaq. You're one of my favorite ballers ever."
Shaq arched an eyebrow. "Ha! One of? Not your favorite?"
Ethan barely had time to respond before Shaq leaned in, his voice dropping. "Oh, and don't call me Shaq while we're in here. Gotta respect the craft. Call me DJ Diesel."
Ethan let out a laugh as Shaq did the same, but before they could keep going, Shaq's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Yo, Em... what's up with your boy?"
Eminem, who was nearby, glanced over. "Huh?"
Shaq gestured toward Ethan—who, without even realizing it, had been lightly squeezing and poking at Shaq's arm like he was testing to see if it was real.
Eminem sighed, shaking his head. "Oh. Yeah. Uh... he took one of Snoop's special mixes earlier. He should be fine. He just... shakes sometimes."
Shaq immediately nodded. "Ah. Say no more."
The second the word Snoop was mentioned, everything clicked.
"Alright, kid," Shaq said, grinning. "Time to fix your ball knowledge, 'cause no way I ain't your favorite."
Before Ethan could respond, another voice cut in.
"Come on, Diesel, don't force it. How can you be his favorite when I'm here?"
Both Shaq and Ethan turned to see who was talking—only to find LeBron James walking over, laughing as he casually slung an arm over Shaq's shoulder.
Ethan smiled. "Oh, man..."
LeBron was still grinning. "Go ahead. Say it. Tell him who your real favorite is."
Ethan, without missing a beat, shrugged. "Ehn, but you aren't my favorite, though."
Silence.
Then an absolutely thunderous laugh erupted from Shaq, loud enough to shake the room.
Meanwhile, LeBron's expression dropped, his jaw falling open like Ethan had just personally insulted his entire legacy.
"What?!"
And that's how Ethan suddenly found himself in the middle of explaining his basketball opinions to two NBA legends.
"So, let me get this straight—your first is Allen Iverson?" LeBron said, raising an eyebrow.
"And your second is Kobe?" Shaq chimed in.
Ethan nodded, confirming.
LeBron processed it for a second before nodding approvingly. "Okay, I can get with that."
Shaq, on the other hand, squinted at Ethan like he had just said something outrageous. "Alright then, who's your third?"
Ethan hesitated for a moment before saying, "Ehm... it's LeBron. Then you, Shaq—uh, sorry, Big Diesel."
LeBron grinned, clearly satisfied. "Ha! You know ball, man." He then stood up, stretching. "Well, it was nice meeting you, but I got an all-exclusive party to get to."
He turned to leave, giving Shaq a nod. "Diesel, it's been real, but I gotta bounce."
Shaq smirked. "Yo, man, you going there?"
LeBron, already walking away, just chuckled. "This is fun, but you know, ain't no party like a—" He trailed off, laughing to himself before disappearing into the crowd.
Ethan stared after him, confused. "Like a what?" he muttered, mostly to himself.
He didn't have to wait long for an answer.
"Don't worry about it, kid," Shaq said, standing up and patting Ethan's shoulder. "More importantly, we gotta fix your basketball knowledge."
Before Ethan could protest, Shaq led him behind a thick curtain, revealing what looked like an exclusive club. People were dancing, laughing, and having the time of their lives. The atmosphere was electric.
Shaq made his way to the DJ booth, grabbing the mic like he was about to deliver a presidential speech. "EVERYBODY MAKE SOME NOISE! DJ DIESEL IS IN THE HOUSEEEE!" he roared.
The crowd erupted, screaming back in excitement. Ethan couldn't help but grin at the energy in the room.
Shaq turned to him. "C'mon, man," he said, motioning for Ethan to step closer. "Tell me—has any other baller ever turned up a party like this?"
Ethan shook his head, impressed. "Not that I know of."
Shaq grinned proudly. "Exactly."
But then—disaster struck.
Ethan, caught up in the moment, accidentally knocked over a bottle of water... right onto the DJ equipment. Sparks flew instantly.
Both Ethan and Shaq jumped back, their eyes wide.
"Whoa, whoa, WHOA!" they both shouted at the same time.
People in the crowd started turning toward them, sensing something was off.
Shaq, ever the professional, quickly leaned in and whispered, "Man, don't even trip. I got backup equipment. Just keep the crowd entertained while I grab it."
Ethan blinked. "With what?"
Shaq shoved a mic into his hand. "You're a singer, right? Sing, kid."
Ethan looked down at the mic, then up at the expectant crowd.
Oh boy.