Page 79 of Puppy Love

“So, Violet, what brings you to the show? Are you an artist yourself?”

Violet chuckles, shaking her head, and I let out an abrupt, loud laugh. Anassia eyes me, dissatisfied, then looks back up at Violet over my head. I mean, I’m literally standing right here?

“No,” Violet says. “I’m actually here for an employee of mine. You may have met them. Adrian Barlowe?”

Anassia nods her head, a smile forming on her face.

“Oh yes,” she says, and I swear to God she bats her eyelashes. “What was their painting called? Handmade?”

“Homemade,” I cut in, because I just can’t help myself. “Like a Homemade Family.”

My eyes dart to Violet, something washing over her face. Understanding or realization, her eyes focusing onto me with a sort of shine.

“That’s right,” Anassia says. “Homemade. It’s quite lovely, isn’t it, Violet?”

Violet nods, and I can’t listen to this woman’s sophisticated accent anymore.

“Yup! They’re the best,” I say, pointing to Adrian who is starting to pack up their things. “You should talk to them, over there.”

Anassia quirks a brow at me, and I have a sneaking suspicion she is looking down at me, not just due to her height. Violet chuckles, shaking her head but not saying anything.

“I think I might,” she says, matter-of-factly. “It was very nice to meet you, Violet.” She reaches her hand out again, and Violet shakes it firmly with a smile. When she releases it, Anassia’s hand points down toward me. “And you too…” Her dark blue eyes click with mine. “Pam.”

Violet waits for Anassia to walk away before bursting into a fit of laughter. I don’t hesitate, however, to let steam pour through my ears.

“Pam?“ I scoff, propping my hand on my waist. I throw the rest of my Vodka Cranberry down the back of my throat. “I mean, that was clearly a dig. What a rude woman.”

Violet scoffs, a wide smile sewn into her glowing cheeks.

“She’s rude?” she asks, twirling the red straw inside of her disgustingly blue drink. “Says the one who quite literally interrupted our conversation by standing between us.”

I frown, glaring up at her. “Well, what were you doing anyway?”

Violet smirks, taking a sip of that taunting drink. “You told me to find a new hobby,” she shrugs. “Was I not supposed to do that?”

Heat fills my cheeks, and I shoot her a menacing scowl.

“I don’t care what you do, Violet.” My eyes dart to the drink, then back up at her. “This is just a mutually beneficial sexual arrangement, remember?”

The bartender chokes behind the counter, like she’s getting front row tickets to some weird American soap opera.

“It kinda seems like you do care, Cameron,” Violet says, my name coming from her lips like sweet, thick honey. She leans against the bar, looking at me through her lashes.

“I don’t,” I say. “But if that’s the case then—” I cross my arms. “We have to start using protection.”

Violet chuckles, shaking her head.

“It’s not the case,” she says. “You think I want to go around hooking up with people I meet at art shows?”

I shrug.

“I don’t know. Isn’t that what divorcees do?”

“Maybe,” she says. “But not me. Don’t worry, Cam. You’re my only hobby.”

She tucks the red straw between her lips, the blue line of the drink sinking downward.

“What is that?” I ask, eyeing it suspiciously.

---