Page 84 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

“Strangers,” Oscar interrupts with a glare. “You mean to tell me my place is filled with strangers? Natalie,” He sighs, closing his eyes. “This can go wrong so fast. We have…” He quickly glances in my direction before lowering his voice. “Stuff. We have stuff in places some drunk idiot can accidentally run into.”

I clear my throat, looking at the floor. I’m going to assume this stuff means criminal stuff. I look away, uncomfortable with the two bickering before me.

I slowly walk away from them to continue their little argument, searching for something I can eat that isn’t pizza on the floor. I spot an unopened box and a can of soda. I can leave now, but why? I only go to parties because there’s free food.

I find an empty chair in the corner of the living room and quickly sit on it. After a few bites of the pizza, I open the can and drink from it.

My eyes lift as I put the drink down and swallow, and at the same time, my eyes clash with gold-speckled caramel eyes.

I nearly choke on the soda.

The burning sensation causes me to cough until my breathing returns to normal.

What the fuck is she doing here?

Briar looks at me as if she's also surprised to see me. After I straighten up from my seat, her eyes narrow into slits before turning her attention away from me.

Following her gaze, I'm slammed with the all-too-familiar surge of fury rising within me again. However, this time, it isn't aimed at her.

But to this guy who has his arm around her.

Who the fuck is he, Briar?

Who. The. Fuck. Is. He.

I could take a page from the Crazy Briar book and walk up to them, pretending we were all best friends. But no, I don’t do that because I’m too fucking pissed.

Why is she grinning up at him like that? Also, why the hell does he have to have his stupid arm around her? He better back off of her. I've never wanted to punch someone's face off before. But I guess there's always a first time for everything.

Wait… Oh no, are they a thing?

Fuck.

A sickening feeling pulls something in my chest, and I feel like I'm seconds away from puking. Instead of looking away or leaving the party, I text her.

ME:

-You moved on fast.

Briar's brows furrow as her phone illuminates with a notification. She glances down, reading the text, then abruptly pauses. Her head snaps up, and she shoots me a glare. Without bothering to reply, she shoves her phone into her back pocket and resumes her conversation with the big idiot.

What a brat.

Like the mature, super calm, and collected man that I am, I send her another text.

ME:

-Have I been replaced? Wow, you’re over me already?

Yes, I know. I had no right messaging her after the way I treated her days ago. I really hate how I seem clingy toward her.

I’m not. I don’t give a shit. I shouldn’t give a shit.

But I can’t help but feel pissed and used. She gave me my first ever blow job, swallowed my cum, and then when she finally got what she wanted from me, she was done? She decides to leave me alone finally?

Yeah, okay, it’s my fault she’s avoiding me.

But I did apologize! I can’t apologize to her in person if she’s going to keep avoiding me as if I carried some disease that’ll make her quarantine for years.

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