Page 11 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

“My name is Briar Reyes.” I grin again and give his hand a firm shake.

He tries to pull away, and I briefly debate whether I should fuck with him by kissing the back of his hand.

“Pleasure,” Rurik mutters under his breath.

“It can be if you let me.” I chirp, loving how his face turned red again.

Fuck, he blushes easily, doesn’t he?

He’s so cute.

A nasal voice interrupts us, “You know, Rurik. I have a niece who is about your age and also very much into art. I can give you her number, and you two can chat —”

“Lady, you’re still here?” I interrupt back, my patience waning with this woman.

Her jaw drops as she stared at me. She closes her mouth and opens it again as if trying to say something, but her voice fails to deliver.

Rurik glares at me before smiling at the lady again. “That’s kind of you. If she’s looking to network, she can speak to my friend, Oscar, and go from there.”

Before she can say anything else, Rurik says a hasty goodbye and walks away. Well, he tries to, but I follow him.

“So, how come you don’t have a girlfriend?” I ask, walking beside him.

His head whips around, his eyes widening in surprise. “I’m sorry. How is that any of your business?” Rurik asks, his voice straining. “I don’t know you.”

“Of course you do. We literally just introduced ourselves,” And I'm going to be the love of your life. But I can't say that shit, unfortunately. I have a feeling it’ll freak him out. So I say instead, “But if you forgot, I’ll reintroduce myself again. Maybe the third time's the charm. Hi, I’m Briar Reyes. You’re Rurik Campbell.”

Rurik stops walking and turns to me, not saying anything other than sighing heavily.

I feel my lips twitch. “I like your accent.”

“Thanks,” He says flatly. “Leave me alone.”

He turns to walk away from me.

“You sound like the characters from Outlander. You know, the TV show? It’s kinda hot.” I grin, keeping up with him. “Will you sing me a song of a lass that is gone?”

“What the fuck?” Rurik makes an exasperated sound. “Jesus, you’re like a mosquito that won’t leave me alone.”

“Thank you, angel.”

“That wasn’t a compliment, and that’s not my name.”

“But you look like one.”

He mutters something, and I can’t help but grin. I don't know why, but I find his assholeness kind of adorable.

“Want to grab a drink?” I ask, halting him with a hand on his wrist.

He glares at my hand and snaps, “What?”

I blink. “A drink? Do you want to grab a drink after this?” I look at his glass, still filled with champagne. Oh wait, what if he doesn’t drink? “Fuck. Do you not drink? Did I just peer pressure you to drink alcohol?”

“Get your hands off of me.” He growls, trying to shake my hold from his wrist.

“But I don’t want to. Your skin is so warm and smooth, Rurik. It’s like a baby’s bottom—if that’s not too weird of a comparison.”

Rurik snarls and forcefully shoves my hand away. He throws me another look and walks away.

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