Page 125 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

I need to end this before one of us gets in too deep and gets hurt.

After showering and changing, I open the door to see Briar lying in bed, wearing an oversized shirt and reading a book.

“Who’s shirt is that?” I ask out of nowhere.

What the fuck is wrong with you, dick? Who gives a shit who’s shirt she’s wearing when—

“An ex from high school,” Briar says distractedly, turning a page from the book she’s holding.

The fuck?

“Why,” I ask slowly as I stride toward her. She looks up, her brows wrinkling with confusion. “The hell are you wearing an ex’s shirt, Briar?”

She blinks, “Because it’s comfortable? He left it in my possession a while ago, and I just use it as pajamas—Hey! What are you… Rurik!”

I don't think of what I'm doing as I lift her arm to pull the shirt off of her. Ignoring her protests, I gather the shirt into a giant ball and tuck it under my arm to burn it later. I look around the room and find her dresser. There, I see another oversized shirt and raise a brow at it.

“Jesus. That’s mine,” Briar sighs, grabbing it from my hands. She hastily puts it on and smirks at me. “I bought it. Are you happy now, angel?”

“Ecstatic,” I snap back, turning around and exiting her room.

“Love it when you’re jealous,” She says, stopping me.

I can feel my cheeks puffing up from annoyance. I glare at her behind my shoulder. “Shut up, Briar. I’m not jealous.”

I intend to make a grand exit by leaving her place without a proper goodbye, but I freeze when I see five familiar canvases.

These canvases…

They’re mine.

I automatically walk toward the closest painting. It’s one of the first I did while relaxing in the park.

It’s just a painting of a white flower.

It came to me randomly in a dream, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it until I painted it. Oscar loved it when he saw me working on it.

And now it’s here in Briar’s apartment. It’s hung above her couch, making it the focal point on the wall. I glance around and find others displayed in the living room. At least one of my paintings is on each side of her apartment. A second painting of mine is above the TV. Another is down the hallway, and…

My little slice of paradise painting.

It’s here.

“Oh,” Briar’s soft voice says. “I thought you left.”

I realize I’ve wandered back to her bedroom. I nod at the canvas behind her.

“You weren’t lying when you said you bought them,” I say.

She grins. “I told you.” She follows my gaze to the painting hung above the headboard. “I was wondering when you would notice that.”

Seeing as I was balls deep inside her the past few hours, I wouldn’t have noticed if she decided to pull a knife on me, either.

What the…

You literal fucking dick. Calm down, dickhead.

I clear my throat and fold my hands in front of me to hide my growing erection.

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