Page 61 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

“You see him?” Nat asks, forcing me to focus again.

Following Nat's gaze, I spot a man with a fox mask at the bar, casually sipping a drink. Hmm, he doesn’t seem like much of a threat. He’s on the shorter side, in a tight black suit that struggles to contain his protruding beer belly.

I can handle him.

“What do you think?” Nat nudges me with her elbow.

I make a humming sound and shrug, “So, same thing as before? Get him to tell us what we need to know, and if he doesn’t, fuck him up?”

She smirks, “Yup.”

“Does Oscar know what we’re about to do?”

“Oh yeah, he reserved a room in the back for us.”

“He’s such a gentleman.”

“I know, right? Good thing I’m marrying him.”

“I’m gonna barf.”

She rolls her eyes with a teasing smile as she walks away. I sigh, walking over to the bar, pretending to look curiously over the menu even though I memorized everything that was served.

I decide to get a lemon drop cocktail and turn around to lean back, surveying the scene around me. I quickly spot Nat with a tall, muscular man who I can only assume is Oscar. Of course, Oscar is wearing a matching lacey mask like Nat. They’re so cringeworthy with their lovey-dovey-ness.

Can’t they take their love elsewhere? He whispers something in her ear, and despite the mask, I can tell how hard my bestie is blushing. She lightly slaps him on the arm, shaking her head. Her eyes drift over to me, and she nods.

I nod back, but I can't help but keep looking around to see who is near them. Also, yes, sue me for immediately wondering where Rurik is. What mask is he wearing anyway? How hilarious would it be if he decided to wear an angel mask? My Rurik, wearing an angel mask just for me — I would drop right then and there.

Literally.

I would drop my panties just for him. Or fall to my knees before him and between his knees.

Before my mind can wander off to someplace dirty again, I spot the man in the fox mask and stroll over to him. I adopt a casual posture, leaning against the counter with my body turned to face him. He’s deep in conversation with a random guest sporting a white-beaked mask reminiscent of those worn by doctors during the plague, casually sipping on a fresh drink.

My eyes rove over him, taking mental notes. He clutches his drink as if it were a lifeline. His face and neck are flushed red, and sweat coats his forehead. I can’t help but snort. The man is nervous.

What’s he nervous about? It can’t be because I’m standing right beside him, right? He hasn't even looked at me because he’s paying close attention to whatever useless conversation he’s having with his friend.

Nah…

I clear my throat and notice the way he stiffens immediately. Ah. So he does see me here. But still, he doesn't know me. I’m wearing a black cat mask, for goodness' sake. The only thing he can see is my eyes.

“Excuse me.” My voice is smooth and sweet.

His friend glances over at me, and I fight the urge to growl as his eyes greedily roam over me from head to toe. Sorry, homie. I'm not here for you. Finally, the man in the fox mask turns to me, wearing a nasty grin that reveals the rot in his yellowed tooth. I battle the urge to heave. If he is one of those rare cases where we let him go, I might consider sending him a gift certificate to the dentist.

“What can I do for you, little lady?” his friend asks with a southern drawl.

I grin at him, “Actually, I was hoping I could ask your friend for a dance?”

The man in question opens his mouth in surprise. “Oh. Uh…”

“You want to dance with him?” Plague mask man says in disbelief.

Believe me, man, I don’t want to.

But I grin back and nod, “Yes.” I turn to the fox man and lift my shoulders while clutching my hands together to give a false sense of nervousness. “If that’s okay, of course.”

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