Page 139 of Sparking Sara

I look up at the entrance, my stomach twisting in knots.

“Sweetheart, it’s going to be fine. Trust me.”

He opens the door for me, and as I walk through, I pray that he’s right.

But then, I realize my prayer is not going to be answered as my eyes fall upon the last man I ever wanted to see again.

Oliver Compton.

Chapter Thirty-seven

“What’s this asshole doing here?” Denver asks Davis.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in with my sloppy seconds,” Oliver says, slurring his words.

“He’s drunk,” Davis says. Then he touches the tip of his nose. “And maybe high. He just arrived a minute before you did. I was in the process of asking him to leave.”

Denver looks angrier than I’ve ever seen him. A vein throbs at his temple. His jaw tightens. I put a hand on his arm, hoping it will keep him from doing anything impulsive.

“Get the fuck out,” Denver says. “You will not ruin this for her. Haven’t you ruined her life enough already?”

Oliver laughs maniacally. “Ruinedherlife? She called the fucking cops on me.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” Oliver says. “My neighbor said they showed up with a warrant for my arrest earlier today.”

“Oliver, I haven’t even given you a thought since I left London two months ago. You aren’t worth my time. I didn’t call the police. But I’m happy someone did, because you’re disgusting.”

Denver steps back and opens the door. “Now, leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says.

“Well, now Iwillcall the police,” I say. “It sounds like they’d be very interested in knowing where you are.”

Oliver pulls a can of spray paint out of his pocket and holds it up to one of my paintings. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Go ahead and spray it,” I say, getting out my phone.

Denver puts his hand over mine, preventing me from dialing. “No,” he says. “I won’t let him deface your work.”

“They aren’t important,” I say. “I can always make more paintings.”

“God, man,” Oliver says in disgust. “See what you’ve done to her? She’s gone soft.”

“What the hell do you want, Compton?” Denver asks.

“What have I always wanted?”

Denver looks at me and then stands in front of me protectively.

Oliver laughs. “You still think I wanther?The cold fish who’s scared of a little cock?”

Davis laughs behind us, mimicking Oliver’s words. “Little cock.”

“Oh, shut up, you fucking faggot!” Oliver shouts. Then he motions to my leg. “She’s damaged goods now. Who wants a woman who can’t even walk properly?”

Denver balls his hands into fists and he takes a step forward. I grab him and hold him back. The last thing we need is Denver risking another head injury over Oliver’s hateful words.

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