Oscar has never tried to fit in and has never wanted to, but when his party friend, Max, is revealed to be mafia prince, Marcus Gallagher, suddenly being a 'lone wolf' is no longer an option; not if Oscar wants to woo his prince and get out alive!
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"Hey, Oscar!" the familiar voice caught him just as he left his apartment. It was technically afternoon, but as far as Oscar was concerned, it was still morning because he hadn't been awake for more than an hour yet.
"Oh, hey, Emma," Oscar returned as he paused in the hallway outside his door. He and Emma used to talk a lot, but lately, he'd not seen her around. "Didn't you move in with your boyfriend?" he wondered casually.
"Yeah, well, sort of—not really. I mean, I was, but he's not my boyfriend anymore." Emma explained as she pulled one of her long sleeves down over her hand so only her black nails peaked out.
"Ah, I see... well, probably for the best," Oscar assured. He knew the type that Emma generally dated, which always ended the same. It was why he'd never attempted to date her despite their similar taste in fashion. They'd screwed around a few times, but Oscar avoided anything that seemed like a committed relationship. Or at least, that's what Emma had told him about himself.
"How have you been? You look good," she said.
"Good, you too. Sorry, I'm kind of in a hurry. I'm meeting up with someone." Oscar said as he started moving towards the stairs as a subtle hint that he was ready to be done talking now and because the elevator was likely still broken.
"Oh, right, of course! We can catch up some other time!" Emma said, taking a step back to her door.
"See ya later," Oscar said before the door to the stairwell closed behind him, safely relieving him of any further social obligation. He liked Emma; she was nice, but she was too nice, and he knew her type. She saw him as someone who was broken and needed fixing. But Oscar didn't want to be fixed. He was fine with the level of broken he was and had no interest in bettering himself to the standards of some stupid social ideology. He was perfectly imperfect, as he put it.
But more importantly, he was supposed to meet up with Max, and after how things had gone last night, he was eager to see his friend again. Their kiss was still burned into his mind, replaying over and over. He wished he'd been more sober to remember how Max had tasted or hadn't picked such a stupid moment to make a move, but hindsight was a bitch like that. Rather than dwell on it too much, Oscar decided to focus on the present. What was in the past couldn't be changed.
He stepped out of his building's lobby into the rush of noise from the city and surveyed the street for Max's car. When he didn't see it, he checked his phone.
He'd just gotten a text from Max, telling him he was almost there, but he must not have heard it while he and Emma were talking. As promised, Max soon pulled up to the curb right in front of Oscar's apartment building. He wasn't in his usual car, though. This one was sportier looking but also a less expensive model than the one he'd driven last night and was a bright electric blue with matte black racing stripes and a spoiler to complete the 'rich-douchebag-car' look.
He popped open the passenger door for Oscar, wearing a casual smile and a pair of cheap sunglasses on top of his hair that looked way better on him than they should have. "Hey, sorry about that. Should've just taken the highway here, but you know how it is."
