Page 139 of Inflame

“I’m not a good guy, Claire.”

“Whatevs.”

I pull myself up and rest my elbow on the pillow. “I’ve done unthinkable things in order to get my own way.”

Her eyes narrow as she allows my words to penetrate her brain. She sits up and leans back against her pillows, her hair draped over her shoulders, wavy from sleep. “Why are you trying so hard to convince me otherwise?”

“I just need you to know that I’m not the honorable man you think you see. I’m just good at concealing the truth.”

“Whatever,” she chirps, obviously not taking me seriously—as if she knows me better than I know myself. “If being all mysterious and emo makes you feel like more of a man, go for it. But I’m a pretty decent judge of character—Ethan aside—and what I see is someone who just needs a little validation. I’m sorry you were hurt in the past, whatever that may be, but healing takes time, and I’m available if you ever want to talk about it.”

My eyes dart away from hers. She may think she knows me, but she doesn’t. I watch in silence as she meanders into the bathroom and starts the shower. I want to join her, but I also need to stop blurring the lines. She is getting too close. Her heart is getting too involved in thinking we have a chance.

I leave Claire to get ready for the day and make my way into the kitchen to fix some breakfast. Angie is coming down the stairs when I finish flipping the last pancake.

“Wow,” she states, looking at the skillet.

“What?” I ask, turning around and narrowing my eyes. Why does it feel like every little thing I do today is met with a full-blown psychoanalysis?

She hums. “Oh, nothing.”

“I know you have something on your mind. Might as well share it.”

“It’s just that Claire loves pancakes.” She shrugs. “That’s all. Carry on.”

I know this, of course. It is probably why making them was the first thing that crossed my mind. But who doesn’t love pancakes? Pretty much no one. So, making this into a big deal is not necessary.

I turn back around and plate up my creations, just in time for Claire to walk out of the spare room wearing a long lilac tank dress. I know the color well because it is Mom’s favorite shade. She often sprinkles that color throughout my parents’ house. Having an eye for design, it is easy for her to make everything look good.

Claire walks closer to me, and I can’t help but notice how her curves are accentuated by the fit of the fabric. Even in just a simple cut dress, she looks stunning. Then again, she always looks amazing.

“Wow, you made pancakes?” she asks, standing on her tiptoes to get a better look.

“Yeah. I used almond milk.” I refuse to make eye contact with either of them. Both girls keep staring at me for different reasons. Both keep hovering around me like I am part of a filming for a documentary.

Everything is weird, because they are making it that way.

Claire takes a seat at the island and accepts the plate of food I offer her.

“You guys feeling better today?” I ask, trying to change the subject off my cooking.

“Much,” Angie answers first. “And I am ravished and ready to binge.”

Claire just nods, taking a big bite of her pancake. I know she approves because she eagerly goes back to cut off more with the edge of her fork.

I eat standing up, allowing the girls to take up the majority of the space at the counter.

“I need a distraction while Graham’s gone or I will go nuts,” Angie whines. “I hate when he’s away, and I can’t go with him. Plus, not knowing when he’ll be back is killing me. Anyway, are you up for a night out after work?”

Claire’s eyes come to life. “You know I always am,” she chants.

I know by tonight my nerves will be shot, and I’ll be walking around like a madman. I know that they both are going to make it extremely difficult to keep them safe without getting myself arrested.

But most importantly, I hate it when my brother is right.

“Oh no, Nic looks stressed,” Angie says with a frown.

I glare at my soon-to-be sister-in-law. “I’m not stressed.”

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