Page 24 of Inflame

“Smile, you two,” Angie announces, causing me to turn around.

I stumble a little as my heel sticks in the crevice of the wooden planks, and just as I’m about to face plant, I am caught midair and righted again. I look up into the pair of blues and mutter, “Thank you.” I didn’t even notice Nic beside me; I was that wrapped up in my own world. He sidesteps a foot closer and places his hand at the hollow of my back. I can barely feel his touch it is that gentle. Yet, something makes it not feel innocent at all. Maybe it is because I was just checking him out during our walk here. Maybe it is because my current relationship with my long-term boyfriend is on rocky ground. Or maybe it is because every cell in my body is alive with a curiosity so extreme that I am starting to sweat.

“What are you doing?” My voice comes out more as a hiss than my intended whisper.

“Smiling for a picture,” he says through gritted teeth. He nudges his chin opposite of us, making me look at Angie who is holding up her phone expectantly.

“Oh.” I quickly smile for the picture and back up a step once it’s over, stumbling again over the wooden groove in the bridge. Damn. Nic steadies me, his hands on my upper arms.

“Those things are a deathtrap,” he comments, looking down at my sparkling heels.

I shrug. “But they look cute.”

“That they do.”

“When you agree with me, it catches me off guard.”

“Good. I will keep doing it,” he chirps, “when you least expect it.”

We hang out in the garden for a bit longer and then walk through the lineup of boutiques.

“I want to go there,” Angie says, pointing at the chocolate fountain. “That is heaven on earth.”

“This place I’ll definitely make concessions for,” I say, staring at the bakery items through the window. Everything is doused in chocolate. White, milk, dark—or a mix of all three.

Angie and I don’t even wait for the guys to comment. Their opinion is completely unnecessary when we have already made up our minds. We walk into the shop and read the descriptions of all the cakes and pastry items. They even have homemade chocolate ice cream and fruits dipped in chocolate.

“Is there some type of package that has a big sampling of your best items?” Angie asks the worker, who smiles and points to a display box along the counter. “Wow, that has a bit of everything. I want that, please.”

“See something that caught your eye, sweetheart?” Graham asks, wrapping his arms around her as she hands over her black credit card at the counter.

Early on in their relationship, Angie resisted Graham pushing money on her. I think it was cute how they struggled to find a rhythm that worked for them. As stubborn as both of them are, it is rewarding to see how they each adapted and let go of their walls to find a happy middle.

“Are you going to share and play nice?” Graham asks her, kissing her neck. “Or do I need to order more for the rest of us?”

I giggle as Angie makes a face at him and glances down at the box. “IthinkI can share.”

We move to a table area set up outside the shop and pull down the sides of the box. Digging in, we enjoy the impromptu dessert. Not having anything planned for tonight is working out in our favor.

We devour the entire box, and I don’t think I can fit one more thing in my belly without popping a button on my fly.

“I want to eat there for breakfast,” Angie says, looking back at the chocolate fountain. She’s always had a thing for sweets—especially chocolate.

“They probably stay open twenty-four hours a day,” Nic says.

“There is no way you are eating chocolate in the morning. You’ll have a sugar crash by nine and then I’ll have to deal with your cranky mood the rest of the day,” Graham says, tickling her sides and making her jostle the whole table as she tries to get away.

We clean up our mess and work our way toward the casino entrance, where the main lights are dimmed but the excitement of the hotel comes to life. Slot machines fill up half the floor with various money amount levels. The sounds and lights draw attention to the eye—probably because they are predictable money makers for the casino. A bar is set up in the center, lined with liquor bottles and mixers. Beautiful women dressed in cocktail dresses are rushing to get drinks to the patrons, earning tips and helping the casino bring in the revenue by keeping everyone happy and free to make bad financial decisions. I’m sure there is a strong correlation between tipsy players and loss of money. The drinks may be free, but the hotel still manages to stay in business.

I glance over at the table games and wonder if any have a limit or not. I haven’t been to a casino of this size before. On the East Coast, every one that I visited, I was underage and was just passing through. The ones in Atlantic City are scaled much further down in comparison.

“Should we start at the slots?” I ask the group.

“If you want to lose all your money,” Nic responds blandly.

“Maybe you just aren’t lucky,” I quip.

I feel his eyes burn into me. “I don’t believe in luck.”

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