Page 26 of Inflame

I follow her to two twin machines in the quarter section. “You are aware that the odds get better for the player as the amount of minimum money for the machine increases, right?”

“Yes, I’m aware. But I also don’t want to lose that much money.”

“Wearegoing to lose all our money. It’s just what happens.”

“You are so pessimistic. Just. Stop.”

“Let’s go get playing cards and get them registered so if we spend so much, we can get some comps,” I suggest. The hotels here reward players who frequent the casino. Sometimes the rewards are specific for high rollers and very limited.

“How much should we put on each card?” Claire asks.

I hope she lets me pay for her playing card. Collins recently informed me that she is harboring a debt from her undergraduate and graduate degrees at River Valley U. The fact that Maxwell didn’t just take care of it adds to the list of reasons why he is not the best match for her. He’s one of the best day traders in the city and yet he seems to be keeping a ton of secrets over his level of wealth—and how he chooses to spend it.

“One hundred each?”

“We are just playing ten rounds, so that’s like $2.50.”

“I doubt we can get cards with that low of an amount. How about we add one hundred dollars to them and then have money for the duration of the trip? The cards can be used in the shops too or the cafes.” I would much prefer to add at least a thousand but know if I say too much, she may not want me to cover her cost.

“I, um, I don’t know if I have that much on my debit card. Is there an ATM here for me to check what I have stored?”

“The ATM is over against the wall,” I say, pointing to multiple machines. “But I can cover this.”

“Oh,” she says, her eyes wide. “I don’t see how that’s fair.”

I shrug. “You can pay me back later.” I don’t mean it, but I need her to quit worrying about money right now.

“Fine.”

She pouts her bottom lip out. I want to suck on it and taste the gloss she compulsively keeps reapplying. Everything she does intrigues me, and if she keeps rattling off documentary information like she’s an expert, I will give her mouth something else to keep it busy. I discreetly adjust myself in my pants at the dirty thoughts I’m conjuring up in my brain of her, on her knees, accepting me for the first time.

There is no line at the money exchange and we get our cards loaded with one hundred dollars each, registered under each of our names.

“Show me to the machines,” I say, following her pert ass along for the ride. It has to take great skill to be able to walk in her skintight pants and those stilts.

“Over here, I found the perfect winning machines.”

There is no way she is for real, but I am too invested to not see this through. I sit down where she instructs. I’m not used to taking the backseat to anything. However, Claire’s rush of excitement over this little bit of control makes me want to see her in this position more often—or at least give her that illusion.

If we were betting something more substantial, there is no way I would use freaking slots as the game of choice. I resist giving her a hard time over her selection, even if just for fun. I want to get this over with and then move on to some more strategic games where I can get to know her better.

A waitress trying too hard at sex appeal comes over before we even put our cards into the machine to ask us what we would like to drink.

“Cosmo, please,” Claire answers.

“Double malt scotch, neat.”

We insert our cards and I hesitate to start playing, mainly because I want to watch her in action.

“How about you start and we see how much you end up with? Then I can go.”

“Okay…”

I watch as she does her first round, coming up empty-handed on matching any fruit. She combines her next three rounds together to try to earn more, with a single pull of the lever. The machine comes to life, and I watch dumbfounded as she bursts up from her seat and dances around with her hands waving in the air like she just caught on fire.

“How much did I win? How much? It’s huge, right?” She covers her hands over her eyes and is so excited she cannot look. “I did a triple bet!”

I look down at the display and cannot keep my laughter from erupting from my diaphragm. Her eyes pop open, one at a time. “A whopping $1.50. Congrats.”

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