Page 44 of Inflame

“Holy cannoli, you look freaking hot. Someone named Ethan is a lucky man,” she hollers. “You shine!”

“Thanks,” I answer. “You look amazing, as always.”

Angie has on a black dress that is form fitted at the top and then flares out at the waist. It flows down to her ankles where she has on silver heels. Her engagement ring and diamond necklace sparkle with every little movement she makes.

“Thank you so much for getting us tickets to see the show. You’re giving me the best memories here in Vegas. I am so lucky for you to be a part of the planning and my upcoming wedding.”

I give her a squeeze. She’s going to make me cry if she doesn’t stop with the compliments. “It brings me pleasure to see you happy, Angie. You deserve it too.”

I slip on black strappy heels that have black silk straps that wrap around my calves and tie in a bow. I curl my hair and do my eye makeup in a smoky silver shade. I help Angie with her finishing touches, and when we are finally ready, we exit my room to go look for the men.

When they see us, they get up from the sofa to greet us.

“You look amazing,” Nic whispers to me, making a warmth run from my toes all the way to my cheeks, which I imagine by now are rosy red.

His words warm me from the inside out. The effect he has on me is alarming. He is dangerous to my dwindling self-control and to my future.

“So do you,” I answer honestly. He does too.

Nic’s black suit is tailor fitted, and his white collared shirt is crisply pressed. He has on a satiny black tie and equally shiny black shoes. He looks like a male model, fresh off the pages of a business magazine.

We exit the suite and when I teeter a few too many times on my heels, Nic grabs my elbow gently to steady me.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his tone full of concern.

I nod. “Yeah.” I look up into his eyes and nearly fall down on my ass. Luckily, he grabs me just in time. “It probably wasn’t the best idea to be pregaming it with Angie in my room.”

“Yeah, probably not.”

It is moments like these that I think Nic cares about something more than just trying to make me crash and burn. His hand on my arm is gentle yet strong. He is a walking contradiction. He seems to consistently catch me off guard. Just when I think I have him figured out, he changes his mood again. It is giving me a bit of whiplash.

We head to the tapas restaurant and get seated immediately. I’m not positive, but I think Graham slipped the hostess some money. I can’t complain because sitting down will feel much better than standing around waiting for a table in these damn heels I decided to wear. At least they look cute.

We order a bunch of different menu favorites and dig in once the food arrives. I stick with the meatless options, except when the coconut crusted shrimp bites get passed my way. They are too delicious looking to resist. We share a pitcher of sangria and chat about anything and everything.

When I excuse myself for the restroom, I find our waiter and insist on him handing me the bill, instead of putting it on the table for anyone to grab. It isn’t fair that Graham and Nic are footing the bill for every activity. Surely, I can pick up a dinner here and there to contribute.

I carry the slip to the entrance and ask the hostess where I can pay. She points over to the bar, and I walk over to hand the slip and my debit card to the bartender.

He swipes the card and frowns, trying it again.

“It’s not working,” he says, handing it back to me. “Maybe insufficient funds?”

I frown. The bill is barely over two hundred dollars, which isn’t bad for all the small plates we ordered. “I may have enough cash,” I state, digging through my bag. I pull out the money I won during poker. Despite taking home the win, I don’t even consider it my own money. Nic paid for me to join the table, so it is technically his.

I hear the vibration of my phone and see that Ethan is trying to call me. I quickly hand over a wad of cash and answer it before it goes to voicemail. “Hey.”

“I just got an email saying that you are trying to use the debit card at a restaurant and it got rejected. How can your meal cost more than what you have in your account? Seems ludicrous if you ask me. What are you ordering, gold-covered vegetables?”

“I haven’t been paying for anything here really. I thought treating this round would be a nice gesture.”

“It would be if you didn’t blow through your allowance.” His words are cold. He is treating me like I am some money hog.

“I asked you to add more money to my account. Things are expensive here.”

“Alcohol is expensive, sure. But drinks should be free,” he explains, as if I am some small child.

I decline the change from the bartender and ask him to give it to the waiter for a tip. I add some more bills from my purse to go toward it and then turn my attention back to Ethan.

---