Page 46 of Inflame

After our ice cream, we discuss what we would like to do for the rest of the night and settle on a walk. The guys run up to the room to change into something more comfortable, while Angie and I meander through the main floor while we wait for them to come back.

There are more people packed on the sidewalks in comparison to the walk Nic and I did at three in the morning. It’s overwhelming to try to move through the crowd to get to where we want to go. People bump into us. I get pushed to the side, and Nic is constantly grabbing my waist to steady me from falling. He keeps his hand on my lower back as he guides me through the sea of people, shielding me with his body from anyone who gets too close.

His protective nature must run in the family. Graham is guarding Angie in a similar way. She is tucked close to his side, and his muscles are pulled tight under his loose-fitting jeans and T-shirt. Nic is wearing a similar outfit but fills out the fabric more due to his extra body mass. I swear the man knows how to wear denim like none other. I hope he appreciates how lucky he is to be able to build a body structure like he has. Some men can lift and lift without gaining any of the ripple or definition that the Hoffman brothers seem to be able to achieve.

It is only ten, and a lot of the hotels come to life with outdoor shows—trying to entice visitors to come spend money inside their casinos—which is exactly what we do. It is easy to get sucked in to the glitz and the glam.

* * *

We are on hour number I-don’t-know of casino-hopping and free-drinking. I am pretty incoher—

“You okay?” Nic asks, fixing my wavy hair framing my face. “You look pale.”

We are at Caesar’s Palace. “I’s loss you money.”

“It’s okay, baby, I have more.”

“No, nopes, nada no.”

“What?” he asks, helping me to stand. He keeps leaning. Or maybe I’m leaning. Or maybe I’m the one helping him to stand.

“No calls me baby. I am not anyone’s baby.” He smiles down at me. Despite him being foggy, he is so hot. Like hot smoke. Smokin’ hot fog. Oh, I don’t know, but I likeyyy.

“You think I’m hot, angel?”

I shake my head over his question, biting my lower lip. Why are his words perfectly formed and mine sound like they got tossed into a blender? Life continues to be unfair.

“Get outs of my mind,” I say.

“I’m simply stating your words back to you,” Nic says plainly.

“Stop.”

He holds his hands up in defense, but continues to do that weird stare thing with his eyes. “Stop what?”

I think about the question. “Making me want you.”

“Idowant you, Claire.”

“Well, make it stop. And quit trying to take me.”

“You keep pouting and being cute, I’m going to take you.”

“Nopes. This is all your fault, not mine.”

I pull away from his hold and plop my butt down on the slot machine stool.

A waitress dressed in a tight red mini dress stops at us and asks, “Can I get you guys some drinks?”

“No.”

“Yeshhh,” I say at a louder volume.

“No,” Nic says sternly. “We’re good.”

She walks away. I use his body to stand up, my hands roaming all over his abs and pecs. His body is so meaty and delicious looking, like a juicy chicken nugget. Yum. Wait…I don’t even like chicken. Yuck. I giggle over my thoughts.

His eyes shine at me, trying to figure out what I find so funny. It just makes me laugh harder. And harder. Snorts escape my nose, causing me to double over at the waist.

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