Page 64 of Inflame

Intermission consists of a low-key side show and an opportunity to refuel our drinks from the bar area in the back of the arena. While Angie uses the restroom, I check my phone messages and see that Nic has been trying to get ahold of me. Seven text messages and three missed calls. Ouch.

I hit the call back button and wait until he picks up.

“Hey, what’s—”

“You need to keep your fucking phone on, or I’m coming there to get you both,” he snaps.

“It’s ladies only. No men allowed,” I huff.

“Claire…” There’s a hidden warning to his tone.

“I’m sorry. We are a bit distracted here, if you know what I mean.”

“I cannot hold Graham back from crashing your penis party if—”

“Penis party?” I ask, laughing so hard I snort. “You make it sound like a surprise orgy. But hey, I could go for an orgy right now with as hot as this show is. They are all greased up and man meat is flying and—”

“Claire! Focus,” he snarls. “I don’t need any details about what poison you are witnessing. Just make sure you keep your phones on. Or I’ll pay off the head bouncer to kick you guys out.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Try me,” he threatens. “His name is Oscar.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“You drive me nuts, Nic Hoffman.”

“Just do as you’re told.”

“You aren’t my keeper,” I hiss.

“I am tonight.”

“Whatevs.”

I end the call when Angie returns with fresh drinks, garnished with penis-shaped ice cubes.

“Sorry it took so long,” she apologizes. “I had to call Graham. He was losing his mind and was on the verge of dragging me out of here.”

I shrug. “We were a bit distracted.”

“Tell me about it. I tried to convince him that this show is only going to make me horny and want to jump his bones when we get back tonight.”

“And to think that all these years I thought you were the conservative one.”

Angie giggles and gulps her drink.

The performance wraps up with more aerial stunts and more men baring their goods for an audience of sex-crazed females. Angie and I stumble out of our seats and make our way to the exit when the show concludes with each man taking a bow. I am pumped up on adrenaline and alcohol.

“Want to go dancing?” I ask, pulling Angie with me toward the line of people leaving the club.

“I think probably yeah.”

We squeeze out of a side door meant only for employees, entirely bypassing the exiting crowd. The warm air feels surprisingly good after the continuous blast of air conditioning from the Starlight Club.

It doesn’t take us long to find our way back onto the strip. Despite being able to see the Bellagio in the distance, walking there would be a huge feat—due to the amount of weaving between the crowds of people that would need to occur.

---