Page 81 of Inflame

Claire: I do hate you. But I still consented. So this is on me. And I have to live with that knowledge.

Her words cause my heart to ache, despite me egging them on. To say I feel remorse is an understatement. I have to live with the knowledge that I put her in this predicament. And the weight of that is nearly excruciating.

The only thing keeping me afloat is knowing that getting Claire away from Ethan will be the best thing for her.

Nic: This wasn’t your fault, Claire.

Claire: Yes it was.

Nic: Even now. Even after all of this… You are still protecting that bastard?

Claire: I drove Ethan to even wanting to accept the stupid bet, because ever since he arrived, he probably felt threatened by you. Him seeing a picture of us while here didn’t help. He probably thinks I’m cheating on him based on how you keep interfering. This was probably his way of making sure you knew that we were together. He probably thought accepting your terms would strengthen our relationship by getting you to leave us alone.

Is she for real right now? How in the world does she manage to take responsibility for everyone else’s poor decisions? My hand tightens on my glass, and I worry that I might shatter it in my hands. An anger circulates through me as I once again bear witness to the hold that emotional abuse has on its victims.

But Claire did get something right. Regardless of how we got to this moment in time, there is no part of me that doesn’t want her. She has been haunting my thoughts for weeks, and no matter how hard I try to find an alternate obsession, I can’t shake her from my system. There is no escaping Claire. Not until I can have her—just once.

Nic: Claire, you can’t see what is so obviously apparent.

Claire: But you can?

Nic: Absolutely.

Claire: Want a prize?

Nic: No. I just want you.

Claire: Well, lucky for me, that will never happen.

Nic: I hate me too.

My admittance stops the conversation, but from the way her fingers rotate her phone over and over again in her hand, I know I have agitated her. Let my self-hatred for bringing her pain be my apology. Because I am sorry.

I am sorry for how I was unable to come up with a better alternative on getting her to see the light. I am sorry for wanting what I can’t have—what Ishouldn’thave—and knowing that I won’t stop until I do. I am sorry for being weak from the power she has over me.

Maybe if I get Claire in my bed, I can move on and stop acting like a deranged madman. And maybe if I showed her how good it can be with someone who would worship her—in every way—then she would be able to break the cycle of choosing the wrong men. The ones who would only use her for their own pleasure, completely ignoring what would satisfy her in return.

It is twisted to want her just because I know she will stray. It is my main qualification on how I choose bed buddies. It is messed up that I can justify her leaving Maxwell, because he continues to prove to be an evil man. It is even more demented that I get turned on by the thought of having my slice of cake, but not being coerced into buying the entire bakery.

My toxic desire for her is causing every nerve ending in my body to inflame with the possibility of proving to her that her body was made to be explored—with her pleasure in mind.

Call me jaded. Call me a prick. Neither are false.

My eyes narrow in on Claire as she plays with her cocktail napkin. She is on the opposite end of the bar that is shaped like a square. However, I have a clear view of her.

My phone buzzes with a text notification. I open the app and see Claire’s name highlighted at the top of the list.

She finally noticed my presence.

Claire: This isn’t a dog and pony show. Quit staring at me.

Nic: Last time I checked, it’s a free country.

Claire: Last time I checked, you’re still an asshole.

My hand moves from my tumbler to my face. I wipe at my facial hair that has grown from a missed shave. My phone buzzes again.

Claire: Quit laughing at me.

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