Page 94 of Inflame

“Well…” Her voice trails off. “How was the taste of your first dick?”

I wipe a crumb off my lips. “Better than expected.”

Claire beams with a genuine smile, not one of those fake ones she put on most of the morning. Maybe being away from the bastard has brightened up her mood. It sure has mine. Oh, and taking a few swings to his face. That always has a positive effect on me.

Leaning over, Claire hands two cookies to Graham, who looks shocked when he sees the shape. Her vanilla smell coats the inside of my nostrils, and I breathe in the scent of her hair. She lingers in my personal space before sitting back in her seat. I have never met someone more oblivious to the appeal they have on men. She watches with a smile as we eat our cookies, snapping a few silly pics just for added embarrassment.

“Those better not make it on the Internet.”

“The Internet is a big, big place. You’ll never find out.”

I stare blankly at her while she smiles like the Cheshire cat. What she doesn’t know is that I will find out. I always do.

“Aren’t you going to have one?” Angie asks, calling over the aisle to Claire.

“No. I’m doing a new nutrition challenge. Starts today.”

I can tell Angie wants to ask more questions but must know this is not the best time to do so. These two have a secret dialogue with just their eyes. On numerous occasions in the past, Angie would lose her mind over how Graham and I would communicate with just a look. She’s right. It’s infuriating.

“What can be more challenging than avoiding bacon?” I ask, trying to keep the topic lighthearted but still get information.

Her eyes catch my knuckles, and I turn them to avoid her gaze. “What happened to your hand?”

I shrug. “It walked into a wall.”

Claire’s not buying it, and I don’t expect her to. Luckily she gets distracted by the flight attendant who announces the safety protocols in case there is an emergency on board. The pilot taxis us to the runway, and after our belts are checked and the attendants are safely seated, we are soaring through the air.

“Did you remember to take your Dramamine?” I ask, patting Claire on the arm. Her eyes are focused out the window, and she looks less pale than she has on the times I’ve seen her sick.

“Yeah. In the airport,” she confirms. “You seemed to disappear once we got there.”

I nod, although she is not looking my way. She is in awe of how we pass through a series of clouds. I look over her and see that the ground below is no longer visible. The shine from the sun beams through the window, nearly blinding us with its intensity.

I can tell that Claire has a lot on her mind, although she seems to be doing well with the whole “avoidance approach.” I know she is mad at me. Thinks I somehow helped to end her and Ethan’s relationship. Maybe I did. I am selfish like that. However, the way he treated her—even when people were watching—was appalling. She should be thrilled with me—and dare I saythankful—that I helped to facilitate his true colors showing.

Champagne is served, which Claire declines. Snacks are offered, which she also declines. I am not sure what food challenge she is currently doing, but I hope she is doing it safely and not to lose weight. She is perfectly shaped, and I would hate for her to lose some of her luscious curves.

“Just give Angie mine, please,” she tells the attendant. “She finds these little packages so cute. Then she’ll have enough to make a trail mix.”

It’s true. Angie does appreciate the small things in life. Which is odd that she is about to marry one of the most lucrative businessmen on the West Coast. Graham can give her the world and oftentimes, she just wants some new fabric or some sheets of vinyl for her clothing designs. Or in this instance—portion-controlled airplane snacks.

I watch as Claire’s breathing changes and her fingers start playing with the fabric of her dress along her thighs. She crosses and uncrosses her ankles, looking from her lap to the window repetitively.

“Just ask.”

Her eyes snap to mine. “What?”

“Something obviously is tying you up in knots. Just ask me what you want to know.”

I can tell she is annoyed with me for being able to read her so easily. Even though she is wickedly good at Texas Hold’em, she is unable to completely conceal her emotions around me.

“Why did you allude to Ethan having more money than he is letting on?”

“Because it is appalling how he is treating you like a gold digger and micromanaging your debit card, all while he is making millions each year—even when the stock exchange is rocky. He’s good at what he does, Claire. Respected as a trader amongst peers.” But he will always be branded as an asshole in my eyes. There’s no going back from that once I saw his true colors.

“You wouldn’t know that by our less-than-stellar apartment,” she huffs. “Pretty sure when I moved in, it was a downgrade from the townhouse that Angie and I shared throughout college.”

I leave out a growl. He’s playing her, and she is so naive to notice it. “He’s lying to you. The place you are staying in is not even his permanent residence.”

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