Page 21 of Inflame

“Where are we staying?”

“At the Bellagio.”

“The one with the fountain show in front?”

“That’s the one.” Without a doubt, she did her research—or watched a lot of films set in Las Vegas. The choosing of the hotel and flight were the only two tasks she didn’t try to micromanage. I can only imagine what type of spreadsheet or dream board she would have created from the possibilities, if I allowed her voting rights in the decision.

The pilot gives us a smooth landing. Within minutes we disembark and are waiting for our luggage at baggage claim. Claire and Angie use the restroom—probably to apply the eighty-ninth application of lip gloss—while Graham and I wait for the bags to come through the conveyor belt.

“Please leave her alone,” he warns sternly.

I look at him with narrowed eyes. He needs to care less about what I do in my free time.

“I mean it,” he adds.

“I’m sure you do.”

“What about Maxwell?”

“What about him?” I counter, unable to keep the sarcastic tone out of my voice. “He’s a douche.”

“She is not built to handle guys like you.”

“That’s for me to decide. Stay out of it.”

6

CLAIRE

It is slightly after nine at night when we push open the door to the massive suite that Nic booked for us. The Bellagio is definitely one of the nicest hotels I have ever stayed at. The service is amazing and the lobby ceiling decor is breathtaking. As much as I love to have some control over this trip, I am also relieved that I had nothing to do with the choice of where to stay—mostly because I cannot afford much right now. The dilemma of balancing fun and funds is something I haven’t had to experience until now. For the first time in my life, I’m in debt. Unfortunately, I do not have a solid path out of it.

“I figured you and Angie would take up the master bedroom on the east side, and we would each get a room on the west side,” Nic says to Graham, who tips the hotel worker who brings up our bags on a wheeled cart.

“Works for us,” he says, pushing his and Angie’s belongings down to their bedroom. He smacks her ass playfully, making her jump, and then she quickly scolds him for not waiting for the door to shut.

Inside the suite, there basically is an apartment set up. There’s a fully stocked bar and kitchen area, a living room, two sitting areas, and a view of the strip and fountains that is to die for. We have so much living space that I think the square footage exceeds that of the townhouse Angie and I once shared. It actually exceeds my current living arrangement too. This is massive. From the amount of windows, we are able to see two hundred seventy degrees. It is breathtaking.

Nic transports my bags to my room. He gives me the one with the better view and the bigger bed. I have no idea what has changed from the cafe until now. He seems lighter and more easygoing. Maybe getting away from Portland was good for everyone. We were all probably overdue for a trip.

“What’s on the itinerary for tonight, captain?” he asks me, knowing that I planned basically every moment without his opinion or approval.

I scowl over his name for me. “Not much planned. I didn’t know if our flight would be delayed, so I didn’t make reservations anywhere. Maybe we can just hang out here in the room and order room service? Maybe go down to the casino and get drinks. Play a game or two?”

I can tell he is thinking about my declaration. Perhaps wondering if I will whip out a trifold board or something? It is tempting. Staying organized has helped me function these past few months since graduating.

“That sounds good.”

I stare at Nic’s strong jaw a few seconds, waiting for the punchline of the joke. He is starting to scare me with his amicability, which is a direct contradiction to all of our previous encounters regarding this trip. Since arriving at the airport, he has been back to being the laid-back man that he seems to like to portray. Underneath his charm, I know there is something darker brewing. Like he has a beast living inside him that wants to burst out.

I really want to shower. Even though the sparkling water I dumped all over myself doesn’t have sugar, it still left a filmy layer on my skin under my clothes. There is only so much wiping I can do in a miniature bathroom. I still feel gross.

I scurry off into my assigned room and look out at the lights of the city. I have an amazing view and am not sure how I will go back to my meager living arrangements when I get back to the apartment in Portland. When Ethan and I started dating, he routinely just stayed at my place. Angie has walked in a few times on our sessions and that basically ended our out-of-the-bedroom romps that fresh lovers usually do. But as time progressed, the shiny new feeling dulled. It is normal.

After seeing where Angie is living, I thought a prominent businessman in Portland would have a fancier place than what Ethan owns. However, his car is super nice and I guess he just prefers to funnel his money into maintaining its appeal.

I texted him three times since leaving for the airport and he did not respond to any of them—despite me being able to see that they are marked as “read.” This is his typical behavior. If I’m in his sight, then I have his full attention. But as soon as I am away from it, I do not exist. We have talked—basically argued—about it numerous times. He just tells me I’m being a needy, insecure girlfriend. He says I remind him of his ex-wife who expected him to respond right away and how they didn’t last because of her demands of him. He always says it in such a way that sounds condescending and with the finely weaved implication that if I continue with my own expectations, he will cut things off.

There is not a submissive bone in my body, and yet here I am trying to figure things out with Ethan. I sacrificed so much for him by declining a prestigious internship in Los Angeles just to see where things would go with us. It would have been at a health resort fit for the celebrity clientele—something I always wished to do. My résumé would have been pimped after having that type of documented experience on it, and it would have propelled me into furthering my career without having to fight like I have to do now. However, I knew moving away would have ended things with Ethan. It would have been inevitable. But the gnawing feeling in the back of my brain keeps asking me if it was worth it. I am too afraid to answer honestly, because I fear living with a regret that I may never get over.

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