Page 31 of Inflame

His answer is so simple and said with such sincerity that I stop in the middle of the hallway and look up at him. “What?” It’s not like I misheard him. I heard every single word. Every. Single. One.

He shrugs. “You get all agitated, and I know you were forcing yourself to keep your cool. I could see the struggle in how your breath would change or how you would tap your foot under the table.”

I take a step back and then another. “So you were annoying me on purpose?”

“Sure.”

“Sure?”

He shrugs and glances away for a brief moment. “The end result is the same. So, how we got here shouldn’t matter.”

“It’s all about the journey,” I scoff. “And you were trying to make the journey less desirable.”

He leans over me, and I think he’s going to kiss me. My breath catches in my lungs and my lips part ever so slightly. But he bypasses them and instead hits the down button for the elevator. I deflate over this silly fantasy that I shouldn’t be having because, for one, I am taken. For two, Nic and I are opposites that will clash. We are two species in a zoo that would never be able to share the same habitat without us both dying. His eyes lock with mine and then move down to my lips.

“Was pretty desirable, if you ask me.”

I narrow my eyes at his. Is this his way of flirting? “I have a boyfriend,” I remind him.

“Who treats you like shit…”

“He’s still my boyfriend.”

“You keep feeding yourself those lies, Claire. But boyfriends don’t degrade their partners.”

“Let me guess, you’re an expert?”

His jaw twitches. “No. I’m not. But anyone can see what is so obvious.”

The car arrives, and I rush inside. Maybe spending optional free time with Nic is a bad idea. It’s already starting off wrong. He hits the ground floor button. It takes ridiculously long to get to the bottom of the hotel. It is like the car knows that the oxygen inside it is dwindling as Nic sucks the life out of me for his own sick pleasure.

We remain silent the entire trip down. Once the doors open, we walk to the nearest exit, and the cool desert air chills my skin as I adjust. The fountains are lit and dancing to music. Every light from all the casinos and hotels is on, racking up an electric bill that I would never want to pay. I guess the city really doesn’t sleep. Groups of tourists gather on the sidewalk, some a little rowdy but most are peaceful.

I stare at the Paris Hotel’s Eiffel Tower attraction and hope that Ethan wants to go up it with me when he flies here for the last couple of days of the trip. It is so beautiful and romantic. We just need some happy moments to counterbalance some of the drab ones.

“The real one in France is breathtaking.” Nic’s voice cuts through the silence.

“I bet,” I say longingly. “Never been.”

“Which way do you want to explore?” he asks.

I point down toward the volcano at The Mirage Hotel. Nic lets me set the pace, as we stroll along through the city. It is an extremely walkable area, with well-designed sidewalks and crosswalks. Cars actually stop for pedestrians and police are patrolling the street in a friendly, nonconfrontational manner. It is easy to tell that the city loves and welcomes visitors—and the revenue that results.

Nic and I meander. We make comments about the different hotels and laugh over some of the street performers who are still trying to make a buck at this hour of the morning. Despite him giving me a hard time over the ideas I have come up with for this weekend, he seems to listen to me ramble on about the reservations I have made and tickets I have ordered.

“I think Angie and Graham will love what you arranged.”

“I sure hope so. I feel this mounting pressure to make things special for Angie after all she’s been through.”

Nic slows down as we watch the volcano erupt with fire. “I get that. But you need to relax a bit and quit trying to make everything perfect. Sometimes the best moments are the unplanned ones.”

I let his words marinate for a few seconds before nodding. He is right. There is a balance between having a loose plan and having one so strict that it doesn’t allow for impulsive fun. I need to bring back Spontaneous Claire—or her evil counterpart Impulsive Claire. Those bitches know how to live it up.

“Can you help me not be so anxious with the parts of the day I didn’t plan out?” I ask. “I have the main attractions set for each day. But I left a lot of empty space in between.”

He smiles. “Sure. I can do that.”

“So, you have a breakfast venue in mind?”

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