Page 42 of Inflame

I scan the chalkboard menu that has a list of foods and beverages served by the pool. It has the typical offering of burgers, salads, and wraps. I order myself a burger and get Claire a grilled vegetable wrap with a side salad. I’m not sure she is a hummus fan, but put in an order with pita bread anyway. As for drinks, I get us margaritas—one traditional lime and one peach.

The drinks are done first, and I carry them back to find Claire struggling with her sunscreen and some asshole offering to smooth it on her. Really, buddy? I thought this lame move only happened in the movies.

“I got this,” I bark out.

When he sees all six feet of me, he backs away and scurries off.

“Was that necessary?” she asks, glaring up at me, until she sees the margaritas and then she softens.

“Very necessary. Which one do you want?”

“Is that peach? Oh, I love peach.”

I hand her the frozen drink and place mine on the little table beside the lounger. “Give me your lotion.”

She hesitates but hands me the bottle. I squeeze a little out onto my hand and warm it between my two palms. She gathers her hair over one shoulder. I massage the cream into her bare skin, reveling at the smoothness. If she has any flaws, I don’t see them. To me, she is perfection.

I close the cap and hand her back her bottle.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

I sip my drink and escort her over to the stairs that enter the pool. The water is the perfect temperature. Angie and Graham join us with frozen margaritas as well.

“This feels so refreshing,” Angie says, sitting on Graham’s lap along the edge of the pool.

Several water fountains are set up, along with a footbridge that you can swim under. The DJ plays some old-school music, and several beach balls are tossed throughout the pool to the patrons looking to do more than just drink.

When the waiter brings our food, we exit the pool and chow down at our loungers.

“Oh, I love hummus,” Claire says, smiling at what I chose for her.

She takes a bite from her wrap and moans over how good the flavors are. I am pretty sure she’d be a slut for pancakes, margaritas, and vegetables. It is commendable how healthy she eats and her dedication to staying fit. I eat like a teenage boy but work out like a man.

We finish our food, hit up the pool some more, and drink a little too much.

When the ice melts in our fourth beverage, I decide that there is no better time than now to switch over to the other pool where the foam party is about to start.

Another DJ is hyping up the crowd as huge blowers blast foamy bubbles onto the surface of the water. Angie and Claire jump right into the pool, laughing and dancing to the music. Graham and I join them. I stay back along the edge and watch as blow-up floats are thrown into the pool for guests to have fun with. Several employees carry a huge unicorn float that has a rainbow-colored mane.

I chuckle as a drunk Claire tries to climb on board. Her struggle and pout is so cute. When she turns to find me, she is sporting the whole “help me” look. I move through the bubble bath and make my way over to her. My hands grip her slippery hips and give her a lift. She weighs about a hundred pounds wet—at least that’s how weightless she feels to me. She is all muscle, yet has a soft feminine feel to her.

Claire rides the mystical blow-up animal with Angie like they just won the lottery. Hands fly through the air in a rhythm completely different from the song being broadcasted. I laugh and watch them in a rare carefree moment.

When the festivities calm down to just lingering suds, we go back to the loungers and dry off. Graham takes Angie back to the room to get cleaned up, while Claire and I lie like content starfish in the sun. It feels great to be lazy and boneless.

I lie on my back with my hands propped behind my head. Claire is on her stomach, with her head resting on her bent arms.

I know she wants to know more of the pleasure I can give her. I sense it in her energy, in how she sneaks glances at me. She is keeping our kiss from Angie. I know this because Angie wouldn’t be able to hold herself back from telling me her thoughts on the matter. I haven’t been around my brother’s fiancée long enough to know where her loyalty lies—Team Ethan or Team Nic. I, however, without any doubt know she will forever be on Team Claire.

Every time my mind thinks of her sleazy boyfriend, I feel murderous inside. The guy has everyone fooled. Not for long. It is like I’m in a secret competition with a man who doesn’t even know he is about to lose.

In the big picture, it doesn’t matter though. Whatever I want with Claire is strictly temporary. It is how I generally handle women in the post-Tara era. I keep all of them at arm’s length. It is safer that way—for them and for me.

Does that make me an asshole? Of course it does. Even I can admit that. But I specifically choose women who know the score. I am picky as hell and my attraction is very specific.

I have a type.

Claire has the one quality that is common among all of the women I have gone after since Tara.

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