Page 82 of Inflame

Nic: Quit being so damn cute over there.

Claire: ?

Nic: You know the effect you have over me. So you flaunt it.

I must have struck a nerve because she flips her phone over, turns in her seat to look in the opposite direction of me, and misses her mouth a little when she sucks out the last of her beverage over the rim of her glass.

I motion for the bartender, handing over a few hundred dollar bills.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“See the woman behind you with the red sleeveless dress? She needs a pitcher of margaritas. And if you can contact room service and get them to deliver her mini pancakes right here, that would be great.”

“Consider it done.”

I sip on my second bourbon and enjoy the solitude of my own thoughts. Saying that Claire is a distraction is an understatement. She is consuming every aspect of my current moment in life. Surely, this will all come to an end soon. I just need to get the itch scratched and then get bored.

The pitcher of margaritas arrives in front of Claire first. She traces a finger down the handle, turning it to look at the dew. A fresh glass arrives and she nods to the bartender, who offers to pour her one. I watch as they converse and growl as the bartender causes her to blush. Oh, hell no.

I saunter over to the free stool beside her and fill it up. Claire is licking the salt from the glass’s rim, seeming to enjoy the contrast from the sweetness of the liquid.

She turns to glare at me, but it doesn’t last long—as a smirk mars her stern expression.

“You are welcome to enjoy a drink from the pitcher I ordered for myself,” I say, nodding toward the tall glass container.

“This is yours?”

“Yup.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, I share.” I am referencing the pitcher of margaritas but the implication is there.

“I hate sharing,” she says bluntly. “Why did you move seats anyway?”

“Wanted to see what you were up to.”

“Ha. I see you are confusing stalking for curiosity.”

“I’m just waiting for the day that you wake up and stop lying to yourself. You are bored, Claire. And you are doubting the choices you made for a man who is not worth it. Probably hating yourself for missed opportunities. For trying to build a life on a fictional foundation with a man who doesn’t fucking deserve you.”

“Stop.”

“I see how he treats you.”

“And you think you can treat me better, is that it?”

“I would ruin you,” I answer honestly.

“Wow, way to sell yourself, buddy.”

“And maybe that is part of the appeal.”

Claire swallows and goes back to looking at the pitcher of margaritas. I am getting to her, chiseling slowly at the wall she has built around her.

Why is she here and not tearing into Ethan with her anger? Why is she not crying and having a yelling match at me? Is she in shock or is she trying to figure out a way to get Ethan back in her good graces?

Maybe what I did tonight isn't going to be their end. Maybe it will just serve as a catalyst to Ethan sticking his claws even deeper into her freedom. He will chisel away at everything that makes Claire unique, until the only thing left of her will be exactly what he created for himself.

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