Page 93 of Inflame

“I have the do not disturb sign up,” Ethan bellows.

“Good for you,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Too bad I don’t give a fuck.”

He rounds the corner, undoing the tie around his neck. “Oh, I wasn’t expecting you. Are you here to ask me to play some poker? An invitation to do more than just watch?”

My fingers tighten into fists, as my eyes rake over his face. He’s too smug. “You touch Claire again, and I’ll end you.”

Ethan tries to make himself taller, as if his height somehow would intimidate me. “Oh, is she spreading lies like she spreads her legs? She’s gotten to you, has she?” He licks his lips. “Hope you don’t mind sloppy sec—”

My fist connects with his mouth first, splattering blood onto the white sheets of the bed. Ethan groans, stumbling backwards, probably shocked I was able to execute the blow so fast. “Want to make this fun and keep talking?”

He wipes his face with the sleeve of his shirt, staring down at the wet crimson stain spreading on the fabric. And then he makes the biggest mistake of all—he comes after me. I dart to the side to avoid his blow, switching places with Ethan.

“You can have her. She isn’t worth my time. Little slut.”

This time I hit below his eye, connecting with the side of his nose. Blood spurts out, but this time all over the front of his shirt. “You just don’t learn, do you? But let me make this clear. You cause any more pain to Claire Nettles and you’re a dead man.”

* * *

“Give me the damn bag,” I snap, watching Claire struggle to get it into the overhead compartment. When will she learn? We have been through this before on the flight out of Portland. And I’m literally less than twelve inches from her. She can probably feel my warm breath on her neck if she can pause long enough to shut off her pride. “Are you allergic to asking for help?”

“Mind your own business, bubs.”

She hoists it over her head, thrashing it against the bottom frame. The bag slips out of her hand, falling behind her, and nearly knocking me in the head. I catch it just in time and pop it into the confined space with ease. Now why was that so fucking hard? She murmurs a weak thank you and scurries into her place near the window, tossing her purse below her feet on the floor.

The seating arrangement on the return flight is almost identical to how we were situated when we arrived. The only differences are that Claire is wearing more clothes, has less of a genuine smile, and is lacking the penis jewelry. I’m not complaining—just making an observation. While waiting in the airport, she must have slipped into the bathroom and changed into a long gray maxi dress. It looks new so I imagine it was one of her purchases. Similarly, I did a little shopping myself, but at the Bellagio. Figured that showing up covered in Ethan’s blood wasn’t socially acceptable. I’m sure there’s some unwritten dress code and all. I wouldn’t know. I rarely ever fly commercial.

Claire’s dress goes all the way to her ankles and covers twice as much skin as I was used to seeing the entire trip. She looks amazing. Elastic, situated just under her breasts, helps accentuate all of her assets. I may even prefer this relaxed look over her dolled-up outfits. It’s a toss-up, really. She would steal my focus even if she decided to wear a generic trash bag.

“It must be really hard, huh?” I ask, snapping myself into my seat in preparation for takeoff.

“What?” she asks, looking at me seriously.

“Looking as good as you do in any outfit you wear.”

She swallows hard and looks away. I see the color reach her cheeks, and it just further verifies that I am getting to her. Wearing her down little by little.

I kept Ethan alive because I knew she would have frowned upon it. But it wouldn’t have been hard to pay off the housekeeper. I’m sure people go missing in Vegas all the time.

“If you think I’m going to drop my panties for any boy who comes along that says something nice to me, then you are very much mistaken.” Her eyes linger on mine, as a smirk appears on her lips. “Because I’m not wearing any today.”

Hot damn. I swallow hard as her words penetrate my brain. “No panties, eh?”

Her eyes look out the window, at the workers moving about on the ground. “Got you thinking, didn’t I?”

“Not sure if you know the difference between what a boy can do and what a man can do for you.”

She looks over at me and shrugs. “I’m starting to learn that I don’t even need a man. That’s what they make battery operated toys for.”

I chuckle and watch as she digs in her purse, wondering if she is going to whip out a show-and-tell item for added emphasis. Instead, she pulls out a bag full of dicks. Cookies, that is. Each is individually wrapped and detailed to be so realistic that there is even pubic hair penciled in around the balls. Written across the shaft are the words—Nuts about Angie and Graham.

“Where in the heck did you get those?”

“I ordered them from a local bakery and had them delivered to the hotel. Here, have a dick,” she says, passing me one.

“It’ll definitely be my first,” I mumble, removing the cookie from its packaging.

She stares at me while I take a bite out of the tip. There cannot be anything sexy about this scenario. However, the anticipation in Claire’s eyes, paired with the little giggles that escape her throat, is making me reevaluate.

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