Inferno - Chelle Bliss by Chelle Bliss

She hustles on her heels, which are way too high for a woman of her age, keeping her balance like she was born with a pair of them on her feet.

Fran pushes the crowd apart with her head held high like she owns the room.

I’d be surprised if she was taller than five two, but she commands her surroundings with nothing more than her attitude and confidence.

I envy her for that.

She slides into an empty chair, and her husband sits down next to her, leaving the seats across from them open.

Stone holds out his arm, letting me sit first. I take the chair opposite his aunt and prepare myself to be barraged with questions. Thankfully, the music will make it damn near impossible for us to carry on much of a conversation.

Fran plucks the plastic-covered menus from between the napkin holder and ketchup bottle and hands them out to each of us.

The menu is typical bar food, but everything my eyes land on makes my stomach rumble. I snacked on a bag of chips before we went to the tattoo shop five hours earlier.

Stone leans over, bringing his mouth next to my ear. “Get whatever you want,” he says loudly, the vibrations of his voice sending a wave of electricity down my spine. “I got you.”

The song ends, and for a moment, my ears ring, making me dizzy.

“We’re going to take a thirty-minute break,” the lead singer says into the microphone as a few people whistle their appreciation.

Eek.

Silence is the last thing I want, and I’m sure Stone feels the same way.

“Excellent. We can talk now,” Fran says, setting her menu flat on the table and staring across at Stone and me. “How long have you two been dating?”

A knot forms in my throat because, like him, I hate lying. The woman appears to be so damn nice, and the last thing I want to do is lie to her face.

“We’re not dating, Auntie. We’re only friends.”

Her lips flatten. “Shame,” she mumbles. “You two make a very beautiful couple.”

“Idiot,” the older man mutters as he looks around the room like he isn’t talking to his nephew.

I reach over and touch Stone’s arm. I need to make an escape.

I like these people too much, and I’ve only been with them a few minutes.

I also like Stone way too much. I need to break away now before it becomes even a little bit harder.

“Can you order me some fries? I need to use the ladies’ room.”

He studies my face a little too long for my liking, but I keep my expression as neutral as possible, praying he can’t read my mind. “Sure,” he replies as his eyes narrow for the briefest of seconds.

I give him a smile as I squeeze his arm. “Thank you.” I turn to the older couple and say, “I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time, honey. We’re not going anywhere,” Fran says.

I feel awful that I’m about to ruin her night, but this may be my only chance to leave.

“Hurry back. He’s not known for his conversational skills,” Bear says to me, but he’s ticking his chin at Stone. “You’re also prettier.”

“I’m pretty,” Stone argues as I climb to my feet, but then he turns to me. “Want me to come with you?”

I stagger for a second and catch myself with his shoulder.

Damn.

His name is perfect.

He’s solid.

Not an ounce of squish to him.

“No. I’ll be fine, and I’m sure there’s a line. There always is.” I give him a smile before I walk away, not looking back but fully knowing Stone’s eyes are on me.

Some girl is going to be very lucky to have a man like him, but that girl isn’t me.





3





STONE





A strange feeling washes over me as Opal walks away from the table, disappearing into the crowd.

“Where’re the bathrooms?” I ask Aunt Fran.

She points the opposite direction from the way Opal headed.

I’m immediately on my feet as my heart races uncontrollably. “Be right back,” I tell them, and I don’t wait for a response before I’m on the move.

I stalk into the crowd, looking for Opal’s long brown hair. When I spot her, she’s almost to the door to the parking lot, making no effort to head in the direction Fran pointed.

Shit.

She’s not going to the bathroom.

She’s running away.

For a split second, I think about letting her go. She’s a grown woman and not my problem, but there’s a part of me that stops that train of thought in its tracks.

She needs help but isn’t willing to ask for it.

I get it. I really do.

I never like to ask for help or appear weak in any way, but everybody needs help at some point in their life.

When she opens the door and disappears into the parking lot, I pick up my pace before I lose her forever. I push people out of my way, not caring about being cussed out for being a prick.

I smack the door with my palms, forcing it open. Opal’s heading toward the street. “Opal,” I call out as I walk faster, almost running.

She stops walking but doesn’t turn around. “I’ll be fine,” she replies, staring straight ahead. “You can go back inside. I’m not your problem.”

That’s a shitty way to think. Why would she view herself as a problem to anyone? “Wait.” I stalk up behind her, reaching for my wallet.