Love on Lexington Avenue(30)

But by then, their fiancées at the time had become best friends. And since Bridget and Meredith had been big fans of double dates, Oliver and Scott had found themselves developing a friendship outside of architecture school, in spite of their different worlds.

Oliver was a pampered rich kid, who’d grown up just a couple of blocks from where Claire lived now. In fact, Claire and Oliver had moved in the same circles not so long ago. Scott, on the other hand, was a scholarship kid from Nowhere, New Hampshire, who’d barely known a soup spoon from a ladle. A natural friend pairing they were not.

Strangely enough, Scott and Oliver’s friendship had lasted while their respective engagements had not. Maybe it had lasted because of their failed engagements. Scott didn’t like to spend a lot of time thinking about that time in his life. He limited it to the facts: Bridget had bailed on Oliver when both of his parents had gotten sick and demanded all of his time and attention. And Scott had bailed on Meredith when she’d decided to sleep with her coworker. Many times. Over the course of an entire year before Scott found out.

He rubbed absently, irritatedly at his chest. “How’s your dad?”

Oliver glanced over, his blue eyes dimming just slightly. “He’s all right. There are fewer and fewer good days, but I can’t say I didn’t know it was coming.”

Scott nodded in commiseration. Walter Cunningham had been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s a couple of years ago. Oliver had done everything he could to keep his dad at home for as long as possible, but he’d put him in a care facility last year.

Having lost his own father a few years earlier, Scott didn’t envy what his friend was going through, but he was glad Oliver had met Naomi. The woman was a damn firecracker and perfectly balanced out the more staid and conservative Oliver, who looked like he probably slept in his suit. More importantly, Scott liked knowing that Oliver had someone to lean on.

His thoughts shifted slightly, and he looked at his friend again. “Hey, did you and Claire ever date?”

“Claire?” Oliver frowned, then shook his head. “No, never. I mean, I always thought she was . . . you know. Attractive. But, no, not even close. Why?”

“No reason.” Scott took a swallow of the spicy drink. “You just seem her type, is all.”

“What’s her type?”

“Pretty boy? A little delicate?”

Oliver lifted a single finger in response.

Scott finished off the last of his bacon and tried not to think about the fact that Claire had left the bar with Brah last night. He didn’t care. Or at least, he didn’t want to care.

It was what she’d wanted. Hell, he’d wanted that for her. Right up until the moment he’d seen that asshole sit next to her and make her laugh. Then the only thing Scott had wanted was to take the randy pup by the scruff of his chubby neck and put him on a stool far, far away from Claire. Better yet, outside.

At his insistence, Claire had agreed to text him at the end of the night, letting him know that she was okay. He supported women having the same freedoms as men, absolutely respected that a woman should be able to sleep with a man she’d just met as easily as a man could. But he wasn’t immune to the fact that life was far from fair and that women were unfortunately vulnerable to the sadistic freaks of the world.

He was glad that Brah wasn’t one of them. But it didn’t mean he had to like Brah.

“How’s that going?” Oliver asked.

It took Scott a second to register his friend was asking about the renovation, not Claire’s no-strings-attached-sex mission.

“Good. The place is outdated as hell, but it’s mostly surface fixes. The bones of the house are strong. She’s pretty agreeable about everything, which is a nice change from my recent projects.”

“Yeah, I like that about her,” Oliver said. “She’s no pushover, but she also picks her battles. Doesn’t waste a lot of energy getting worked up about shit she doesn’t know anything about, or doesn’t care about.”

“Except she’s on a pink thing.”

“A what?”

“Don’t ask me. Best I can tell, I think it has something to do with reinventing herself? But she keeps talking about pink paint and pink wallpaper. She even texted me a picture of a pink chandelier for her bedroom.”

Oliver winced. “Well, I guess it’s her house. She doesn’t have to worry about creating a dude-friendly zone.”

“Yeah, but she will eventually.”

“I don’t think so.” Oliver shook his head. “I ran into her the other day, and she seemed pretty dead set against any serious relationships in her future.”

She’d said as much to Scott, but it still didn’t seem right somehow. The more he got to know her, the more she struck him as the type of woman who belonged with someone else. Not that she needed a man, quite the opposite. But rather, the sense that some relationship-inclined man was missing out on the opportunity to have a partner in life. It pissed him off all the more that Brayden Hayes had abused that gift.

“The dead husband really did a number on her, huh?”

Oliver’s mouth twisted in distaste at the mention of his fiancée’s ex. “On all of them.”

“Is it true none of them knew about the others until he died?” Scott asked, aware that he was prying—it was unlike him to get up in anyone else’s business, or to even care, but he was damn curious about what had gone down with that.