Love on Lexington Avenue(37)

Claire looked at Clarke, the only one she didn’t currently want to strangle. “Help.”

He winked, taking pity on her, and took over changing the subject. He extended a hand to Scott. “Turner. It’s good to see you again. Been a while.”

“Wait, you know him?” Audrey asked Clarke. “How am I the last to meet Scott?”

“Best for last, definitely,” Scott said, clinking his glass to Audrey’s with a charming smile.

Claire stared at him in disbelief. Where had this charm been for the past two weeks when he’d been stomping around her home, complaining about “shoddy insulation”?

She turned to Clarke. “How do you know Scott?”

“We met a couple of years ago. Charity baseball game?” he asked Scott, trying to place their first meeting.

“I believe it was far worse than that. The rent-a-bachelor business downtown.”

“Right.” Clarke snapped his fingers in recognition. “Ian Bradley’s crew set it up for the fund-raiser for foster kids. You got yourself the highest bidder, if I remember. A super-rich widow not a day under eighty-five who was obsessed with your ass.”

“It was neither the first nor the last time I’ve been groped by someone using a walker,” Scott said.

Everyone but Claire laughed. She was still too busy trying to reconcile this laughing, clean-cut, do-gooding man with her contractor. He caught her eye, and she shook her head slightly in bemusement, putting her fingers to her temple and making an exploding gesture, as all this was blowing her mind.

He smirked, then turned his attention to Oliver, who’d joined them, fresh glasses of champagne for all the women in hand, which Claire eagerly accepted.

She’d just taken a sip when the live band, who’d been playing upbeat crooner classics all night, shifted into a slow, moody version of “Ain’t That a Kick in the Head.”

“Ooh!” Audrey said, “I love this song!”

“Aren’t you about a hundred years too young to love this song?” Clarke asked.

Audrey pointed at him. “Says the guy who knows every Bublé song by heart.”

“Which is why I know that Bublé hasn’t done a cover of this song yet, so don’t look at me like that. You know I only dance to Bublé songs.”

Audrey ignored his protest, handed her champagne to Claire, and dragged her friend out to the dance floor. Claire smiled as Clarke immediately spun Audrey dramatically. They really would be such a cute couple if they ever got their heads out of their asses and saw what was right in front of them.

Claire glanced over at Naomi and, slipping the stem of Audrey’s champagne flute between her pinky and ring finger, extended her left hand to Naomi. “Hand your drink over and take your handsome man out there. I can hold two glasses in one hand and still have another one free for sipping.”

Naomi hesitated. “You sure?”

Claire wiggled her fingers in silent command.

Naomi shrugged and handed her glass over, then smiled as Oliver whisked her onto the dance floor.

Claire smiled in contentment at seeing her two friends dancing with handsome men when she felt Scott studying her. “What?” she asked, sipping her champagne without looking at him.

“This is your role now? Frumpy wallflower who holds her friends’ drinks?”

“Frumpy!” She turned toward him, a little stung.

“That’s how you’re thinking of yourself, isn’t it? Your shoulders are down; you’re all but shrinking into the wall. What happened to the woman who commanded the attention of every guy in the bar just a couple of weekends ago?”

“That was different,” she snapped. “I was having a moment. This is real life.”

“Bullshit,” Scott said crossly.

She smiled a little at that, because this version of Scott was the one she knew. The one she could handle. Her smile disappeared as he deftly plucked all three glasses out of her fingers one by one and set them on a nearby table.

“Hey! What—”

He extended his hand, palm up, his eyes locking onto hers in challenge. “Dance with me.”





Chapter Twelve


SATURDAY, AUGUST 24

Claire knew the dance was a mistake the moment Scott rested his left hand on the small of her back, nudging her closer as his right hand closed around hers.

“You weren’t expecting to see me here,” he said, easing her into the slow dance with a surprising amount of skill.

“It doesn’t seem like your scene,” she admitted, keeping her eyes fixed over his shoulder as she concentrated on matching her steps to his. She’d never been one of those natural dancers. It was hard for her to relax, and she was always acutely aware of her motions, certain that she probably looked as stiff as she felt.

“I choose to believe we all belong wherever we want to be in the current moment. You looked just as good sitting on a dirty bar stool at a dive bar drinking cheap wine as you do tonight in an expensive dress drinking champagne.”

“Wait, that bar stool was dirty?”

He squeezed her hand in warning. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you just dodged my compliment.”

“I know what I look like,” she said stiffly. “I lack Audrey’s prettiness and Naomi’s bold confidence.”