Passion on Park Avenue (Central Park Pact #1)(37)

“Oliver,” Audrey corrected quickly.

Oliver, for his part, ignored Dylan completely, still watching Naomi.

“Hello,” he said softly when she met his eyes.

“Hi.” She tore her gaze away to look at Dylan. “Oliver and I are neighbors.”

Dylan snapped his fingers. “That’s why you look familiar. Didn’t we see you the other night? You were with another . . .”

He looked at Claire, then back at Oliver, and though he stopped short of pointing out that Oliver had been with a different woman that night, his silence was just as damning. At least, it would have been, had Claire seemed to care even a little bit that Oliver had been on a date with someone else. Instead, she seemed far more interested in the bubbles in her champagne flute.

Still, Naomi inwardly cringed that her date didn’t seem embarrassed, much less regretful about the awkward moment he’d caused. In fact, a little part of her wondered if he’d done it on purpose to make Oliver look bad.

“Oh dear,” Audrey muttered just quietly enough for Naomi’s ears but nobody else’s. Then she slipped right back into hostess mode, moving toward the refrigerator. “You guys must be starving. I’ve got a lovely bruschetta that I’ll just pop together real fast. Clarke, be useful for once and come give me a hand?”

Audrey handed a baguette to her friend, who took it and used it to point at the small TV mounted discreetly onto one of the kitchen cabinets. No, it had been built into the cabinet, Naomi realized. A whole other level of fancy.

“I’ll cut this if I can turn that on,” Clarke said, waving the baguette like a weapon.

“Nope. No TV. It’s a dinner party.”

“It’s the Yankees,” Clarke countered.

“Clarke.”

“Audrey.”

Audrey’s eyes narrowed in warning, and Clarke gave her a smile that Naomi suspected would have made most women weak in the knees. Audrey merely raised the large kitchen knife in her hand in warning.

Clarke turned back toward the group. “Let’s take a vote. Yankees game in the background? On mute,” he added, when Audrey made a low growling noise.

Dylan’s hand immediately went up. “Sorry, Audrey. Yanks playing Atlanta, and as a Braves fan I’ve got a good feeling about their win . . .”

“Well, that’s not going to happen,” Clarke said before pointing his baguette at Oliver. “Can I count on your vote?”

“You can’t say it like that,” Audrey protested. “He’ll feel like he’ll have to turn in his man card if he says no.”

“Perfect. Peer pressure for the win. What’s it to be, Cunningham, man card or Yankees?” Clarke asked.

Naomi already knew what Oliver was going to do. Even without the man card threat, as a kid, he’d been obsessed with all things Yankees. Apparently the man was, too, because he raised his hand in a vote for the game, though he gave Audrey an apologetic wink as he did so that did something unpleasant to Naomi’s stomach.

He was here as Claire’s date, was flirting with Audrey . . . it was like freaking fertilizer on the seed of jealousy that had been planted last weekend when she’d seen him with Lilah.

Naomi frowned. Where was Lilah?

“That’s three for the game,” Clarke said, turning his baguette to Naomi and Claire. “Ladies?”

Audrey gasped in outrage as Claire reluctantly raised her hand in favor of the Yankees. “Claire Hayes!”

“Sorry,” Claire said, not sounding sorry at all. “I’m kind of a baseball nut.”

Audrey shot Naomi a pleading look. “You’re on my side, right?”

“I don’t think it matters, babe,” Naomi said with a smile. “It’s already four to two.” Plus, Clarke had already gone straight for the drawer that held the TV remote and turned it on.

“Fiiiiine,” Audrey said with an exasperated sigh as she glared at Clarke. “But I want that baguette sliced on the bias.”

“Yeah, I’m not doing that,” Clarke said, one eye on the game as he unceremoniously plopped the baguette on the cutting board and began making rough cuts at the bread.

Audrey accepted her defeat graciously as she pulled an apron over her head and began slicing tomatoes alongside her friend. Even losing the TV battle, she looked suspiciously happy, and Naomi’s eyes narrowed slightly on her friend’s back. The little sneak. She’d set up a couples’ dinner party but had ensured that she had the plastic safety of her BFF, while she and Claire had put themselves out there and brought an actual date.

Except that wasn’t exactly going to plan, either. Dylan had joined Claire in front of the TV, and though Claire still looked a little skeptical of the guy, she really was a baseball nut, from the way they were talking RBIs and Golden Gloves and a bunch of other crap Naomi didn’t really care about.

Which left her with . . . Oliver.

Naomi glanced over, found him watching her. She picked up her champagne flute, moving closer to stand beside him.

“Out of curiosity, what would your vote have been?” he asked, nodding toward the TV.

She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t have a strong preference either way, but I will say it serves Audrey right.”

“For?”

Naomi pointed the base of her flute toward Clarke and Audrey. “She made me and Claire bring a date. Part of our whole move-on-from-Brayden thing, and she goes and brings her oldest friend. Chicken.”