Love on Lexington Avenue - Lauren Layne Page 0,20

name-changing part I’d be averse to so much as the marriage itself.”

“Ah.” He took a sip of his drink.

Claire leaned forward. “I’m an Upper East Sider, too. I know a noncommittal disagreement when I hear one.”

“I don’t disagree,” he said carefully. “But Naomi felt that way, too. You saw how hard I had to work to win over that woman.”

“I did,” Claire said with a smile. “It was better than any movie. But I don’t have an Oliver desperately in love with me.”

“And if you did?”

She shook her head. “Still not on the marriage track.”

“Fair enough,” he said easily. “What about the dating track?”

“I’m thirty-five. The men who want to date me are either looking for marriage or a fling.”

“And?”

“And, I don’t want to get married,” she said, puzzled that the usually sharp Oliver wasn’t following.

“And?” he pressed again, eyebrows lifting.

“Oooh.” Claire laughed as she realized it was she who hadn’t been following. “Oliver Cunningham, are you suggesting I date men with the intention of using them for a booty call?”

“As a gentleman, I couldn’t possibly,” he said with a boyish grin. “As a friend, I will point out that just because you’re not looking for anything long-term doesn’t mean you have to cut yourself off from male companionship.”

“Does Naomi know you offer this sort of advice?”

“Absolutely not,” Oliver said, looking slightly panicked. “And I doubt she’d be thrilled. I know you three women have that pact.”

“You say it like it’s a dirty word.”

He hesitated for a moment, taking a sip of coffee. “I think it’s good that you three made that pact. I’m glad it brought you together, and I’m certainly glad that you’re looking out for each other. I wouldn’t want to see any of you be hurt by someone like Brayden again.”

“But?”

“But, I worry that the pact could potentially backfire—end up being too restrictive. There’s being careful with your heart, and then there’s becoming jaded.”

“You don’t want me to become a cynical old crone.”

She smiled, but he didn’t smile back. “No, Claire. I don’t want you to become lonely.”

Her smile disappeared as the word seemed to hit her squarely in the throat. It was a word—an emotion—she hadn’t really let herself consider since Brayden’s death, and yet she knew, she sensed that it was lurking around every corner. On an emotional level, and yes, to the point Oliver was dancing around, on a physical level. Brayden was dead. She wasn’t. And her body knew it.

“Also, sex is fun,” he said, as though reading her mind, and lightened the mood with a grin.

“Yeah, well.” She took a sip of the Frappuccino. “Trust me, I have zero game.”

“I’m an adult male who loves jigsaw puzzles, and I got a hot billionaire girlfriend.”

“Nerds are in right now,” Claire argued. “And even if they weren’t, you’re ridiculously charming. I don’t even know how to flirt.”

Oliver downed the rest of his coffee and checked his watch before standing. “Well then. Might I suggest a tried-and-true approach for learning a new skill?”

Claire groaned, knowing what he was going to say even before he said the word.

“Practice.”

Having parted ways with Oliver, Claire took a leisurely walk home, less fired up than she was when she’d left the house. Granted, she still felt the urge to scream when she thought of Scott, but the joy of talking with a good friend had taken the edge off her anger. And if she were honest, the male company in particular had been pleasant. Not in a romantic or sexual way—she thought of Oliver like a brother. But there was no denying that spending time with the opposite sex felt . . . different.

Nice.

Which, annoyingly, sort of proved Oliver’s point. If Claire wasn’t careful, she was going to end up lonely. And as for the rather cheeky suggestion of a booty call, Claire was rather intrigued by the idea, even as she felt completely out of her element just considering it.

Walking up the steps to her brownstone, Claire heard the boisterous sound of male voices, even before she opened the door.

“Oh!” she said, taking a startled step back, as a gray-haired man with a ponytail crossed her foyer, single-handedly maneuvering one of her sitting room chairs up the staircase.

A happy bark had her bracing for Bob’s greeting, and she was relieved when the dog went easy on her, sitting patiently by her feet for a pet rather than jumping up on her as she feared.

“Hi, girl,” she said, rubbing the dog’s ear tentatively, enjoying how soft it was.