Love on Lexington Avenue - Lauren Layne Page 0,46
on him, Scott half jogged the last few steps to Claire’s house, hoping she’d be there so they could talk—
Scott drew up short.
Claire was here all right. She was standing on her front porch, face tilted up to a blond guy who had his hands on her waist, unmistakably a prekiss pose.
Scott froze for a full ten seconds, trying to sort through the unfamiliar surge of something that ripped through him. He didn’t begrudge her this. He didn’t. And yet . . .
She jerked back from the blond guy, her eyes going wide as she saw him at the bottom of the steps. “Scott? What’re you—Did you forget something at the house?”
Scott wasn’t prone to taking shortcuts or easy outs—ever—but he took one now. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry, thought you’d still be at the gala, I was just going to grab— Never mind. It can wait until Monday. Sorry to interrupt.”
“But—”
Scott didn’t let her finish. He turned and headed back down the street, feeling like the world’s biggest fool.
Chapter Fourteen
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 28
How many times do I have to tell you that you can’t see it until it’s finished? You’ll just meddle and make it worse.”
Claire jumped at Scott’s sharp bark and turned around, more than a little ready to bark right back.
“I wasn’t going to creep on your precious kitchen, which is actually my kitchen,” she said, gesturing to the opaque tarp that kept the under construction kitchen hidden from view. “I was just going to adjust the AC because it feels like the arctic in here.”
“Don’t blame the AC for that,” he muttered, stomping toward the unit in the window and turning it down.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He started to brush past her without replying, but she snagged his flannel sleeve, and it made her mad that she didn’t dislike the fabric as much as she once had.
“What’s that mean?” she repeated, tired of being ignored for the past two days. Things had been almost unbearably tense between them since Saturday night, and in true man fashion, he hadn’t seemed to want to acknowledge it until now.
Scott sighed in annoyance. “It means that you’ve been putting off ice-princess vibes for days.”
“Oh, I’m the problem? You’ve barely said two words to me since you stopped by on Saturday night because you forgot something.”
“I apologized for that. For the interruption.”
Claire took a breath for patience. “I don’t want you to apologize; I want to know what’s wrong so things can go back to normal. What the heck is wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” He pulled his sleeve away.
Claire gathered her courage.
“You’re being unfair,” she said to his back. “And hypocritical.”
Slowly he turned around, face unreadable. “Meaning?”
“Meaning that you can hook up with Ms. Supermodel whenever it suits you, but I can’t bring a guy home.”
“I don’t give a shit who you bring home. I just stopped by—”
“To get your cooler. I know. I’m sure that really necessitated a one a.m. visit on a Saturday night.”
“What do you want me to say, Claire? I’m sorry if I ruined your night. It wasn’t my intention.”
“You ruined my night far before then.”
Well, crap. That was not supposed to have come out.
Scott frowned. “What?”
“Nothing.”
This time it was she who tried to brush by without responding, but as she had with him, he grabbed her arm and held her fast. “Tell me. How did I ruin your night?”
She looked away, not wanting to have this conversation. She’d thought the way she and Scott had been circling each other, icing each other out ever since he’d seen her with Brett was bad. But this was worse.
She couldn’t bring herself to answer his question. She wasn’t ready to tell him that their dance on Saturday night, their conversation, and the feel of him had meant something to her. But she did have something she wanted to clear up.
Claire looked up at him. “I didn’t sleep with Brett. The guy you saw.”
His jaw ticked. “I didn’t ask. I don’t care one way or the other.”
Her stomach dropped. Well, that answered the question once and for all whether the attraction on Saturday had been one-sided.
Maybe he really had come by to get his freaking cooler. She tried to pull away, but he didn’t release her arm. “If you don’t care, then let me go,” she said firmly.
Scott’s gaze dropped to his fingers on her arm, and though he eased the grip slightly, he didn’t release her. “Who was he?”
“Just . . .” She swallowed, suddenly breathless. “Some guy. Clarke—”
“Clarke?”
“He thought Brett and I