Love on Lexington Avenue - Lauren Layne Page 0,72
if it was from the whisky or from watching Claire.
Sure, there were three women standing around the bonfire, throwing Brayden Hayes’s belongings in one by one.
But he only had eyes for one of them.
The other guys were right about her being exceptionally vocal tonight, but they were wrong about the wine being the cause. Claire hadn’t had a drink since dinner, and that had been hours ago.
It was close to midnight, and the bonfire that had inspired this trip seemed to light up the entire sky. The three men sat a healthy distance away in beach chairs Clarke had dug out of the garage, but the women danced barefoot around it in some sort of feminine bonding ritual that both fascinated and terrified Scott.
“And that,” Claire was shouting, heaving what looked like a tennis racket into the fire, “is for all the times you made me go to freaking Queens for dinner so that Audrey wouldn’t see us together.”
Oliver looked at Clarke. “Should we be worried about the neighbors?”
“Nah,” Clarke said, digging bare feet into the sand, looking perfectly relaxed. “It’s off-season; we’re good.”
“And this,” Naomi yelled, throwing in an article of clothing, “is because you were not better than bacon in the sack.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Oliver muttered, taking a sip of bourbon.
“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m so ready to be done with that guy. I hope this is the end of it,” Clarke said.
Scott glanced over. “You knew him?”
Clarke shrugged, his usual easygoing face a little shadowed as he watched the women—Audrey, specifically, Scott was guessing. “Audrey wanted him and me to be friends, so I tried. And damn. I wish I could say I saw him for what he was, but I didn’t. Still, I knew he wasn’t good enough for her. He wasn’t good enough for any of them.”
“Agreed,” Oliver said. “Though, do we know why now? What trigged the Ya-Ya Sisterhood moment?”
“Seriously. These women are on a mission.”
“I did,” Scott said, abruptly answering Oliver’s question. “I triggered it.”
Both men looked his way. “How?”
“Claire’s guest bedroom was like a mausoleum dedicated to the asshole. I guess it wasn’t my place to say so, as her contractor, but—”
“Just her contractor?” Oliver interrupted.
Scott gave his friend a look out of the corner of his eye and winced when he saw from Oliver’s expression that his friend already knew about him and Claire.
“I was going to tell you.”
Oliver laughed. “Sure you were. Because you always spill about your personal life.”
“Wait, what am I missing?” Clarke asked.
Oliver tilted his head toward Scott. “He slept with Claire.”
“Holy shit, really?” Clarke said, glancing back toward the fire as the women linked arms, and then sat cross-legged in unison in the sand. “I thought there were some vibes at the fund-raiser thing, but she always seems so—”
“Watch it,” Scott snapped automatically, earning a surprised look from both of them.
“Careful,” Clarke finished. “I was going to say she seems careful, very deliberate about who she gets involved with. Or rather who she doesn’t get involved with, because now that I think about it, didn’t I set her up with Brett?”
“You did, and thanks for that,” Scott said irritably. He felt Oliver studying him. “What?”
“Holy shit,” Oliver said with a slow grin. “It finally happened.”
“What?”
“You’re jealous. You don’t get jealous. Not even with Meredith. Not even when you learned she was sleeping with another guy—then you were just mad.”
“Who’s Meredith?”
“My ex,” Scott growled at Clarke. “And not relevant to this conversation. Seriously, why do people keep thinking a woman from forever ago has any bearing on my current life?”
“People? Who else thought that?” Oliver pressed.
Scott sipped his whisky, rethinking that refill if the conversation kept going in this direction.
“Ah. Let me guess. Claire called you out on your baggage after you told her to throw out her ex’s crap,” Clarke said, settling back into his chair. “This is getting exciting. Real soap opera stuff. I haven’t seen anything this good since I got to watch Oliver and Naomi at a dinner party when he was paired up with Claire.”
“The hell?” Scott swung his gaze around to his friend. “You dated Claire?”
Oliver laughed and shook his head. “No, but Clarke’s right. This is fun.”
“I’m sure as hell not having any fun. Quit acting like Claire and I are a thing. We hooked up. Once. And I told her to get rid of Brayden’s shit because it was interfering with my job. That’s the end of our story.”
“Riiight,” Clarke said. “And when Oliver called