If he was lucky, that’s all she’d remember about that conversation.
Claire looked at Angela again, appearing to study her. How would she measure up in Claire’s estimation? She was shorter than Claire by several inches, with sleek, dark hair that he’d bet money she spent a fortune on and clothes that spoke of money and class.
“Huh,” Claire whispered.
“What?”
“She looks so…normal.”
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Some tall, gazelle-like runway model. Who else would turn down a guy like you?”
He shouldn’t take pleasure in that. “Lots of women, actually.”
Claire rolled her eyes and glared at the other woman. “That handbag probably cost two months of rent at the condo.” She wrapped her fingers around his forearm, sending spirals of pleasure across his skin. “I don’t like her.”
Something in her tone set off warning bells in his head.
“Let’s just go,” he said.
“Absolutely not.” Claire tugged him forward gently. “You look ridiculously hot today and I want her to see what she missed out on.”
“Wai—” he started to protest, but his brain snagged on the hot part. He wore the same shorts he’d had on earlier and had changed into a snug black T-shirt. He’d wished he could get jeans over his damn cast to look a little nicer for Claire, but it wasn’t possible. “I do?”
The vehemence in her tone sent heat downward. “Yes.”
Claire likes shorts and fitted T-shirts. Noted.
She stepped forward, closer to the rack where Angela browsed, and said loudly, “Oh, Graham! Look at this one.” She grabbed a dress from the rack and held it up.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Angela turn.
Shit. He drew closer to Claire, wanting to be near her, as if she’d protect him from the strange feelings sprouting from the dormant soil of his memory. “That’s, uh, nice.”
“Graham?” came Angela’s familiar, feminine voice.
His shoulders tensed and his gaze lifted over Claire’s shoulder.
“Graham Scott? Is that you?”
Angela appeared on Claire’s right side, her eyes wide as they tracked down his body.
Well, maybe Claire had been right about that.
Claire moved closer to him and wrapped her hand possessively around his bicep.
“Angela. Hey,” he said, attempting to sound surprised to see her.
Rubbing her hand up and down his arm, Claire asked him in a voice sweeter than he’d ever heard come out of her mouth, “Who’s this?”
Angela’s shrewd gaze seemed to size Claire up. When he didn’t reply right away, she stood a little straighter. “I’m Angela. Graham and I went to school together.”
“Did you?” Claire looked up at him. Those hazel eyes he adored were overflowing with mischief, and he wasn’t quite sure which impulse was stronger: see how this played out or get the hell out of there. “I don’t remember you ever mentioning an Angela.” She shrugged and glanced back at Angela. “Nice to meet you, though.”
Angela’s tone sharpened a fraction. “Same.”
“You two were at the same high school, huh?” Claire asked. She brushed a palm across his muscled chest and his breath shallowed. “Wow, what was that like? I bet all the girls were after him, weren’t they?”
Angela shifted on her feet. “Um…”
Before Angela could say more, Claire kept going, “If not, boy, what a mistake that was, huh? Just look at this guy. And he’s a fireman, too.” She made a slow pass over his bicep as she lowered her voice conspiratorially and dipped her head in Angela’s direction. “He doesn’t mind wearing the uniform during off-hours, if you know what I mean.”
“Claire,” Graham muttered. “Fuck.”
But she wasn’t done, apparently.
“He’s a local hero, too. Broke his leg saving an old woman from a fire in her apartment. Can you believe it? I guess I lucked out no one snagged him back then, though, because I wouldn’t have had a chance. A man like Graham doesn’t come around often. Sweet, kind, brave, and he’s even hotter underneath.” She winked. “Trust me.”
Angela blinked, her gaze bouncing between him and Claire.
Claire’s phone dinged. “Oh!” she said happily. “We’d better go, our table’s ready. It was nice to meet you, Andrea.”
“Angela.”
“Right, sorry.” Claire flashed a final smile and looked at Graham expectantly.