Free The Last Single Girl by Caitie Quinn, Bria Quinlan

was. Cutting to the chase. I was surprised she lasted that long.
    "He's not here." I smiled, daring her to push. Daring her to paint me into the corner we both knew I was in. Daring her to step out on that branch and say, Yes. I am that much of a bitch.
    "Where is he?"
    Okay, so I really shouldn't have been surprised.
    "Claire, there's something I want to say to you, and I want you to listen very closely because if someone has said this to you before, you weren't listening. You're not a very nice person. Actually, you're a petty, mean-spirited person. I'm not sure why you feel the need to compete with everyone. But being on top all the time means you're making sure someone else is on the bottom. So, would it matter if I got dumped on the way over here? Or if he had already had plans for tonight and wanted to hang with his guys. Or if I'd lied because you made me feel bad?"
    Claire looked at me as if I were speaking a different language. Maybe this was the first time anyone had made her see how she treated people and how it made them feel. Maybe I should have just said this to her months ago and everything would have been fine. She just needed to know she didn't need to win at everything to be well liked.
    Maybe she just needed to hear that.
    "What I'm saying, Claire, is life—friendships—aren't a competition. You don't need to win to be well-liked."
    I felt better already. It wasn't like I was the only one she treated like this. It was going to be good for Becca and Angie too. Maybe I'd feel more comfortable being good friends with those two once Claire chilled out a bit.
    "I knew it. There's no mystery guy. You lied. You're such a loser."
    "Wow. Claire. I feel really bad for you." I glanced at Marcus, the poor man looking like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Having a guy—even the one you wanted—obviously couldn't fill up an unhappy person.
    I stepped out of line, no longer caring about the drink and turned to find table eight—otherwise known as The Most Uncomfortable Seating Plan of the New Year—and walked directly into a man in a twenties broad-striped suit.
    "Oh, excuse me." I glanced up, about to dart around him.
    "No problem, doll face."
    "John! What are you doing here?"
    "Just now, I was listening to you tell that woman off. I've never seen you so feisty. You should do that more often. Now, I'm about to hand you this glass of champagne and ask you to dance."
    Oh. Oh this was bad. So very bad. I was doomed. I was more than doomed. I was emotionally apocalyptic.
    The first sign was that I couldn't get myself to stop smiling at him. The second was the rush of heat down my entire body just from standing this close to him. The third… Wow. Did he look good in gangster garb or what?
    "Who are you?" Claire. Leave it to Claire to ruin a moment.
    John hooked his arm over my shoulder and turned me back to face her.
    "I'm John. Or you can just continue to call me the Mystery Man if it's easier to remember." He gave her one of his very kind, very soft smiles. If there was anyone who could win Claire over, it was him.
    "So, what? Did she hire you or something?"
    "Claire." Marcus had shaken her free and was giving her what could only be a stern look.
    I think I liked him.
    "I met Sarah just after Thanksgiving. She came into my shop. I bought her a coffee. And we've been seeing each other a couple times a week since." Wow. He was good at that not-lying-but-not-quite-telling-the-truth thing. "Now, if you'll excuse us. I'd hoped to get her on the dance floor before the dinner started."
    He drew me away, his arm still warm across the back of my shoulders.
    He took my drink as we passed table eight and set it down. Taking my hand, he led me out to the floor and then spun me out and back into his arms. I almost melted against him, but I had to remember, this wasn't real. I couldn't give myself away.
    Instead, I winked up at him. "My hero."
    "You know it, toots." John winked back, always one to be in on the conspiracy—I