Hard to Resist

Chapter One - Verity

CHAPTER ONE

VERITY

D ating in the city sucks.

Don’t let anyone say otherwise.

I tap my phone screen for what feels like the hundredth time, lighting it up in the hope that maybe I missed a message. But…nope. There are no new notifications. Zero. Zip. Zilch.

My fingers itch to swipe the phone open, but I flip the screen facedown, so I’m not tempted.

I tell myself I can’t keep staring at the text thread, hoping that it will cause a response to magically appear from him when I haven’t heard from him in hours. That’s right. Hours.

I am self-aware enough to know that I am a sucker when it comes to men and dating. I put total faith in guys after just one date, envisioning what our future could possibly look like and falling under their spell. It’s something I really need to change.

I swear, if he doesn’t show up tonight, I’m never dating again.

Okay, maybe that’s a smidge excessive. But I sure as heck will promise myself not to get swept away after just a few dates.

I will hold myself back. I will make the next guy chase me like I actually mean something.

I will make him prove to me that he is serious before I go all in.

I’m sick of cradling my heart after it gets tossed on the ground by men who don’t give a crap.

My phone vibrates and my eyes dart to the device, hand flicking out to turn it over.

Well, that resolve lasted about five minutes.

The screen shows nothing other than a notification for thirty percent off shoes from a brand that I like. The silent message thread below it glares back at me, and I swallow what little pride I have left and click on it, my fingers tapping out one last message.

Which is definitely a bad decision.

I slide the texts to the side, noting each of the timestamps. My upper lip curls with a slight wince at how utterly pathetic the messages look.

10:21 am Me: Morning :) Can’t wait to see you tonight!

1:05 pm Me: The restaurant is going to be to dieeee for

1:06 pm Me: i just looked up their drink menu *drool emoji*

2:49 pm Mike: I’m going to be late. I have a showing

2:53 pm Me: All good!! I can push the res by 15

2:54 pm Me: I’ll see u then 3

7:40 pm Me: On my way

8:01 pm Me: Just got here :) lmk when ur on the way

8:39 pm Me: ETA?

8:50 pm Me: Mikeee??

9:06 pm *missed call from Verity*

9:13 pm Me: Are u all good?

9:41 pm Me: ???

Sourness swirls through my gut, and I force myself to shut my phone and toss it into my purse so I don’t get tempted again.

This is getting beyond pathetic.

Why am I even doing this to myself?

I chew on my straw and return to people watching, determined not to let my mind stray to what the clear, bone-dry silence from my date means.

The group of loud women who have been ordering round upon round of espresso martinis have finally stood up to leave.

They’re dressed to the nines, and I have no doubt they’ll be moving on to some exclusive bar or club to continue the rest of their night.

The two men seated at the table next to them look relieved, clinking their wine glasses together as if to say, “thank God.”

A small gasp breaks through the buzz of the restaurant, and I glance at a couple two tables across from me.

The woman has her dainty hand raised to her lips as she smiles at the man—fiancé or husband based on the rock she is sporting—who hands her a small red box.

Her grin widens further as she opens the gift and pulls out a Cartier LOVE bracelet.

Bitterness blooms in my chest with a small ache.

The only gifts I’ve ever gotten from boyfriends were a giant teddy bear for Valentine’s Day in eighth grade and a perfume my sophomore year of college that smelled kind of like my nana. Sweet ideas, but nothing that was ever a declaration of love.

Mike hasn’t even gotten me flowers, and I’ve been seeing him for two months.

I flick my attention to the bar, watching the bartender pour some bright green concoction into three coupe glasses before topping them each with a cucumber ribbon. My lips purse as I contemplate once again whether or not I should just order a drink.

They’re pricey here, almost twenty-seven dollars each, and I didn’t really want to drop that much cash unnecessarily. I’d be pissed at myself if I spent that money and Mike didn’t show up.

The thought forms a ball in the back of my throat.

I rip my gaze away from the tempting cocktails I’d been dreaming about all day and land on a man I hadn’t seen before. It would have to be pitch black in here for me not to notice how attractive he is.

Even from this far, I can see the clean cut of his jawline.

His hair is a dark mocha color, styled in a classic Ivy League cut with the sides cut a smidge shorter and the top longer.

He looks like one of those stereotypical finance men with his crisp suit that hugs his body in all the right places and a glass of what looks to be whiskey.

He’s sitting alone, one elbow on the bar as he takes a swig of his drink.

I wonder if he is waiting for someone as well.

Our eyes meet, and my breathing halts for a second too long as I lose myself to his piercing gaze.

My brain catches up, and I duck my head to focus on my sad glass of sparkling water.

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

My cheeks heat, some weird embarrassment working its way through my body. He so caught me checking him out. I’m supposed to be waiting for my date, and instead I’m ogling a tall drink of one hundred percent man.

“I’m so sorry, miss, but I really need this table.”

“Huh?” I startle, blinking up at the server like a deer in headlights.

“You’re welcome to keep waiting. I can move you to the bar if you would like? But I need the table for another reservation.”

The embarrassment I feel now is for an entirely different reason.

I twirl the straw in my glass—which is just an inch of half-melted ice at this point—and let out a sigh.

The awkward pity in the server’s eyes does nothing but make me feel more like crap about the fact that I’ve been sitting at this two-top for almost two hours alone, clearly waiting for someone who hasn’t bothered to show.

Honestly, I’m surprised she let me sit here this long. It’s a Friday night, and The Brass Stop is one of the hottest restaurants right now. I’ve been dying to try it, which is why I was so freaking excited for our dinner plans tonight. Dinner plans that don’t seem to be happening…again.

My chest squeezes, but I plaster on a tight smile and try not to let the hurt show.

“Sure, I understand.”

Gathering my coat and purse, I slip off the seat and make the short walk over to the bar. There are only two empty stools available, one nearby, sandwiched between two couples, and one at the corner by the man.

It’s an easy choice.

Silently, I hop onto the farther stool, careful to keep my dress from riding up.

The bartender sidles up to me almost immediately.

“What can I get for you?”

The shelf of liquor behind him glistens under the light with temptation.

Screw it.

“Tequila. Double. The cheapest you have.”

I would probably regret the cost in the morning, but right now, I need something to take the edge off the shame and disappointment piercing my body. It had been a rough work week with my hellish boss, and now my date has flaked on me.

To say I am feeling like crap would be an understatement.

The tall shot glass clinks down on the counter, and I fish my ID and credit card out of my purse as he fills it with the promising clear liquid. The bartender checks my ID but just taps my credit card before sliding it back to me.

“It’s on the house.”

I frown but follow his gaze behind me to see the server girl from earlier tossing me a small smile.

Great. Does the entire restaurant know I was stood up?

Probably. Servers gossip like no other.

“Thanks.”

I down the shot in one go, nose wrinkling slightly from the taste as it burns my throat.

What am I still doing here?

How long am I going to wait for a man who isn’t going to turn up?

The icy truth settles in my stomach.

This is the third date in three weeks that Mike has canceled on. A clear pattern. A clear message.

At least the other two times he had the decency to cancel before I left the apartment.

This time, he couldn’t even be bothered to do that.

He hadn’t responded to my texts all day, but I’d still shown up here like the hopeful, hopeless romantic that I am, thinking that maybe this time would be different.

This is why Hannah, my roommate, told me not to put all my eggs in one basket. She instructed me with a wag of her finger to not close myself off, that I shouldn’t delete my dating apps until Mike explicitly made things official. That committing too quickly in a city like this was a fool’s errand.

And here I am…the fool.

I’d gone all in on the guy after the first date.

He’d been so charming that I figured, why waste my time when I could just focus my energy on him?

And at first, I’d been pretty proud of my decision.

We had five amazing dates over the month, and I’d even met some of his friends at a house party.

Everything seemed like it was going perfectly.

But now, he is flaking every chance he gets, sending me “sorry I went AWOL” texts before making new plans that he never sticks to.

Plans that I’ve been so excited about and cleared my schedule for, passing up nights out with Hannah and her friends. All wasted time.

I hate that.

There is a level of disrespect that comes from the way he has treated me, and it makes me feel used. Why was it hard to get a little bit of common decency?