Chapter One - Verity #2
I swear on my beating heart that I won’t let this happen again.
I won’t let some guy sweep me away with one date, just so he can seal the deal and then use me until he gets bored.
The next man I meet, I’m going to make him work for it.
I’ll steel my resolve, and I won’t cave to that first kiss and start imagining our future together. I’ll get the respect I deserve.
Despite the fury coursing through my veins at being ghosted, I still feel bone-deep rejection cracking my chest. I hate feeling like I am just someone people can toss away, like I am nothing special.
“Are you okay?”
The deep voice slithers over my skin as a tentative hand taps my bicep. I realize that, in the midst of my mental spiral, I had dropped my head into my hands and am propped on the bar like some woman in mourning. Which, I guess, I am.
I drop my hands onto the cool counter and lift my face to the voice.
“I hate shitty men.”
The declaration leaves my lips before I can think better of it.
He blinks at me. Once. Twice. A single eyebrow rises, a mischievous glint crossing over his stunning hazel eyes. Then he raises his hand and curls two fingers in a motion that shouldn’t be as suggestive as I find it before asking the bartender for two shots of tequila.
He slides one of the small glasses over to me and then raises his own with a nod of his head.
Tentatively, I lift the shot glass.
He clinks his shot with mine, giving me a wry smile as he says, “Fuck shitty men.”
A chuckle slips past my lips—the first true laugh I’ve had all night—before I mimic the words back to him.
“Fuck shitty men.”
The tequila doesn’t taste as bad the second time around. It’s smoother. Probably not bottom shelf. Which would make sense if he was some finance bro.
I give Mr. Tequila another look.
I’d been right earlier. The city is full of hot guys, but this man is truly a specimen of his own.
The amber lights of the restaurant glint off perfectly structured cheekbones, making him look like he was ripped right from a Calvin Klein ad.
There is a smattering of stubble around his jaw giving him an older, rugged edge.
I can’t guess his exact age—you never can in the city—but something tells me he has to have a few years on me at least.
He looks like a proper man, the kind who would take charge in the bedroom but not before making sure you got your pleasure.
He probably wouldn’t be selfish like the boys I’ve been dating, and he definitely doesn’t give the vibe of someone who would flake on a date with no text.
I’d bet the ten dollars in my purse that would probably pay for your rideshare home if he couldn’t make it, he wouldn’t just leave you at the restaurant to lament your life before drowning yourself in tequila.
Fuck. I’m doing it again, and I’ve only spoken three words to the guy.
He gives me a slight dip of his head.
“I’m Cullen.”
“Like the vampires?”
Wonderful.
Just freaking wonderful, Verity.
Apparently, I have no filter tonight. The part of my brain that is supposed to stop my mouth from announcing my every thought must be broken.
Who the hell says something as cringe as that?
Like the vampires?
What am I? Twelve?
God. He must be wishing he never started this conversation.
Except he smiles.
He smiles and—dammit—it just makes him hotter.
Why do I keep putting my foot in my mouth around this guy?
“Yeah, Cullen like the vampires. Although, my sister was Team Jacob.”
“Your sister has questionable taste.” I raise my hand to my chest. “I’m Verity.”
“Pretty name. Suits you.”
His compliment washes over me, warming me up (that and the three tequila shots). I try to temper my growing smile.
“Thank you.”
“So, Verity—” God, there is something sinful about the way his tongue curls over my name “—why are men so shitty?”
I snort, resting one of my elbows on the counter so I can twist my stool to face him better.
“Well, Cullen, how much time do you have?”
He makes a jest of pushing up his shirt sleeve to check his watch and lets out a disappointing cluck.
“Just ten hours, I have a meeting at nine.”
“On a Saturday?”
He shrugs. “I’m only in the city till Monday, so I have a lot to squeeze in.”
“Oh.” Disappointment settles over me. “You’re not from here?”
“I am. I just don’t live here right now.” A shadow crosses over his features briefly. “I’m moving back in a few weeks, though.”
“That’s cool.”
Relief washes over me that I can possibly see him again, and I curse myself for already falling back into my old patterns that I swore to stay away from not even ten minutes ago.
“Yeah, I missed it too much.” He rests his own elbow on the counter and mimics my position. “Now, what’s the story?”
I bite my lower lip, that kernel of shame sprouting once again.
“I was stood up.”
“Seriously?”
“Yup.”
“That guy must be an idiot.”
I let out a groan. “I’m the one who feels like an idiot. There were so many warning signs. Like, so many, it’s embarrassing.”
“Hey, don’t put the blame on yourself.” He rests his hand over mine, and I try to suppress my blush as a strange connection zaps between our skin.
“I don’t know you well, but I can tell that whoever he is, he can’t be worth shit because only a shitty person would make a girl as gorgeous as you upset. ”
“Where were you three weeks ago, Mr. Ego Booster?”
“Miami.” He gives me one of those wry smiles again, and I can’t help but giggle. I freaking giggle like a schoolgirl with a crush. “Can I get you another drink? A proper one this time.”
I want to say yes to the temptation. There is just one slight issue.
“I’d love to, but I probably shouldn’t. I haven’t had anything to eat since noon. I’ll end up stumbling home if I drink anymore on an empty stomach”
Thanks to Mike, my stomach is practically eating itself at this point.
“Well, let me fix that.”
He waves over the bartender and asks for a menu, but the guy gives us an apologetic smile.
“I’m sorry, guys, the kitchen closed at ten.”
Of course, it did.
I came all the way to The Brass Stop and all I got were three shots of tequila. What a bust. It’s like the universe is telling me to just call it quits and accept defeat. That my love life is a joke and I should join a nunnery to save myself from further humiliation.
I give Cullen a soft smile. “It’s fine. I should just head home anyway.”
I am no longer delusional enough to believe Mike will suddenly appear after almost three hours. Hell, I don’t even want him to. I am done with him. I will just delete his number from my phone and crawl into bed with a tub of ice cream and watch reruns of my favorite medical drama until I pass out.
I start to slide off the barstool, but Cullen tightens his hold on my hand.
“Wait. How do you feel about wings?”
“Wings?”
“Yeah, like fried chicken wings.”
“I mean, I have nothing against them, and I’m a sucker for some hot honey”
“Perfect.” He turns back to the bartender and asks to close his tab before slipping off his stool and holding his palm out to me. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“A secret speakeasy.”
My curiosity is peaked.
Maybe the universe isn’t telling me to head home and cry into a pool of ice cream. Maybe it is just pointing me in a different direction, saying that I don’t need to give up and end my night here.
Maybe I could say screw it and take this hot guy’s offer?
That’s what my roommate would tell me to do.
She’d tell me that the best way to get over one guy would be to distract myself with another.
I could distract myself without falling head over heels–right?
I could resist that and just live for the moment.
I place my hand in his offered palm. The contact sends another shock of electricity up my arm and into my chest. Our eyes lock, and my heartbeat stutters. I lean into the feeling, lean into the uncertainty and excitement.
“All right. Lead the way.”