Chapter Four – Verity #2
My thoughts continue to wander, floating back to Cullen. I close my eyes, replaying that moment when he stood chest to chest with me, lips inches apart, and it sends my stomach flipping.
I’d been so tempted by his offer. Tempted to kiss him.
I raise my hands to my lips, ghosting over them as water continues to sluice down my body.
My hands follow the water’s path, down my neck and over my chest. I pause when I get to my breast, cupping it and imagining Cullen’s hand has replaced my own, squeezing and kneading it with his strong fingers.
“Vee.”
My eyes pop open, the spell broken as my roommate screeches my name.
“Vee!”
“What?”
“VEE!”
“Oh my fucking—” I huff, shutting off the water and snatching my towel from where it hangs behind the door.
I quickly wrap it around my body before trudging out of the bathroom, puddles of water staining the floorboards in my wake.
“Hannah, there better be a rat or something, or I…”
My words die off as I find her standing at the entrance to our apartment, the door wide open, with a strange man who is holding a large bouquet of roses in a sparkling vase and what looks to be a take-out delivery bag.
“What’s this?”
She shrugs her shoulders. “I dunno. It’s for you.”
“What do you mean?”
Hannah gestures a hand at the man. “Tell her.”
The guy tears his gaze away from ogling Hannah’s body and switches his attention to me—which isn’t any better and maybe even more lecherous. My discomfort level is quickly rising.
“I have a delivery for Verity.” He holds out the bouquet and delivery bag.
“Okay.” I slowly pad across the room to him. “Who’s this from?”
“I don’t know, ma’am. I just make the deliveries.”
“Fabulous.” I reach out and take the bouquet with one hand and the paper bag with the other, careful not to lose my towel in the process.
“I need you to sign here.”
He holds out a device with a digital pen, and I drop the paper bag on the ground before scribbling my signature. I try to be as quick as possible because the dude’s stare is only getting more and more pervy. I don’t get why Hannah couldn’t just handle this herself.
“Done.” I readjust the flowers and then bend down to pick the bag back up.
The movement jostles the roses, and there’s a light thwack sound as a small white envelope tumbles free from somewhere and lands on the ground–a gold heart scrawled on the front.
“What about a tip?” the guy nudges.
“The free show was your tip. Buh-bye.” Hannah pushes the door shut and then swoops down to grab the note. She waves it in the air. “Who do you think it’s from?”
“I literally could not tell you.”
I trail after her, dropping the bag on our small two-person dining table before placing the vase on the kitchen counter and removing the little nutrition packet that’s stuck to it.
Hannah perches on the arm of our couch, running a finger along the seam of the envelope.
“What if it’s from your mystery man?”
“As if.”
“Well, it won’t be from Mike.”
“If it’s from Mike, I’ll run butt-ass naked down the street until the NYPD captures me.”
“Want me to open it?”
I abandon my roses and pluck the note away from her. “Let me have my moment.”
She pouts, but I ignore her as I try to calm the champagne bubbles that are popping in my chest.
I open the envelope and wiggle out the creamy white card from within. It feels like time has stopped as I trace over the loopy handwriting.
I had an amazing time last night.
Give me a call so I can kiss you properly next time.
Cullen
P.S. Aroldi’s has the best hangover food. Enjoy.
My jaw drops as I read it over and over, practically memorizing his phone number in the process.
“What. Whaaat. Who’s it from?”
Hannah kneels on the couch behind me and drops her chin on my collarbone to read the note.
She lets out a short gasp and pushes my shoulder.
“Stop. Stop! See, I told you.”
She quickly slides over to the dining table and rips open the brown bag, her eyes lighting up. She hums to herself as she pulls out an ungodly number of bagels and schmear. All the while, I’m still frozen, staring at this damn note.
“Ooh. Look at that, he even got the lox.” She cracks open one of the plastic containers, the scent of smoked salmon wafting out, and it forces me to stop drooling over the message.
“Hey, don’t eat my food.”
“You can’t finish this all yourself.”
“Oh yeah? Wanna bet?”
I leap up and grab one of the bagels, peeling off the paper wrap to reveal a stunning bacon, egg, and cheese bagel with some sort of creamy rose-colored sauce. Damn, that looks good.
“Aren’t you going to call him?”
I pause, inches away from taking a bite, and purse my lips. Nerves prickle their way through my veins.
“Can’t I just text him?”
“No.”
Ugh. The thought of calling has my palms getting all sweaty.
There’s something so much more personal about that.
If I call him, I can’t plan my responses.
I can’t take the time to mull over what he says and analyze what it means.
I’ll probably just end up speaking total nonsense and oversharing way too much.
Hannah grabs my phone from the couch and holds it out to me.
When I do nothing, she unlocks it and begins typing in the phone number.
“Wait—” But before I have a chance to stop her, she’s hit dial.
The ringing noise echoes around our apartment like a warning signal.
“Hello?”
My breathing stops.
“Hello?”
I stare at the screen, mesmerized by the gravelly voice that just came out of it.
Hannah kicks me in the shin, eyes widening as she shoves the phone in my face.
“Ow. Um, hi.”
Oh my God, why do I sound like that?
“Verity?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
He lets out a deep chuckle, and my heart does a flip in my chest.
“Well, hey.”
“Hey back at you. Um. Thank you for the flowers and the food, and for the ride home last night. I mean, thank you for everything last night, not just the car, but, you know, the food and the drinks and the whole taking care of me so I didn’t get kidnapped on the subway even though there was like a three percent chance of that happening and I’ve done it plenty of times before without any potential murderers claiming me as a victim. ”
I’m rambling. Again.
“I’m glad you got home safely.”
“Yep.” I swallow, trying to think of what else to say.
I seriously hate phone calls.
“Are you busy tomorrow?”
I look at Hannah. I have no idea what we have planned.
She frowns, giving me an are-you-serious glare before mouthing “ no .”
“Uh, I don’t have any concrete plans.”
“Perfect. Do you want to meet at twelve for coffee?”
“Sure.”
“Great, it’s a date. I’ll text you the details. See you then.”
“Okay. Bye?”
“Bye, Verity.”
The call disconnects, but the sound of his smoky voice curling around my name remains.
I stare at the dark screen and wonder just how I got into this situation. It all seems too good to be true, like some kind of lovestruck fever dream, but damn, if it’s a dream, I don’t want to wake up.