Chapter Twenty-Three – Verity
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
VERITY
I have a totally new issue.
What I’d thought was a one-off occurrence of Cullen loitering around my apartment and accompanying me to work before off-loading a fresh pastry with a corny pickup line has turned out to be one of his new routines.
It’s now been eleven days of wake-up texts, eleven nights of bouquets, and four mornings of joint commutes.
Four. Mornings. In. A. Row.
I’m starting to wonder how much spare time he has with how much effort he is putting in. Surely, he must have better things to do. He has a job.
Each morning, I leave my apartment, and Cullen is lounging against the light post. Always in one of his suits and always causing my heart to do a flip. He silently falls into step beside me and walks with me all the way to the station before getting on the subway and riding nine stops.
The first day, he left me the blackberry Danish.
The second day, he handed me a coffee from that place where we had our second date.
The third day, it was a donut from his sister’s shop.
Today, it appears to be a juice.
I’m not really sure what the rhyme or reason behind each of the items is. I don’t know how he decides what to get me. What I do know is that I woke up this morning excited with anticipation over what it would be today.
Which means I’m losing.
I still haven’t spoken a word to him, and I always make sure to have my volume up loud just in case he tries to talk to me. The only communication we have are his god-awful, handwritten pickup lines.
Today, in black Sharpie on the lid of the sun-kissed-colored juice, it reads, “ Orange you glad to see me? ”
I snort and then kick myself for giving him a reaction. I glance to the side, catching a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Dammit. I didn’t mean to give him that satisfaction.
It is getting exhausting, fighting him. I didn’t realize how much energy you exert restraining yourself.
Would it be so bad if I said something?
Yes.
No?
Maybe…
I suck on the juice, preoccupying my mouth so I don’t cave to Cullen.
I miss talking to him, miss answering his phone calls and hearing his voice. He is right next to me, but I have placed a glass barrier between us.
Am I being ridiculous? Am I going too far?
Cullen hasn’t done anything wrong, and for some reason, he is devoted to chasing me. I’ve never been chased before, never had someone fight for me. I am so used to relationships that fizzled out with men who got bored with me and ghosted without another word.
I’ve pushed him away, but he’s held on tight.
That means something.
Celine’s cold gaze flashes in my mind, making the already chilly juice turn to ice in my stomach.
I toss my empty cup into the nearby trash can before descending the subway station steps. Unlike that first day, Cullen sticks close, scanning through the turnstile next to me and following me down the platform.
It’s oddly busy this morning, and when the train arrives, there aren’t any spare seats. There must be some sort of convention or concert or sports thing going on. Whenever something like that happens, the congestion gets worse.
I stand toward the end of the car, holding onto one of the railings to keep myself steady as the train takes off. Cullen leans against the wall opposite me, resting in the corner without having to support himself with anything else.
With each stop, the car gets more and more full, turning into a tin of sardines but far less organized.
One lady gets a little too aggressive, and her elbow clocks my bicep as she pushes her way inside.
My body leans slightly off-center, but I tighten my grip on the railing to stop myself from causing a chain reaction to the other people around me.
Whenever it is busy like this, it means it is going to be one of those days.
Warm hands grip my shoulders. Cullen flips me around, switching my position with his so I’m now nestled in the corner of the car, with my back no longer exposed.
He presses a hand onto the wall next to my head, caging me in and protecting me from the squeezing bodies that are nudging without remorse.
I blink up at him, startled by the proximity switch. My nose is only a few inches away from his chest, and his scent weaves its way around my body. I find myself drawn forward, desperate to nuzzle against his neck.
Bad.
Very bad.
I barely breathe, my thoughts going haywire. Any mental barrier I’d erected quickly begins to crumble.
The train jostles around that same shitty corner, and my hands instinctively reach out to grip Cullen’s suit jacket. His weight steadies me. My knuckles brush against his pecs as the train bumps again, and the momentary contact is like a live wire shooting through my veins.
I release my hold before I become paralyzed.
“Sorry.”
I slap my hand over my mouth, cursing myself for the automatic apology. I’d gone almost twelve days without breathing a word to him, only to break the silence with a clumsy slip.
Cullen lightly grips my wrist, pulling it away from my mouth before leaning closer. I’m stuck, not moving even a fraction of an inch. He lets go, moving his hand to the shell of my ear. His fingertip lightly traces the curve before he plucks out the earbud.
The loud squeaks of the train barreling down the track filter in as he closes the distance. That stubble I’d been eyeing brushes against my cheek, causing me to shiver in a way I’m too embarrassed to name. His lips ghost my earlobe, and he speaks the first words I’ve heard from him in days.
“I don’t mind you using me. I like your hands on my body.”
This man.
The beehive that I’d been keeping under control in my stomach has just been kicked. The bees are flying around, buzzing with a hum that is warming my body. All I feel are the flutters as my sense of sanity is shoved to the side.
This is why I’ve been wearing headphones to ignore him.
His silver tongue knows exactly what to say to slip past my defenses.
The train starts to slow as we approach the next station.
“See you tomorrow, Verity.”
Cullen pops my earbud back in, a promising smirk on his lips, before joining the throng of people exiting the train car.
I lean back against the wall, reeling from the last thirty seconds. I would like to say that I gather my wits, that I pick up my scattered senses, but I don’t. Instead, my own name plays on repeat in my mind. It’s so loud that I can hear it over the music playing in my ears.
He said my name like a promise.
He said my name like he wouldn’t let me go.
This was only the start.