Page 100
Story: Hard to Resist
But here I am, extremely confused with all the emotions coursing through me. I have no idea what the hell I am doing about Cullen. Every fiber of my being wants to be with him, but my head still holds onto a sliver of rationality that it is a dangerous risk.
“Your cheeks are red.” Hannah narrows her eyes. “Come on, spill.”
“My cheeks are not red.”
“Verity.”
“Hannah.” I take another sip of my mimosa, realizing that I’ve now finished the entire thing in my attempt at avoiding this conversation.
“Ohmigod, this is torture. I can’t.” Bridget briefly tosses her head back in exasperation. She lets out a small huff through her pert nose and rests her elbows on the table, leaning as close as she can across the marble tabletop. “Did you see Cullen last night or not?”
The metaphorical bandage is ripped off.
The teeny spark of hope I’d been holding that maybe she didn’t know snuffs out.
“Bridget,” Hannah admonishes.
“What? She was just going to keep avoiding it, and I’m impatient.”
Hannah sighs and proceeds to grab an oyster, topping it with a red sauce before eating it. My words are still stuck in my throat, jaw locked tight. Hannah’s heel kicks me sideways under the table with more force than necessary. I glare at her, and she glares back.
“Fine.” I huff. “Yes, I saw him.”
“Now, was that so hard?” Bridget refills my champagne flute and hands it back to me, her Cartier bracelets shining in the sun.
“How the hell did you two even know?”
“Cullen didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?” I take a much-needed sip of alcohol.
“He bought your ticket.”
I choke on the alcohol.
“What?” I whip my head to Hannah. “I thought your boss…”
“You really thought my boss, the supertech finance bro who makes us do a company-wide mini golf tournament once a month, had a spare ballet ticket?”
“I don’t know his life!”
“Well, let me tell you, he gives zero fucks about the ballet, hon.”
“Most men don’t, including Cullen. Unless there is a certain girl involved piquing that interest.” Bridget chimes in. “Kinda cute, no?”
God, this is just another thing for me to tack onto the never-ending list of stuff this frustratingly attractive man has done to win me over. It was one thing for him to go to the ballet because he remembered it was something I love, but it was an entirely different story that he’d gone out of his way to get me a ticket as well—and a damn great ticket at that, one that I told him I’d never splurge on for myself.
I shouldn’t be melting over something as simple as a man listening to me, but the bar society has set is pretty low.
“Sothat’show you two met? In your conspiratorial quest to get me to meet with Cullen?”
“The two of them cornered me on my lunch break. The dedication was sweet.” Hannah shrugs.
“Wait, you saw him?”
“Yup.” She gives me one of her feline grins. “He’s hot. Older than what I’d go for, but I get why he’s got you all flustered.”
I groan, rubbing my temples.
“Your cheeks are red.” Hannah narrows her eyes. “Come on, spill.”
“My cheeks are not red.”
“Verity.”
“Hannah.” I take another sip of my mimosa, realizing that I’ve now finished the entire thing in my attempt at avoiding this conversation.
“Ohmigod, this is torture. I can’t.” Bridget briefly tosses her head back in exasperation. She lets out a small huff through her pert nose and rests her elbows on the table, leaning as close as she can across the marble tabletop. “Did you see Cullen last night or not?”
The metaphorical bandage is ripped off.
The teeny spark of hope I’d been holding that maybe she didn’t know snuffs out.
“Bridget,” Hannah admonishes.
“What? She was just going to keep avoiding it, and I’m impatient.”
Hannah sighs and proceeds to grab an oyster, topping it with a red sauce before eating it. My words are still stuck in my throat, jaw locked tight. Hannah’s heel kicks me sideways under the table with more force than necessary. I glare at her, and she glares back.
“Fine.” I huff. “Yes, I saw him.”
“Now, was that so hard?” Bridget refills my champagne flute and hands it back to me, her Cartier bracelets shining in the sun.
“How the hell did you two even know?”
“Cullen didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?” I take a much-needed sip of alcohol.
“He bought your ticket.”
I choke on the alcohol.
“What?” I whip my head to Hannah. “I thought your boss…”
“You really thought my boss, the supertech finance bro who makes us do a company-wide mini golf tournament once a month, had a spare ballet ticket?”
“I don’t know his life!”
“Well, let me tell you, he gives zero fucks about the ballet, hon.”
“Most men don’t, including Cullen. Unless there is a certain girl involved piquing that interest.” Bridget chimes in. “Kinda cute, no?”
God, this is just another thing for me to tack onto the never-ending list of stuff this frustratingly attractive man has done to win me over. It was one thing for him to go to the ballet because he remembered it was something I love, but it was an entirely different story that he’d gone out of his way to get me a ticket as well—and a damn great ticket at that, one that I told him I’d never splurge on for myself.
I shouldn’t be melting over something as simple as a man listening to me, but the bar society has set is pretty low.
“Sothat’show you two met? In your conspiratorial quest to get me to meet with Cullen?”
“The two of them cornered me on my lunch break. The dedication was sweet.” Hannah shrugs.
“Wait, you saw him?”
“Yup.” She gives me one of her feline grins. “He’s hot. Older than what I’d go for, but I get why he’s got you all flustered.”
I groan, rubbing my temples.
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