Page 4

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?”