Page 146 of Hard to Resist

This is the guy who stood her up.

With the puzzle pieces all connected, I am able to toss my coin into this game.

I reach my hand out to Mike and formally introduce myself. “Cullen.”

He stares at my proffered palm like it’s coated in crap. That doesn’t bother me. I didn’t expect him to shake it. My goal was to make him look like even more of an asshole.

I tuck my hand into my front pocket.

“I have to thank you. If you hadn’t stood Verity up, we never would have met.”

The knowledge that his upper hand, his manipulation of her, had backfired, twists like a thumb in an open wound in his thigh. His upper lip curls, all prior jovial pretense melting away.

“Isn’t that sweet,” he grits out.

“It is. Can’t believe I scored myself such a sexy girlfriend.”

“Whatever, man. You think I care? Chick’s clingy as fuck. She texts like twelve times a day. That shit’s such a turnoff.”

Verity stiffens at the insult, tears instantly beading her bottom lashes.

Fuck this guy.

I step away from Verity, tugging out of her hold and closing the distance between me and Mike.

“You better watch what you say, kid.”

“Or what, old dude? You think you can take me?” He steps even closer, getting up in my face.

He’s probably two or three inches shorter than me, which means he has to turn his gaze slightly up. Something he didn’t realize till now. It’s not a huge difference, but to someone like him, it’s irksome.

Getting into a fight here would be dumb. I have enough sense to know that. But Mike doesn’t have the same social intellect.

I rest a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it tightly as I lean down and whisper my threat.

“I don’t have to fight you with my fists to take you down.”

He raises his hands to my chest and shoves me. He’s not that strong, but I still shift a few steps back.

My hand balls into a fist.

A warm hand grabs onto it.

“Cullen.”

I look back at Verity, centering myself again, before turning back to Mike.

“You’re not worth it.” My voice is cold as ice, but it lights a blaze in his eyes.

I don’t fucking care about him. He is a waste of time.

I unclench my fist and take Verity’s hand, not bothering with goodbyes, and I lead us back through the event. People are still coming and going, the double doors to the hall filled with foot traffic.

The night air is chilly as we step out of the music hall, and I stop for a moment to take off my jacket and place it around Verity’s shoulders.

“Are we leaving?”

There’s still a stray tear clinging to the lashes on the outer corner of her eye. I reach up and brush it away, my heartsqueezing. Fuck, I want to go back in there and tear his tongue out.

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