Page 19 of Hard to Resist

“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 lightthwacksound 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, Itoldyou.”

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.”

---