Page 97 of Hard to Resist

“Just don’t forget that your taste is on my tongue.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

VERITY

Igroan into my pillow for the thirtieth time since waking up.

Memories of last night play on a loop in my mind, and I have absolutely zero control over my emotions. One minute I’m frustrated, then ashamed, and then turned on. I can’t seem to settle down, spiraling into a mental abyss of confusion.

In the moment, it had seemed like a great idea. In the light of day, I’m second-guessing myself. Kind of. I don’t regret what happened, but my fear is still bubbling below the surface.

The door to my bedroom flings open, scaring me half to death.

“Jesus, Hannah.”

Her eyes dart around the room. “You’re alone?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“BestieTrack shows you came home at like ten. So, I thought maybe y’all came back here for some bow-chicka-wow-wow, knowing I’d be gone.” She places a hand on her hip. As per usual, she’s still in the outfit she left in last night.

“What’re you on about?”

“You went to the ballet, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And?” She waves her hand in a forward motion, gesturing me for more.

More of what, I have no clue.

“And it was great?”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

She lets out a sigh. “Fine. Fine. We’ll talk about this later. Get ready, we have brunch plans.”

“What? Since when? With whom?”

“My new friend.”

“Seriously, Han. Since when do you drag me out of the house on Sundays?”

“Since I felt like it.”

We walk arm in arm down the street, her energy at full charge while mine is barely at fifty percent.

She’s been this way since we met in college—running on zero sleep and somehow still a functioning human. I’ve never met anyone quite like her, someone who can seemingly juggle ten things at once and not drop a single ball. There are times when I’ve been worried that she might crack, when I’ve thought that maybe the steel skin she wears isn’t as bulletproof as I’d assumed. There was one time our junior year when she shut down, but even then, she bounced back like nothing had happened.

Hannah’s always looked out for me, and I just hope that she will let me do the same.

“Here’s the place.”

She swings us into a busy restaurant. I recognize it as one of the ones we pass all the time but never bothered trying because the wait times are always atrocious. It’s supposedly where the who’s who of society goes for weekend brunch, which has me a little on edge because the prices are on the higher side.

“You never said who we were meeting.”

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