Page 135 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

Cal’s eyes find me instantly, and he gives me an awkward smile. “I guess that means it’s you and me, Queen.”

I don’t answer, managing a nod.

So, not only did I practically force Kane and a supermodel to hook up, but I’m also going to have to spend seven minutes alone with the boy I rejected not even a month ago.

“We should pick again.” Kane’s voice slices through the air.

We all turn to look at him, but the only person he’s looking at is me. His eyes are hard, his jaw tight, and call me crazy, but I think I saw his eye twitch.

“What? Why?” Brooke whines.

“No backsies,” Scar protests. No wonder he doesn’t want us to pick again. It’s obvious he’s over the fucking moon about getting paired with Drea.

“Agreed,” Cal piles on.

This isn’t happening.

* * *

I got the lowest number.

Of course I did.

Cal rolled a six, and I, being the definition of unlucky, got a one, which means I have to wear the blindfold.

All I can hear is my unsteady breathing as I take a seat on the floor of the large closet in the next room, waiting for Cal to come in so that I can reject him one more time.

The guys decided that the person with the blindfold would go in first. I swear it took all of my willpower not to fake a bad migraine and run.

I should’ve.

Anything is better than having to tell Cal I don’t want to kiss or touch him.

My heart drops to my stomach when the closet creaks open.

Here we go.

I had my speech ready, but now that he’s here, I can’t make a sound.

Footsteps sound against the hardwood floor, and I squint, hoping to see something, but the bandana is too opaque.

I almost yelp when a hand wraps around my wrist and pulls me off the floor.

I land on my feet, struggling to steady myself for a moment, but the hand flies to the small of my back, helping me regain my balance.

I exhale a breath. “Look, Cal, I—”

The words on my tongue evaporate when Cal jerks me closer and crashes his mouth against mine.

A gasp rips from my throat, and I press my palms to his chest, preparing to push him away, but the feel of the fabric under my fingertips kills every drop of resistance in my system.

It’s leather.

I claw at the fabric as Cal’s mouth slides against mine and realize…

Cal isn’t the one kissing me.

I catch a whiff of the cologne filling the closet, and the delicious smell solidifies what my body already knows.

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