Page 137 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

Just like that, he’s gone.

HADLEY

Kiss number two dominates every inch of my brain for days after Jamie’s party.

I spend most of the week on autopilot, picking up as many shifts as possible and staying out of the house to avoid Kane.

Going straight home after work would increase my chances of accidentally running into Kane, and if the seven minutes we spent in that closet taught me anything, it’s that what my brain wants and what my body wants are two very different things.

I can’t be trusted around him.

Whatever resentment I harbor for what he did five years ago is nothing compared to the desire overwhelming my body whenever we’re in the same room.

Hence my new goal in life: pretending like nothing ever happened and avoiding Kane by any means necessary.

Unbearable attraction aside, I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been racking my brain trying to figure out how Kane pulled it off.

How he managed to sneak into the closet without anyone noticing and why, when I came back out, he was sitting on the couch, looking like the picture of nonchalance. Not to mention Cal was nowhere to be found.

You can imagine my surprise when Cal walked back into the room a beat later and apologized for taking a phone call and keeping me waiting.

Maybe it was a coincidence.

Maybe Cal got a phone call, and Kane saw an opportunity to take his place.

I thought I was going to be sick when Cal turned to me and asked if I still wanted to go in the closet with him, completely unaware that I was just touching Kane’s cock a few minutes prior.

Embarrassment rose to my cheeks, and I made up a story about having a terrible headache and wanting to go home—that should’ve been my excuse from the start.

Like that was Kane’s cue, he pushed off the couch and said he was beat, too, and calling it a night. Brooke seriously looked like she was about to cry when he said that.

Scar and Drea decided to go with Kane, and that was the end of seven minutes in heaven.

At least Jamie and Shay got to play.

They were the first to go into the closet.

They came out holding hands afterward, and Jamie texted me the next day saying they’d spent the night together, so that’s a win in my book.

I’ve had enough of coming home late and not being able to focus on my craft. My storefront’s been getting more traction, and though I haven’t had any more orders since Drea bought a few paintings, I’ve never been more motivated to make my dream come true.

I’m fighting off a yawn by the time I pull up into the beach house driveway. I had to open and close up the restaurant today, and my body is begging for some rest, but I’m determined to get some painting in before I head to bed.

I only work late in the afternoon tomorrow, so I should be able to sleep in.

Plus, I love sitting down to paint while the world is asleep. There’s something satisfying about being the only person awake.

I climb out of my mom’s car and drag my feet to the porch, typing the combination onto the keypad before walking in.

The house is silent as I jog up the stairs. I make a quick pit stop for some clothes, entering my room and changing out of my work clothes into shorts and a T-shirt.

I’m heading down the hall toward the sunroom when I notice the door is ajar. I glance over my shoulder.

I’m pretty sure I closed that the last time I went into the sunroom two days ago.

I tell myself the maid must’ve gone in, and I push the door open, stopping so abruptly I almost slip on the waxed floors.

I was right. The maid did go into the sunroom. But she’s not the only one.

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