Page 189 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

I can feel my entire body contract when my eyes land on her.

Hadley. Fucking. Queen.

Chatting with her friends, she comes jogging down the stairs with a denim bag dangling off her shoulder.

She’s wearing a cheerleading uniform, a black-and-white top with a sexy little skirt that makes my eyes bulge out of their sockets.

Her body’s changed—obviously. The curve of her hips is more prominent, and her tits are noticeably fuller, but she still wears the same hairstyle. Every part of me wants to get out of my car, march over there, and talk to her.

Problem is, it would cause a panic, and I don’t have security with me. Plus, I don’t want to risk alerting the media that I’m here.

Wow, I did not think this through.

I tell myself I’ll just follow her home and wait until I’ve got her alone.

Spoken like a true serial killer.

Jesus, Wilder, be more of a creep.

“Who’s the hottie you’re staring at?” Scar questions.

My fists clench.

“Family friend” is all I say.

Scar’s eyes widen with realization. “We were never going to pick up your buddy, were we?”

“Nope.”

He scoffs. “Well… You coming to this shit town instead of the Bahamas suddenly makes a lot more sense.”

My eyes track Hadley’s every move as she stops just a few feet away from the parking lot, laughing with her cheerleader friends.

I’m surprised she joined the team.

I didn’t even know she liked cheerleading. I figured she’d be spending all of her time in her shed, painting.

Unless she doesn’t paint anymore?

She was so talented, it would be a shame if she stopped.

“You’re going to go talk to her?” Scar drives his elbow into my ribs.

“Not now, that’s for damn sure.”

Scar finishes the Sour Patch Kids and says, “Probably a good call. You don’t need a bunch of trampled cheerleaders on your conscience.”

I begin mentally making a list of all the things I’ll say to her when I—

“Who’s this guy?” Scar speaks my mind.

I dig my nails into my palm when some douchebag with a varsity jacket comes up behind Hadley and wraps his arms around her waist.

No.

“Maybe they’re friends. Or he’s gay.” Scar tries to soften the blow.

And it almost works.

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