Page 193 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

I plop down into the one-seater nearby while Scar drags his feet to the three-seater and takes the last spot next to Axel.

“Aren’t you supposed to be off doing superstar shit?” Brody drops into the hammock across from me.

“I’m off for a month,” I say.

“How long are you in town for?” Brody opens his hand, glancing at Axel, who quickly takes the hint and passes him the blunt.

“Not long. Two days, tops.”

There’s really no point in sticking around now that Hadley’s out of the picture. I’m thinking I’ll head back to LA and hit some after-parties.

Brody lifts the joint to his lips, dragging a hit. “Well, then… since we only have tonight, what do you say we make the most of it?”

He extends his arm in my direction, offering me a puff.

Now we’re talking.

* * *

What the hell did I get myself into?

Just one of the questions I’ve been asking myself since I got behind the wheel of Dean’s shady van a little after midnight.

Don’t ask me how I got roped into being the designated driver. I couldn’t tell you. All I know is there was a coin toss involved and a shit ton of tequila.

“Dude, seriously? Grandma just passed us,” Brody mocks from the passenger seat.

I may be drunk and an idiot for driving under the influence, but that doesn’t mean I’m dumb enough to risk getting pulled over. I’ve been watching my speedometer like a fucking hawk.

Man, the media would have a field day with this one. I can already see the headline popping all over the internet.

Kane Wilder arrested for driving under the influence.

“My guy’s got the grass.” Axel looks up from his phone. “He says to meet him behind the abandoned movie theatre.”

We ran out of weed an hour ago.

Then the guys decided to go meet their dealer in a sketchy part of town to buy more. In hindsight, that probably would’ve been a good moment to call it a night, but I wasn’t ready for the party to end—to Scar’s absolute misery.

I make eye contact with him in the rearview mirror. He’s staring daggers at me from the back of the van. He wanted to go home hours ago, but I insisted on staying. I still see her face whenever I close my eyes.

Translation: I’m not drunk enough.

“Tell him we’ll be there in a couple years. Maybe sooner if someone would just step on it,” Dean scoffs from the back seat, and I flip him off in the rearview mirror.

I may be a slow driver, but it’s not like his shitty van has much horsepower to begin with. The thing is covered in rust and making all sorts of weird noises.

The clunker also doesn’t have any seats in it, except for the driver and passenger seats. The guys are sitting on the ground like a bunch of hostages, passing a liquor bottle around.

When I asked Dean what he uses the piece of shit for, he said he uses it for his job. His answer made Brody snort. The whole thing seems sketchy as fuck. Not that I care.

I’ll never see any of these guys again after today.

“I’m fucking starving,” Axel complains as we’re turning onto a familiar street.

“Same,” Dean agrees.

They’ve got the munchies.

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