Page 132 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

God, I hate that I’m keeping things from her. I didn’t even tell her about my kiss with Kane during our phone call.

In all fairness, I can’t exactly tell her that I made out with her idol because then I would have to tell her that he’s also my childhood friend and the boy I used to be hopelessly in love with.

There’s a lot to unpack, and I’m hoping by the time I get back to Boone, whatever happened between me and Kane won’t be worth telling.

I’m about to slip my phone back into my pocket when a deep voice stops me.

“You’re a fan of Anaya?”

I whisk my head to the right and find Kane staring at me intently.

We haven’t addressed each other all week, and this is what he has to say to me?

Not “I’m sorry I never answered your texts” or “I’m sorry I ran out on you in the middle of our kiss”?

My brain needs a second to process what he just said.

I recently bought a ringtone of one of my favorite songs, “Breathe” by this young songwriter and singer named Anaya.

I’m not usually one to use songs for ringtones, but I’m completely obsessed with her new stuff, and I intend to listen to “Breathe” until I’m sick of it.

“Since she started. I don’t think there’s one song on her new album I haven’t listened to a thousand times,” I confirm.

Kane responds with a nod.

The ironic part is, Kane and Anaya are good friends.

At least, that’s the impression I get from following her on social media. They post each other every year on their birthdays and are often seen hanging out.

The media tried to twist the truth and start rumors at first, but Kane quickly shut them down, calling the press sick for implying he would be in a relationship with a sixteen-year-old girl. It looks like they have more of a mentor thing going on.

“I’m an Anaya fan, too.” Brooke feels the need to throw in her two cents, slowly running her hand up and down Kane’s leg.

Lava courses through my veins.

I wish he’d push her hand away. Maybe cut it off with a chainsaw—whoa, take a chill pill, Hadley.

Kane barely even reacts, green eyes drilling into me.

Jesus.

There’s something about the way he stares.

Like he’d rather stab himself in the fucking face than take his eyes off me.

Why is he doing this? In case he didn’t notice, there’s a whole-ass model next to him, and she would gladly let him fuck her within an inch of her life.

“Really? What’s your favorite Anaya song?” I put Brooke to the test, loving every minute of her panic as she opens her mouth to speak, only to close it a second later.

She has no idea who Anaya even is, does she?

“I… I like all her songs,” she stammers.

It would be so easy to keep this going and embarrass her, but I decide to drop it.

“Let’s do another shot,” I say without thinking.

“Sure,” Jamie and Shay agree.

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