Page 146 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

I asked myself what I’d gotten myself into before, and I’m starting to think the answer is more than I bargained for.

A surge of emotions swarms through my chest as Kane reaches for my thighs and lowers my legs. He lies on his back, catching my hand in his and leading me onto his chest. A sharp breath escapes me when his arms close around my body and squeeze.

The sweet, unexpected gesture tugs at my heartstrings, and I shiver against him. He takes notice immediately and pulls away, just long enough to guide the blanket on his bed over the two of us.

The weighted blanket is comforting, but nothing compares to the relief that fills me when he sits up and takes off his shirt before lying back down.

I barely realize how quickly I cuddle up to him, my body chasing the warmth of his skin.

I rest my head against the guitar tattoo on his shoulder, but he drops his hand to my lower back and presses on my tailbone to lure me closer. My head is flush with his pec now, and he exhales what sounds like a groan of satisfaction.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” I think out loud.

The corner of his mouth curls into a grin, and he tucks a strand of my red hair away from my face. “Believe it. Because it sure as fuck won’t be the last time.”

His response sets a wild herd of butterflies loose in my stomach.

So many questions eat at me. Does he want to be friends with benefits? Is this purely about sex to him?

And what about me?

Do I want more than a sexual relationship?

We hold each other in silence for the next few minutes. Somehow, this silence feels telling. We’re both comfortable like this. With Kane dragging the backs of his fingers up and down my arm while I trace endless circles on his chest.

We both welcome the quiet instead of dreading it, and another five minutes pass before my mind returns to its scheduled overthinking.

All the mysteries I’ve yet to elucidate since getting to the beach house pop into my brain, and I might not be ready to label what just happened between us, but I’m more than willing to ask him about everything else.

“Can I ask you a question?” It comes out as a whisper.

His green eyes drop to mine. “Hit me.”

“Do you still drink?” I ask, memories of the first time he kissed me fueling my curiosity. “I know you were drinking that night in the gazebo.”

He was sipping on a bottle of whiskey when I found him sitting alone. But that was the only instance where I’ve seen him drink since the beginning of the summer.

He hasn’t had a drop of alcohol at any of our parties and gatherings so far.

He wasn’t drinking at Vince’s pool party, nor did he drink the night of Jamie’s birthday. Jamie also said he didn’t have a drink that time they all hung out at the docks without me.

I just want to know if he’s actually sober or way too good at pretending that he is.

“That night in the gazebo was a relapse. It’s the only time I’ve had a drink since summer started.”

“Shit… That couldn’t have been easy. Stopping cold turkey.” I angle my head to look at him.

He scoffs. “You’re telling me.”

“How’d you do it?”

A sigh leaves his lips. “I overheard our moms talking when I snuck out to try and find something to drink one night. It was just days after I got here.” He scoffs in recollection. “I had glasses and this creepy-ass camouflage on. I was hoping to raid a 7-Eleven or whatever liquor store I could find downtown.

“They were out on the patio when I came down. My mom was sobbing in Lillian’s arms, talking about how worried she was about me and how she felt she’d failed me as a mother.” Something in his eyes shifts, a drop of guilt bleeding through his words. “I just… I felt like such a piece of shit I thought I was going to die.”

I’m not even the tiniest bit surprised that Evie’s the reason he stopped drinking.

“I’d rather spend the rest of my life in fucking agony than ever have to hear my mom cry again.”

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