Page 161 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

His head falls to the swell of my breasts just seconds later, and he marks my skin, knowing damn well I’m not going to stop him.

Because I can’t.

I can’t deny him, no matter how much I should.

When I don’t reply, he abandons the hickey he was working on and looks up at me, the misery in his eyes slicing my heart in half.

“Summer will be over soon,” I croak.

His eyes flare with confusion. “And?”

He just doesn’t get it.

“And you’ll go back to your real life. To your screaming, adoring fans, supermodel girlfriends, and million-dollar mansions. You and I… We don’t exist after this. We can’t. The sooner we accept that, the sooner we can move on.”

I swear he looks at me like I just asked him to join a cult where we worship farm animals and sacrifice newborns on an altar of fire.

“Move on?” His features twist with disgust.

There’s a beat of silence.

“Don’t you think if I were able to get you out of my fucking head, I would’ve done it by now?”

I can’t reply.

He lets out a bitter scoff. “You have no idea, do you?”

“About what?”

He makes air quotes with his fingers. “Those ‘supermodel girlfriends’ you talk about… they’re nothing but placeholders. Knockoffs of what I really want.

“I’ve spent five years searching for you in everything that I do. Burying myself in random girls because they reminded me of you. I ask them to do their hair like you, I look for you in places you’ve never been, search for your face in every crowd I see.” He stops, inhaling a sharp breath. “God, Hadley, you fucking own me. You have me by the fucking throat. Don’t you get that?”

My jaw drops.

“So, no, I can’t move on. I didn’t move on then, and you’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m moving on now.”

I’ve heard some shocking stuff in my life, but this?

This takes the cake by far.

All this time, I was convinced he never looked back. Told myself I was just another chapter in his book. Meanwhile, our story is the only story he’s been reading for five years.

I didn’t fully believe him when he first told me he’d never stopped thinking about me that night in the gazebo.

I definitely believe him now.

Shit, is that why he got with his sober sponsor at the beginning of the summer?

She had red hair. I remember thinking it was weird that she was wearing my hairstyle, but I told myself I was being ridiculous and the whole thing was a coincidence.

Then there’s Tate Zimmer, his fake girlfriend and the model he hooked up with.

Also a redhead.

Oh. My. God.

Kane doesn’t seem to expect an answer because he moves closer and rasps against my mouth, “This isn’t a summer thing, you got me? It never fucking was.”

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