Page 174 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

I might.

KANE

I used to think nothing could compare to the feelings I get when I’m onstage.

Told myself nothing and no one could possibly bring me as much happiness as performing does.

How could anything ever top the surreal experience that is looking out onto a crowd of adoring, screaming fans?

But that was before I got myself a feisty little thing with red hair and a knack for putting me in my place.

Suddenly, being adored by a million strangers doesn’t mean nearly as much as being loved by this one girl. And the only person I want to hear screaming my name is her.

“FYI, your staring really isn’t as romantic as you think it is.” Hadley cracks one eye open, her lips twitching when I shoot her a “how the fuck did you know?” look.

If you’d told me before summer started that I’d turn into some sort of lovesick dumbass who watches his girl sleep, I would have pointed you to the nearest insane asylum.

It’s gotten to a point where I’m not even whipped anymore.

I’m Hadley’s bitch.

“How long you been staring, creep?” she says on a yawn.

I shrug. “Long enough to know you sleep with your mouth open.”

A soft chuckle leaves her. “Yeah, well, you talk in your sleep.”

She isn’t the first to tell me that—Scar and the rest of the band mentioned it on tour—so I know it’s true, but I make it a point to deny it just to piss her off.

“That’s bullshit.”

“It’s true!” My baby sits up in bed, running a hand through her wild red hair. “I swear I heard you saying Gray’s name like three times.”

My smile fades instantly.

I didn’t remember last night’s dream until this exact moment, but she’s right. I was having a dream about Gray—although the correct term here would be “nightmare.”

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve had a nightmare this vivid.

Especially one about him.

I feel like I could puke as images play out in my head, faces, places, and moments blurring together.

Fuck, I thought those were gone.

“You okay?” Hadley picks up on it right away.

I’m quick to snap out of it, shoving memories of that day to the back of my brain and offering her my most convincing smile. “I’m fine.”

“You sure? You’re looking a little pale.” She brings her hand to my forehead to check my temperature, but I intercept it, grabbing her wrist and pulling her on top of me.

She laughs, the sound going straight to my cock as I throw my arms around her. Hadley rests her head on my chest, draping one of her legs over my thighs and placing a soft kiss against my pec.

“What was the dream about?” she asks, drawing the curve of my tattoo with her fingertip.

“I don’t remember,” I lie.

“Well, do you want to know what my dream was about?”

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