Page 60 of P.S. I'm Still Yours
Out of all the people my new management’s hired to keep my drinking under control, she was by far the loudest, most aggravating one.
The girl just wouldn’t shut up, and she thought acting dumb made her look cute. She was hot, I’ll give her that, but no one’s hot enough to pull off being this fucking annoying.
“Don’t get me wrong, she was a major pain in the ass, but all that’s going to do is make them send someone else. You know that, right?”
Unfortunately.
“Then I’ll fire them, too.”
“Or you could, I don’t know, admit that you have a problem and let someone help you before you drive yourself into the fucking grave at twenty-one?”
I hate when he does this. I already have enough people on my case—try three hundred million people—without my friends lecturing me.
I’ve been beating myself up over what happened for weeks now. And sure, I was wasted when I went apeshit on Josh, but I didn’t crash my fist into my manager’s jaw because alcohol told me to.
I did it because he deserved it.
Scratch that, he deserved worse.
I shrug, ignoring his concern. “Where’s the fun in that?”
I trail to the fridge and swing it open.
I’m fucking famished. I skipped dinner last night, and my chef’s not getting here until tomorrow morning. I’d kill for a stack of Sue’s pancakes right now.
“Hold on, it’s like—” Scar pauses to check the clock on the wall. “—ten in the morning. When did you even fire her? We crashed immediately after we got here.”
“You crashed immediately,” I correct him, digging through the fridge for food. “I needed a shower, and Tori snuck into the bathroom to suck my dick. She got canned instead.”
And then we found out we had an audience.
I’d pay good money to know what went through Hadley’s head when she first saw Tori.
Scar sits down at the breakfast nook. “Damn. Turned off a BJ. You’re better than me.”
I take a seat at one of the stools around the kitchen island. “Thank fuck I did. Hadley was right outside the door, listening to the whole thing.”
I only realize what I’ve said when his face falls. “Back up. Hadley’s here? Your childhood best friend with the dead brother Hadley?”
The dead brother part of his sentence makes me cringe.
I nod, grabbing an apple and taking a bite. Other than eggs and milk, fruit is all we have. I’m guessing Mom left the grocery shopping to Sue. “One and only.”
Scar sags into his seat, a drop of shock bleeding through his gaze. “Fuck me.”
“Tell me about it.”
“What the hell is she even doing here?”
“I’m guessing my mom invited her?”
Ironically, my mom pads into the kitchen as soon as the words are out of my mouth, a big smile on her face.
She’s wearing open-toe sandals and a long sundress. A beach bag with a bunch of shells on it droops from her shoulder, an oversized pair of sunglasses resting on top of her head.
I’m guessing today’s beach day.
“Morning, boys,” she singsongs, walking over to me to place a kiss on my forehead. She’s pulling a coffee mug out of the kitchen cabinet when I rise to my feet.