Page 69 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

This is my chance to ask her.

I waltz into the living room and find Scar and Kane playing foosball by the electric fireplace—I have no idea where that foosball table even came from because it definitely wasn’t there yesterday.

Drea is curled up on the large sectional, alternating between watching the guys and scrolling on her phone. Her face lights up when she sees me. “Oh, hey, Hadley.”

Kane’s head whips in my direction as soon as my name is uttered.

His smile dies down instantly.

It’s as though I sucked all the fun out of the atmosphere just by being here.

I ignore him. “Since when do we have a foosball table?”

“Since His Majesty decided he wanted one.” Scar gestures to Kane with his chin. “Sent me all the way across town to get it. What am I, your fucking servant?”

“Can’t have people knowing he’s here, remember?” Drea interjects.

“And? I didn’t sign up to be his errand boy.”

Drea chuckles. “Hate to break it to you, but you’re kind of the errand boy by default. His name is literally the most searched name on the internet right now. We need to keep him out of the public eye until the dust settles.”

“Why can’t you go? And how do you know people won’t recognize me? I’m part of the band, too, aren’t I?” Scar argues.

“Because I’m working. And yeah, people might recognize you, but no one actually cares because you’re not the star. If you were to quit tomorrow, we could get another drummer, but we can’t find another Kane—no offense.” Drea tops it off with a shit-eating grin, and it makes me like her even more.

I stop paying attention to their bickering and chance a glance toward Kane. Sure enough, he’s still staring at me.

Only now, he seems angry.

“Whatever,” Scar grumbles, glancing back at Kane. “Let’s finish this shit.”

Kane doesn’t even look at him. “Nah, I’m going back to bed. I’m beat.”

On that note, he storms out.

It takes me a moment to realize what just happened.

Did he just run out of the room at the mere sight of me?

Is this how it’s going to be for the rest of the summer?

Like I have no say over my own actions, I spin and follow him. I won’t tolerate being treated like I have the plague every time I walk into a room.

“Hey!” I call seconds before he reaches the stairs.

Kane stops but doesn’t turn around.

I slow down next to him, but I don’t wait for him to look at me before I blurt, “What the hell is your problem?”

He spins to face me, his fists rolling into tight balls as he stares daggers at me. “What problem?”

I almost laugh.

“Are we really going to pretend like you didn’t just bolt out of the room to avoid me?”

He shrugs, his green eyes pools of darkness. “Who says I’m avoiding you?”

And now he’s acting dumb.