Page 81 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

We used to hang out here all the time as kids.

Vince would continuously swing the hammock like he was trying to knock the thing off its anchors, and my mom would almost have a heart attack every time his ass went flying.

“What is?” I sit in the armchair across from the guys, kicking my feet up on the coffee table in front of me.

“Making people sign paperwork just so they can talk to you,” Cal elaborates.

Doesn’t take me long to understand he’s referring to the NDAs Drea practically shoved down their throats when they walked through the door.

She skipped the pleasantries, jumped right to the ultimatum, and told them they weren’t getting anywhere near me unless they signed it.

I know she’s just doing her job, but I also get why it can seem like overkill to people that are unfamiliar with the industry.

If they think NDAs are bad, I can’t imagine what they’d do if they knew I had to use an app on my phone to hit them up from a fake number.

Can’t have them knowing my real number. The only people that have it are my family members and people I’d trust with my life.

I learned my lesson the hard way when one of my backup dancers posted my number online for fifty grand when I was just starting out.

Then again when some model I hooked up with managed to get into my phone and call herself so she’d have my number. She went on to share it with her two-million-something followers.

My phone didn’t stop ringing for forty-eight hours straight. I had to shut it off so that I wouldn’t chuck it out the window.

Granted, it’s not that big of a deal, but having to change my number every few months was getting to be fucking annoying. Phone numbers are linked to a bunch of things like your bank account, social media, and email address, just to name a few.

I’m not dealing with this shit again.

“Must be weird as hell,” Vince comments.

I shrug, slouching into my seat. “Meh. You get used to it. If you ask me, it’s getting followed everywhere you go that sucks balls.”

Cal cringes, the pity in his eyes making me sick to my stomach. “I bet. How do you even go anywhere?”

I scoff. “I don’t.”

I just buy big-ass mansions with gyms, tennis courts, and a fucking water park so that I never have to leave my house. Although something tells me saying it out loud would make me sound like a douche.

The truth is, most of the properties I own are at least three times the size of the beach house. I only bought this place for my mom because I know how much she loves it here.

I buy big houses to help me get over the fact that I’m basically a prisoner of my life. It helps, but I still have those moments where I forget who I am and want to go for a walk around my neighborhood like a normal person.

“What happens if you break an NDA?” Cal asks, and my blood begins sizzling.

I stare daggers at him. “Why?”

Cal pauses, taken aback by my accusatory tone, but he doesn’t get offended.

His voice is calm as he says, “Dude, will you just relax for five minutes?”

I hate to admit it… but he’s right.

I’m on edge.

To be honest, I have been on edge since I texted them yesterday and asked if they wanted to hang out.

I wasn’t sure if they’d be pissed about me ghosting them for the past five years, but they answered right away.

We’re guys.