Page 88 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

He tried to be subtle about it, too. Tried to pass it off as a handshake, but I know better than to fall for that shit.

Why is he paying him?

“Now, what do we say?” Scar taunts him.

“Fuck off.”

“You know how much I hate getting my hair wet. Least you can do is thank me.”

Wait…

Did Kane ask Scar to jump in the pool?

Kane snorts. “You’ll live.”

Don’t overreact. Don’t overreact. Don’t overre—

“What the hell?”

Kane and Scar spot me instantly, and I curse the universe for making Kane’s poker-face game so strong. He doesn’t even flinch when he sees me. He doesn’t look shocked or embarrassed that I caught them in the middle of a sketchy transaction.

Scar, on the other hand…

Guilt is written all over his face.

“Did you fucking pay him to cockblock me and Cal?” I slur.

The choking incident sobered me up for a bit, but not permanently. I still had way too much, and it’s starting to catch up to me.

Scar looks so guilty he’s already given himself away. “Hadley, hey. We were just—”

“Get out,” Kane tells his drummer, his face an unsolvable enigma.

Scar doesn’t argue, walking out into the backyard.

“I asked you a question,” I press as soon as we’re alone.

In response, Kane dips a hand into his jeans and pulls out something. A lighter. I drink him in. He’s wearing a black T-shirt now, his muscular body filling it out perfectly.

“What the fuck is the matter with you? Why would you ask your friend todo something like that? Why would you…” My voice trails off when he sets off toward the front door. “Hey, dickface, I’m talking to you!”

He doesn’t care, though, because the next thing I know, he’s swinging the door open and walking out onto the front porch. I stand there for a few seconds, trying—and failing—to process what just happened.

I eventually snap out of it and follow after him. I find him leaned back against one of the house pillars, smoking a joint like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

His indifference is aggravating. The breeze runs across my damp body, and I shiver. It’s getting chilly out, and I’m only wearing a bikini top with my shorts.

I park myself in front of him. “Did you pay Scar to cockblock us, yes or no?”

I already know the answer, but I want him to admit it.

He pulls the joint from his lips, exhales a thick cloud of smoke, and throws his head back against the pillar before saying, “Damn right I paid him.”

His bluntness knocks the breath out of me.

“What? Why?”

Still as unaffected as it can get, he shrugs. “Because Cal’s not the guy for you.”