Page 92 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

She pins me with a defiant look, her blue eyes calling my bluff. I can’t even be mad at her right now.Her headstrong personality has always been what I like most about her.

I can still see her ripping my dad a new one after she’d caught him whooping my ass in the sunroom when we were kids. I remember how terrified she looked and how brave I thought she was when she didn’t let her fear take over.

“For fuck’s sake.” I go ahead and slide the hoodie over her head before she can argue.

I hear her bitching but don’t give it another thought as I guide her head into the collar and sweep her hair out of it.

My fingers brush against her neck as I do, and a sharp breath blows past her lips, the sexy little sound making me smirk.

Her arms are pinned down on each side of her body, and despite her annoyance, she gives in, sliding her arms inside the sleeves.

Color floods back onto her skin, and I sigh in relief. She’s looking better already.

“Now, drink.” I lift the glass to her face again, and she opens her mouth to say no. I seize the opportunity, taking the glass to her opened mouth and practically forcing her to drink.

She groans in disapproval but allows the room-temperature water to spill down her throat. My hand flies to her chin, and I tilt it back, coaxing her into taking several small sips.

She looks up at me, big blue eyes examining me as I do.

Fuck.

Everything about this girl turns me on.

“Let’s get you to bed.” I kill my hard-on before it tears through my jeans, placing the glass on the counter and pushing off the floor. I’ve just helped her up when she lets out a mocking laugh.

I snake an arm around her waist, digging my fingers into her side to keep her upright. “What?”

“You’re being awfully nice for a guy who never cared about me.”

I don’t know why I said that earlier. She just got under my skin with all that talk about me being a narcissist.

Mostly because she’s right.

I am a bit of a narcissist—it’s damn hard not to when you have millions of women worshipping you—but I didn’t always use to be. I wasn’t one the day I kissed her.

And I definitely wasn’t one when I texted Gray after I left and asked him not to tell her that he and I still kept in touch.

Hadley thinks I ghosted him up until the day he died, but the truth is, he’s the only one I didn’t ghost.

“I didn’t mean it,” I admit so quietly she doesn’t hear me. I debate on repeating myself but decide she’s better off not knowing.

I lead her into my bedroom shortly after, and she almost trips over her own feet. I tighten my hold on her waist at the last second, and her hand jumps to my shirt for balance.

Then she sniffs me.

Well, she sniffs my shirt.

I don’t bring it up, though, fighting a smile.

“Careful,” I say before I help her onto my bed.

“I wasn’t sniffing you!” she blurts out like I just accused her of manslaughter.

I chew the inside of my cheek to hold back my laughter. “I didn’t say you were.”

Hadley sits her pretty ass down on the edge of my bed and slurs, “Good. Because you smell stupid.”

Goddamn it, don’t smile.