Page 68 of Come Back to Me

Tears—they soak my eyes, and I clench them closed.

Why does this feel so good?

Why does this feel like...

I don’t know this man.

Not really.

Yet a part of me does, and that part makes no sense.

As we two-step to a song I don’t know, a song that you don’t two-step to, eventually, he murmurs, “You ready to go home?”

I shiver at his words.

Acceptance flutters through them. It’s wonderful. As if my place is right with the Korhonens. All of them. Not just Zee. It makes up for him suggesting jobs too.

Nodding, uncaring that I’m probably getting makeup on his shirt, I mutter, “Please.”

We return to our booth and collect our stuff. I grimace when I realize I left my phone on the damn table and my bag on the seat. What a noob move that was!

Relieved they weren’t stolen, I gather my things and shove them in my purse. He stands there, watching me, and I feel the brush of his gaze like it’s his fingers running down my spine.

When I look up, I half-hoped his hand would be outstretched for mine.

It isn’t.

The disappointment that spears me is nuts.

Disproportionately so—my date wasn’t with him, after all.

As we exit the bar, he finally cups my elbow so he can tug me down an alley and guide me toward his truck.

When he opens the door for me, my brow lifts, but before I can clamber in, his hands settle on my hips and, in a controlled launch, he helps me into the front seat.

Cheeks pink, I experience a full-body flush when his arm drags over my belly as he fastens my seatbelt.

I can’t taunt him about it being the new millennium, not when the urge to grab his head and make him suck the nipple closest to him is a strong one.

Zee once told me Colt was chivalrous, but experiencing it for yourself is a whole other thing.

“Who taught you to do this?” I question, because it’d be rude to ask him how he felt about nipple play.

He frowns. “Do what?”

Ah, jeez, it’s instinctual for them.

That shouldn’t be so damn hot, but it is.

Of course, I can open my own door, but why wouldn’t I want a hunk to do it for me so he can watch my ass jiggle as I walk in front of him?

It’s called working smarter, not harder.

“The seatbelt thing.”

“Uncle Clay and then Colt.”

He dismisses it as he closes the door and rounds the fender.

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