Page 87 of Come Back to Me

“We need to talk.”

“About how an orgasm feels?”

“No, Tee?—”

“About how I finally came after a lifetime of mediocre lays?”

“I—”

“About how your filthy mouth is so fucking hot?—”

“Tee,” he barks. “I have to tell you something.”

“No, you don’t. Unless it’s, ‘Let’s go back to my room so I can dick you down.’ If it is, then I’m all ears.”

He releases an exasperated sigh. “You’d try the patience of a saint.”

“Can confirm—they broke in an hour.”

“I bet.” His hand smoothes over my chin. There’s a severity in his expression, a solemnity that makes my heart pound. “I’m not who you think I am.”

Whatever the fuck he was going to say, I didn’t expect that.

“Are you an alien?” I whisper.

“No.”

A girl can hope.

“Are you in a skin suit like Edgar fromMen in Black?”

“No, I?—”

“You—”

“Tee, I’m Butch Cassidy.”

I stare at him.

A million thoughts flutter into being, but the solemnity in his expression hitches and his brow furrows, triggering a wealth of emotions that flash over his expression.

Regret.

Shame.

Fear.

I’m not sure which one keys me into what he’s actually saying.

“We’ve been writing?—”

I stare at him.

Really stare.

Regret.

Shame.

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