“I hate when you do this.” My eyes were back on him. “Do what?” He stepped closer, his thumb still against my chin, but now his fingers were spread out against my jaw. “Lower your face as if you don’t belong to stay in the moment…as if you need to separate yourself from what’s going on. You do it a lot in the club.” I stared up into his eyes, letting his hand remain against my jaw. “I don’t belong there.” His thumb traced my bottom lip. “You do. You’re the only thing there that feels like home.”
