Page 124 of Power Play

“Date?”

I stopped.

He leaned one shoulder against the dresser, amusement settling into his expression. “You called it a date.”

Heat reached my ears. “You’re the one who planned an outing at seven and told me to wear practical shoes.”

“That’s your definition?”

“I have standards.”

“Apparently low ones.”

I snatched the purse and slung the strap over my shoulder. Ryan’s gaze stayed on me for another second, though whatever he saw wasn’t enough to make him push.

Then he held out his hand. “Come on, mi hada.”

I looked at it.

I had probably held Ryan’s hand hundreds of times over the four years I had known him, but tonight felt different. Maybe that was because he hadn’t corrected me when I called this a date. Maybe it was because tomorrow he was leaving.

I slipped my fingers through his, and Ryan immediately threaded them together. The ease of it made something inside my chest ache.

He never made touching me feel like an event. He simply did it, as though his hand had somewhere it preferred to be and mine happened to fit there.

He didn’t release me until we reached the truck, and even then, it was only long enough to open my door.

“I can do that.”

“I know.”

“You always say that.”

“Because you keep telling me.”

I put one foot on the running board but didn’t climb inside. “Then why do you keep opening it?”

Ryan rested one forearm along the top of the door and looked down at me. “Because I like taking care of you.”

My stomach flipped. “That sounds dangerously close to spoiling me.”

“Maybe I’m trying to.”

“Why?”

His brows lifted like the answer should’ve been obvious. “Because I want to.”

The words carried no conditions and no explanation involving what I had earned, accomplished, or done correctly.

Ryan touched two fingers beneath my chin and tipped my face toward his before kissing me once. “Get in the truck, princesa.”

I climbed inside before he could see how much four stupid words had affected me.

He closed the door carefully, rounded the hood, and slid behind the wheel. His phone connected to the stereo while the engine turned over, but instead of reaching for the shifter first, his hand came across the console.

I smiled as our fingers linked.

Ryan looked over. “What?”