Page 32 of Undone

He made his way toward me with a smirk on his face. “Hey, Noah!”

Colt tipped his chin in a subtle, welcoming nod.

Just as I thought Dorian might have stayed behind, the back door swung open. He stepped out, and a rush of electricity shot through me, like my pulse tripped over itself. I took a breath, trying to shake it off, but the reaction still whirled beneath my skin.

Goddamn it.

Over the last several months, I tried to convince myself that his effect on me was purely situational.

I tried to dismiss the way his gaze made my heart race as mere residual anxiety after the whole ordeal with John, not because I liked him.

I definitelydidn’tlike the man who texted me weekly to check in on my dog, or the one who helped me through a panic attack.

But as Dorian stood there, in his worn jeans, cowboy boots, and glasses that only seemed to add to the effect on me, I knew I was wrong.

So unfortunately, wrong.

“Officially a Woodstonian. Welcome,” Dorian said, crossing his arms loosely over his muscular chest. His gaze briefly met mine, and my stomach fluttered.

I forced a smile, trying to keep my composure, but it was harder than I wanted it to be.

Damn it, why did he have to look so good? Why did everything about him seem to affect me so easily?

“I knew it was Woodstonian!” Dotty chuckled.

“Thanks. It’s good to be here,” I replied.

“It’s good to have you here,” Dorian said, his gaze briefly flicking to my lips before meeting my eyes.

I swallowed, the brief moment stretching out like a current just beneath the surface that I didn’t know how to navigate.

Dotty clapped her hands together, her excitement bubbling over. “Okay, let’s get everything unloaded!”

Sawyer grabbed the back of the moving truck, pulling it open with a dramatic flourish. “I call dibs on the light ones.”

Colt rolled his eyes as he strode past him. “Says the professional athlete.”

“I’m here for moral support,” Sawyer shot back with a grin, already lifting a small box as proof.

Dorian said nothing, stepping forward to grab a heavier crate, his movements efficient. I caught his eye for a brief second, and the corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. My heart gave a traitorous lurch.

Dotty tugged me inside, chattering on about all the ways we’d make it cozy, making me feel at home. But my attention kept flickering back to the group unloading the truck—particularly to Dorian, whose presence somehow demanded my focus.

I did my best to ignore him as he unloaded box after box, his muscular arms flexing with each lift, his shirt pulling tight across his broad shoulders.

Honestly, those arms should not have been the center of my attention, but somehow, they were. Every time he moved, the muscles in his back shifted under his shirt, and I had to look away.

It wasn’t just his strength that was getting to me. The way he grunted when he lifted something heavy, the sweat gathering at the nape of his neck, dripping down to his shirt collar—it all seemed so… effortlessly masculine. It wasn’t until I caught myself staring a little too long at the way his jeans hugged his hips as he bent over that I forced myself to focus on something else. Anything else.

Because the last thing I needed was to get caught watching him like that.

A couple hours later, the truck was unloaded, and Dotty joined the others to fix the sagging gutter on the side of the house.

I stepped inside the house, walking through the living room, which was now a mess of open boxes and crumpled packing paper. I sank into a kitchen chair, sorting through the contents, carefully unpacking the items.

Then I heard footsteps behind me. I turned, finding Dorian in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes studying me.

Walker trotted over to him, tail wagging furiously as he sniffed at him with excitement. Dorian dropped to one knee to meet him at eye level, his hand outstretched. Walker leaned into him, letting out a happy whine.

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