Page 32 of You Rock My World
Dorian’s expression hardens, not with restraint but with intent. “I did. I still do. And that’s two questions.”
It doesn’t matter how many questions because we’re no longer playing a game.
But before I can protest, he asks, “How often have you thought about me this past year?”
I glance away, not able to hold his gaze. “Dorian, I can’t go there.”
“Why not?” he demands in a measured tone.
I force myself to look at him again. His face has changed; the smirk is gone, replaced by a seriousness that makes my breath shallow.
I pick at a loose thread on the blanket, unraveling it, same as his words are unraveling me as I give him the truth. “Because I’ve thought about you every single day.” The admission spills from me in a rush. “I went to your concerts in Inglewood.”
Dorian leans in, his attention so fixed on me, it feels like the blaze of headlights cutting through a dark road: sudden, blinding, unescapable. “Which night?”
“All of them,” I confess in a whisper.
His eyes widen, my answer seeming to stagger him. But now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. “The last night, when Billie Rae came on stage, I… I fled the stadium in tears. I told myself I had to get you out of my head, that it was crazy to be so hung up on someone I met only once.”
I drop my gaze to my hands, twisting them in my lap. The memory of that night is still raw, the pain of watching him singing with her.
Dorian is silent for a long beat. I don’t look at him, afraid of what I’ll see in his eyes. Pity? Regret? Confirmation that I’m nothing more than another crazy fan?
“Josie.” His hand covers mine, stilling my restless fingers. “Look at me.”
I do as he asks. His gaze on me is soft and intense at the same time, calm and churning.
“Billie showed up that night on stage only to rattle me,” he explains. “We were already negotiating the divorce settlement at that point. I had to roll with it not to make a scene. I had no choice.”
I let his words sink in, but they do little to ease the knot of emotions sitting heavy in my chest. “Even so,” I say, my voice quieter now, “there are a million reasons we shouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Dorian’s eyes bore into mine. “Name them.”
I want to ignore the rational arguments and tell him he can kiss me now if he still wants to. But I can’t. So I don’t back down. “For one, you’re fresh out of a divorce.”
“My marriage has been over for two years,” he counters. “When I met you, it was already over.”
“But it still took you another year to formally end it,” I argue. “And rebound relationships are called that way for a reason.”
A protest rises to his lips, but I barrel through, unwilling to lose momentum. “And even if I disregarded that, the unknowns of your world are daunting for someone like me.” His jaw ticks, like he’s holding himself back. And I take advantage, voicing my doubts. “But most importantly, I’m not sure what we felt that night was even real.” My voice softens as I add, “We’ve spent a few hours locked up together, and it feels like we’ve known each other for a lifetime, but we really don’t. It was a cocoon, an unreal situation with heightened emotions. Like being onThe Bachelor.”
Dorian scoffs and leans back, studying me with eyes that want to stay serious but sparkle with amusement. “How is being trapped in an elevator comparable to being onThe Bachelor? Shouldn’t there be more screaming women?”
Despite myself, I smile. “Be serious,” I scold him playfully. “Don’t make me laugh when I’m making a point.”
He raises his hands in mock-surrender, a smirk playing on his lips. “My apologies. Please, continue.”
I pluck a blade of grass, gathering my thoughts. “It’s like being on a TV show because it’s easy to feel infatuated while on a hot-air balloon ride, followed by dinner in a vineyard surrounded by twinkling fairy lights and sharing roasted marshmallows by a firepit for dessert with only the moonlight as a companion.”
Dorian’s smirk widens. “You’re really romanticizing our captivity in that elevator.”
I shoot him a look but can’t entirely hide my own smile. “Because those ten hours felt more exhilarating than any scripted date could ever be. But real life isn’t like that.” My smile fades as I meet his gaze head-on. “We don’t really know each other.”
Dorian’s expression sobers. “That isn’t entirely accurate. I know that you’re kind, fun, and sarcastic. What song you listen to when you need to ugly cry. That you hold yourself together for everyone else, but sometimes, you just need someone to see through it. You have a tell when you’re about to cry. The way you blink fast, like you can will the tears away before they have the chance to fall. Because you want to be strong enough that no one ever has to worry about you. And you deflect with humor when you’re uncomfortable. Sarcasm is your armor to hide everything you’re afraid to show.”
Gosh, why does he have to be so—sohim? So into my very soul. I can’t even process everything he just told me.
I sigh, conceding the point. “Okay, yes, we shared some deeper truths that night. But we also missed so much.” He opens his mouth to protest again, but I hold up a hand to stop him. “Be honest, Dorian. Until an hour ago, you didn’t know I lost my brother-in-law in a fire. You don’t know where I went to high school or what foods I hate. You don’t even know where I live.” He frowns, but he remains silent as I continue. “And what I assume I know about you must be mostly untrue, cobbled together from gossip sites and social media. Only last week, I thought your marriage to Billie Rae was picture-perfect.”
