Page 47 of You Rock My World
Dorian’s bark of laughter echoes through the empty auditorium. “Aww, below the belt, Josie.”
Before I can reply with another witty comeback, his drummer hollers, “Rian! We’re ready when you are!”
Dorian turns his head, nodding at the band, before glancing back at me. “Duty calls. They never let me have any fun.”
With a gallant gesture, he motions toward the front row. “VIP seating for my number-one critic. Try not to be too harsh, yeah?”
I point at my T-shirt. “I’m more your number-one fan.”
Dorian covertly blows me a kiss and hops back on stage. And I sink into the seat he gestured to. The music starts with a jarring crash of drums and a bold guitar riff that immediately demands attention. Dorian grabs the mic and his eyes land on me. He’s making me his sole focus in a stadium meant for thousands.
When his voice cuts through the music, it’s a shock to my system. His timbre is rough but controlled, deep, a visceral blend of gravel and heat. No softness here, only intensity and grit, and yet it feels vulnerable in its boldness, as if he’s laying himself bare through his art. The sound vibrates in my chest, rattling something loose inside me, and I’m left clinging to every word, entranced as he keeps singing just for me.
Without the added confusion of an audience, his raw talent is too much for me to take. The stripped-down performance leaves me even more awestruck. More in love, if that’s possible. The way he pours his heart into every lyric, how his body moves with the rhythm—it’s mesmerizing.
The fact that he keeps singing every soul-baring note while looking straight at me doesn’t help. But it’s not just about how beautiful he is or the way his voice curls around my spine to wring me tighter and tighter. I’m captivated by the discipline of his team and the way the band works together as they cycle through multiple repetitions of the medley until every note is perfect. What may appear as an effortless performance is a carefully honed craft built on repetition, mutual trust, and a grind so impeccable it becomes invisible.
As the last notes of the song fade, Dorian’s eyes remain locked on mine. I can’t take any more, but I also can’t look away.
My heart races as he jogs off the stage and strides toward me. “So, what’s the verdict? Did I pass the audition?”
I play it cool, despite the butterflies wreaking havoc in my stomach. “Hmm, I don’t know. I might need to hear a few more songs before I make my decision.”
Dorian smirks. “Love a challenge, Monroe.” He glances back at the platform, where technicians are switching over the staging. “We’re rehearsing the last part of the number soon. In the meantime, want to check out the snacks table? It’s pretty lavish.”
I nod, getting up on legs that are still shaky from watching his performance. We approach the sawhorse table covered with a paper towel, and I snag a couple of mini-donuts. Dorian, meanwhile, pours himself a cup of coffee, basically inhaling it.
“Thirsty much?” I joke.
“Caffeine is the only thing that keeps me standing during these long days.”
I chuckle, taking a bite of my donut. “I thought rockstars thrived on chaos and sleep deprivation.”
“Not really.”
His eyes are wary. I’m not sure if it’s because of what happened with Billie and her choice of lifestyle. But I hope his love of music will never be soured because when he performs, he’s a gift to the world.
“Dorian, you’re amazing at what you do. Your voice, your songs, the way you take control of the stage. I couldn’t tear my eyes from you.”
“You might be a teensy bit biased.” I’m about to protest when he shrugs, adding, “And it didn’t always come this easy. Practice makes perfect.”
But I insist, “No, seriously. You were incredible.”
“You should’ve seen me when I started out.”
It pains me that I didn’t know him back then.
Dorian pops a mini pretzel in his mouth and speaks between chews. “The first time I opened for another band in a stadium filled with thousands of people, I almost peed my pants.”
I can’t help but grin. “So, is bladder control the secret to stage presence?”
He laughs, a rich sound that ricochets down my spine, sparking little bursts of happiness. “Don’t tell anyone, or I’ll have to kidnap you and take you on tour with me.”
The idea of being whisked away by Dorian, of spending long days and nights on the road with him, has all kinds of sensations zigzagging through my stomach. I act bolder than I feel. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
His eyes darken, and he leans in closer. “How about both?”
I study the spread of assorted provisions. “If the snacks are always this impressive, count me in.”
