Page 67 of You Rock My World
I flinch.
“He told me I needed to keep her on a leash. Because the night before, Billie was flashing everyone in the lobby for beads.” Dorian pauses, considering. “The next part might be hard to hear. Do you still want it?”
I nod. “Always.”
His jaw works, but then he speaks. “The first time we went to New Orleans together for a concert was right after we got married. That night, a fan threw a string of beads on stage. I caught it.” He rubs his thumb along his palm as if remembering the sensation of the cheap plastic. “Back in our room, Billie wanted it. But I made her earn it.”
I don’t want to hear this. I’m gonna get sick. But I don’t stop him.
Dorian keeps his eyes on me. “She flashed me for it.”
The nausea turns to a lead weight in my stomach. I don’t even know why—it’s his past, I have no right to feel this way. But I do.
He notices. He always notices. “Josie?—”
“Keep going,” I say with a dry mouth.
A beat passes before he nods. “That was… one of our best nights. She still has those beads. I saw them in her car the other night.”
I don’t speak. Can’t.
“So I was in that bar, having just walked in on her cheating, realizing it probably wasn’t even the first time, and now I’ve got some guy in my face, talking about my wife’s tits, destroying one of the last good memories I had of us.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “I lost it. I forgot someone is always pointing their phone at me. Hell, I didn’t even care.” The memory plays behind his eyes. “I hit him once. Broke his nose.”
“I’m sorry.”
Dorian rubs the back of his neck, tipping his head up toward the ceiling. “That’s Billie’s special power. She makes me go nuclear.” His gaze shifts to me, steady and certain. “And it’s not because I’m in love with her. It’s that she made me question who I was. My instincts. My judgment. And for years, I defended her. Gave her the benefit of the doubt. Told myself she was going through something, that we’d figure it out. And every time I thought I was making the right call—sticking by her, believing her—it turned out I was only the biggest fucking idiot in the room.” His throat works, swallowing down the bitterness. “I hate that she still has the power to make me doubt myself. That’s what pisses me off. Not her.” His jaw sets with conviction. “I’m over her. But I’m still trying to unlearn the damage.”
I want to reach for him, but I don’t know if he’d welcome it right now. “Can I hug you?”
Dorian’s lips twitch like he’s surprised I even had to ask. “Josie, I’d love nothing more.”
I shift closer, slipping an arm around his back. He does the same, pulling me against him. At first, it’s a chaste side hug, I don’t notice the shift, but gradually, the angle changes. I move without thinking, climbing onto his lap, my knees bracketing his thighs. His hands slide down to my waist, steadying me.
“Thank you.” I rub my hands up his arms, over his shoulders, feeling the tension still knotted in his muscles that he doesn’t know how to let go. “For telling me this.”
His fingers dig into my hips as if he were holding onto something more than my body. “I don’t talk about it. Not like this. Not with anyone.”
I thread my fingers into his hair, pushing it back from his face. He closes his eyes at the touch, exhaling slowly, his shoulders finally relaxing.
I trace small circles over his temples with my thumbs. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
His lids flutter open, gaze locking onto mine, not searching, not uncertain, just present. Just here.
“But,” I continue, my lips curving, “if you hadn’t punched that idiot, we wouldn’t have met.”
Dorian releases a breath that’s almost a laugh, shaking his head like he can’t believe I said that. “Silver linings, uh?”
I lean in, letting my forehead rest against his. “The best ones.”
Dorian’s hands slide up my back, his touch light at first, testing the shape of me, then firmer, as if he decided to hold on. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
I smirk, brushing my nose against his. “You like trouble.”
His fingers press harder into my skin, just enough that I feel it everywhere. “I likeyou.”
I groan, straightening up. “I’ve never hated the rules more.” I push his hair back again, fingertips dragging through the strands, slower this time, loving the way he shudders under my touch.
“Agreed,” he croaks. “But you’re enjoying this,” he accuses, voice rough. “Torturing me.”
