Page 74 of You Rock My World
Her eyes open slowly, meeting mine in the mirror. They’re dark with desire, but also swirling with a thousand unspoken questions. She’s letting me call the shots—decide whether we leap or stay on solid ground. The trust in her gaze is unbearable.
Her lips part as if to speak, but no words come out. Instead, she leans into me, her back pressing against my chest, her warmth seeping through my T-shirt. I wrap my arms around her, holding her gently, as if she might break—or to stop me from breaking. Her hands soon cover mine, and we stand like that, swaying slightly.
I close my eyes and let myself feel everything: the tickle of her hair against my chin, the rhythm of her breathing, the dizzying pull of her presence. We can’t keep playing this game without tumbling over the precipice. I won’t have the strength to whip us back if we go any further. Tomorrow, I’m leaving. I’ll be gone for the best part of the next three months. I don’t want to force a step forward when we’ll have to take three back.
“Josie.” I open my eyes, looking at her in the mirror. “I don’t want to rush this. Rush us.”
She nods, her head saying one thing while her eyes tell a different story. She wants this as badly as I do, and knowing that makes it even harder to hold back.
“We’ll have our time,” I promise. “I need you to be sure.”
Her fingers grip me tighter.
“I know. I just…”
Whatever she was going to say is lost as a voice crackles over the speaker system, announcing that the Best Rock award is coming up soon and that I need to be in the audience.
Josie trembles in my arms. If her skin is burning like mine, then we’re both seconds away from going up in smoke.
I squeeze her to absorb some of that heat, that tension, as if holding her tighter could somehow make it easier to walk away. “Saved by the bell again,” I murmur against the side of her neck, pressing a featherlight kiss below her ear before stepping back. I force myself to be responsible. “I’ll see you later?”
She nods, still staring at me in the mirror, her lips parted.
I beeline for the door, but as I pull it open, she calls me back, “Dorian.”
I turn, expectant.
She has kept her back to me, only watching me through the mirror.
She tilts her head, her expression unreadable, then pants out, “You might want to put your shoes on before you go.”
I glance down at my socked feet.
I curse. She smirks.
34
DORIAN
October
Being on tour rewires me. The second my boots hit the stage, I become a live current, buzzing, too charged to think about anything other than the beat, the melody, and the thousand voices screaming my name.
But then the shows end. And the energy doesn’t know where to go.
That’s how I feel stepping off the plane, back in LA after weeks of back-to-back concerts, my body still thrumming, my mind not sure how to shift back into normal mode. If I even have a normal mode anymore. My break is only four days. If it were a regular tour, I wouldn’t even have come home to LA. But if I can steal even only a night with Josie, it’ll be worth it.
As I get off the jet, it’s already dark outside. I take in a lungful of air. The city smells the same—heat, concrete, and the faintest trace of salt from the ocean in the distance. I pass security and emerge on the other side of the terminal for private flights where Ned, my driver, is waiting for me.
I slip into the back seat of the dark SUV, stretching my legs out, silence creeping in. After weeks of city-hopping and being swallowed by the noise, the sudden quiet makes me too aware of what’s missing. I haven’t seen Josie in too long.
The VMAs were the last time we were alone. She came to the airport to say goodbye the day after, and this is my first break since then.
Despite the miles traveled and commitments keeping me busy, I thought about her non-stop.
And we talked. Constantly.
Texts between soundchecks. Calls squeezed into time zones that made no sense. She’d text me ridiculous things—articles about how fish can recognize themselves in mirrors, debates over whether a hot dog is a sandwich, pictures of Penny’s latest art project. I called her every night, before her bedtime because I enjoy hearing how soft her voice gets when she’s tired. Even if I had only a few minutes before going on stage. And she made sure I’d find a good-morning text when I woke up.
