Page 48 of Chasing After You
He smiled at the sight of me, a slow, contented curl of his lips that made me feel like I was stepping into something dangerous. “Hi.”
“Hey,” I said, eyeing the motorcycle with suspicion. “So… this is how we’re getting there?”
“Of course,” he replied, tossing me the spare helmet. “The car’s only for stalking.” He winked, too self-aware.
“Uh, I’ve never been on one,” I admitted, gripping the helmet awkwardly. “And I’m too big to be a backpack. Wouldn’t I fall off or make us tip over or something?”
“You’re not too big,” Dorian said, stepping close to adjust the strap under my chin. His fingers were gentle, and for a second, all I could do was stare at his eyes, focused on their task. “You’ll fit just fine.”
“Pretty sure your spine won’t survive me clinging to you like a terrified koala.”
“I’d consider it an honor.” He smirked. “Besides, I like having you wrapped around me.”
I flushed. “Gross. Never say that again.”
He laughed, straddling the bike once more. “Get on, Josh.”
And somehow, I did. I slid in behind him, heart hammering as I wrapped my arms around his waist. I could feel the purring vibration of the engine through his back and through my thighs and hands,and God, this was a terrible idea.
“You good?” he called over his shoulder.
“Define good. If I die, throw me an awesome funeral.”
He chuckled and revved the engine in response, and we peeled down the road before I could overthink it.
And… it was fun.
Terrifying, yes. I may have screamed once or twice—quietly, I’d like to add—but it wasfun.I felt reckless and weightless andhappy, like I was skipping every rule I’d ever set for myself and daring the universe to care.
The street lights flickered by us, the wind brushed against my bare forearms, and the warmth of Dorian satisfied that lonely, anxious, needy part of me.
Eventually, the roads got quieter, the buildings more sparse, and we turned onto a gravel road that led into a wooded trailhead. I could hear the crunch under the tires as we slowed, the thrum of nature gradually growing louder than the bike’s hum.
He parked near a crooked sign that read “Willow Falls Nature Reserve” and helped me out. I stumbled slightly, legs unsteady from the ride. “Okay. I get it. You’re cool. I’m still not convinced I’ll survive the drive back, though.”
“I knew you’d like it,” he said, smug as ever, leading the way up a dirt path under a canopy of trees. The air smelled like moss and damp wood. Peaceful.
The trail curved along a small stream and eventually opened into a quiet clearing where a waterfall spilled over jagged rocks into a calm, clear pool below. The water caught the last of the fading sunlight, shimmering like melted silver.
“Oh,” I breathed, staring at the sight before me. “This is…”
“Beautiful,” Dorian finished, watching me instead of the view.
I ignored the flutter in my chest. “Yeah.”
We sat down on a flat rock near the edge, our legs dangling. The air was cool, crisp, but not uncomfortable. Dorian handed me a thermos he’d packed, and I took a sip—iced coffee, strong and just the way I liked it.
“How did you—?”
He shrugged.
We sat in silence for a while, listening to the sound of the water. I leaned back on my palms, my head tipped up to the stars as they began to peek through the clouds.
“This place feels fake,” I murmured.
“It’s real,” Dorian said, voice quiet. “Do you like it?”
I glanced at him. “Yeah,” I sighed contentedly.
