Page 50 of Chasing After You
So I was.
“Just about how nice it is to just exist with you,” I muttered. “There’s no point in acting with you. I feel like you know me better than I do.”
He didn’t interrupt. Just watched me.
I rubbed the back of my neck. “It’s like—I don’t know—if I act the way I really feel, people don’t… stick around. So I’m always reliable, friendly, outgoing, strong.”
“But that’s not who you are,” Dorian said simply.
“Sometimes it is,” I said quickly, then hesitated. “But not all the time.”
I looked down at my hands. “I was always so scared of being alone, you know? And I thought I was doing fine. But then you came, and now I feel so… not alone… and I realized that maybe I was trying to fill your place with those people.”
There. I said it. The ugliest part.
Dorian didn’t look shocked. Or uncomfortable. He looked… calm. The kind of calm people only get when they’re hearing something they’ve always known.
“I’ve always seen that in you,” he said. “Even when we were kids.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he murmured with a half-smile.
I laughed under my breath, a little embarrassed. “So do I give off weird, needy vibes to you?”
He smiled fondly. “You can be as needy as you want to be with me. I love that side of you. It feels like something just for me.”
My throat tightened. “Stop saying stuff like that.”
He leaned in slightly, like he didn’t want me to miss a word. “I won’t. I won’t stop. Ever. I’ve already missed out on eight years, Josh.”
I blinked quickly, fighting something I didn’t want him to see in my eyes. “It’s just… that stuff confuses me. It sounds… not like something you’d say to your brother.”
“I didn’t realize.”
I turned away. “Just be careful saying that kind of thing to me once you start dating.”
He huffed out a laugh before rising to his feet and glancing down at me. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
I rubbed at the weird feeling in my chest.
13
Dorian
Three weeks passed like a slow-burning fever.
I didn’t rush it. Not because I didn’t want to—God, I wanted to—but because I couldn’t afford to. Josh was skittish, like a stray dog that had been kicked one too many times. If I moved too fast, too hard, he’d run. And I couldn’t handle him running again. If he even tried, I knew it would snap my resolve. I knew that I’d end up scaring him, locking him up, doing things he wouldn’t be ready for yet.
So, instead, I learned the rhythm of his life and began to integrate myself into it. I wanted him to come to the conclusion himself that he needed me in his life, not as a brother, but as somethingmore.
I flirted, yes. But never outright. Never enough to corner him or make him flinch. Just enough to let him wonder, let him yearn for more, but never give it to him.
When I brushed against him, I let my hand linger half a second longer than necessary.
When I hugged him goodbye, I let my lips brush the side of his neck—not a kiss, just an exhaled breath—but close enough that he tensed yet didn’t pull away.
When we were walking together and someone flirted with him, I didn’t speak. I just watched. He started looking to me for help, wanting me to step in and explain that he wasn’t available. But he was, and I could see the way that was confusing him.
