Page 86 of Chasing After You
He caught me staring. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re looking at me.”
I snorted. “I do that most of the day.”
He popped the cap off the basil and took a sniff. “Maybe, but you look like you’re thinking about something. What is it?”
I blushed, admitting, “I’m just glad you’re coming. That’s all.”
His face shifted, softened. “Me too.”
* * *
I had a stupid grin on my face the rest of the night. I couldn’t help it—I was excited. Not just regular excited, but the kind of jittery, nerves-on-fire kind of excited that made me want to pace around and clean something even though Dorian had already deep-cleaned the entire house twice this week.
I didn’t usually get like this. I didn’t usuallyletmyself get like this; I was always scared of being disappointed.
Dorian noticed, of course.
He was curled up on the opposite end of the couch, pretending to read something on his phone but watching me over the screen. “You’re glowing.”
I paused mid-step. “I’mnotglowing.”
“You are,” he insisted with a slight tilt to his lips. “You look like you’re about to bounce out of your skin. You like this guy that much?”
I huffed a laugh, flopping back onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “It’s not just him. It’s—Paul’s been this constant in my life, you know? He could’ve hated me. He had some random teenager dumped in his lap. But he didn’t. He took care of me like I was his own kid.”
Dorian lowered his phone slowly, his face a strange mix of quiet curiosity and something tighter—something that looked almost like jealousy. “You’ve talked about him a lot.”
“Yeah,” I said, then hesitated. “Are you… sure you’re okay with this?”
He blinked. “With what?”
“Meeting him.”
“Of course I am,” he said too quickly, covering his negative feelings with a smile. Then he added, “Should I… expect anything?”
I grinned again. “What, you nervous?”
“I’m cautious. Motorcycle clubs can be…” He trailed off, searching for the word.
“Sketchy?” I offered, amused.
“I was going to say dangerous, but sure. Sketchy works.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “I don’t think they’re like that. I mean, I haven’t met them yet, but Paul said they do fundraising rides, swap meets, and other stuff for like holidays and parades. He’s never once mentioned anything shady. I don’t think it’s that kind of club.”
Dorian made a skeptical noise in the back of his throat, but didn’t argue.
“They’re called The Iron Saints,” I added, trying to keep my voice neutral and not too proud, even though Iwasa little proud. “Paul said they’re like a big family. Sometimes he sends me pictures of the cool places they go, or like group selfies. They seem nice.”
“Iron Saints,” Dorian repeated thoughtfully, then gave me a look. “So it’s you, your grizzled biker uncle, and a bunch of middle-aged men with road names likeViperandTiny.”
I snorted. “Shut up. But also, yeah, that’s kinda the vibe.”
“I’m just picturing the Fast & Furious version of a chili cook-off,” he deadpanned, dodging a pillow I tossed at him.
