Page 88 of You Rock My World
“Not even close.”
“I hate that I hurt you,” she says after a while.
I swallow. “I hate that I let you walk away.”
“So what do we do?”
“We figure it out.”
“Together?”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Together.”
39
JOSIE
It’s too early. Too cold even for Los Angeles. And I should still be in bed.
Instead, I’m here, crossing the private jets’ hangar at the airport, watching as Dorian’s crew makes the last checks before his flight. His plane is waiting, sleek and ready, the engines humming low in the distance.
I hold the folder in my hands close to my chest as I move along. Maybe coming here was a stupid idea and I should have left things as they were last night. Skip the goodbyes, let our phone call be enough without turning our fight into something bigger.
But knowing he’d leave with nothing but the memory of me shouting nonsense at him made my stomach churn. I couldn’t let that be how we ended things before he left.
So I’m here.
The door to the private lounge opens, and Dorian steps out. I expected him to be here, but seeing him still makes my heart clench as if an invisible hand is squeezing it.
He is dressed in a fitted black hoodie and dark jeans, his travel bag slung over his shoulder, hair messy from lack of sleep. His steps slow when he sees me, his brows drawing together in something between surprise and worry.
“Josie? What are you doing here?”
We’re not alone. His tour manager, a couple of security guys, and a flight attendant stand a few feet away. I keep my face neutral and hold up the folder.
“I have some important documents for you to sign before you take off. Can you spare five minutes?”
Dorian’s lips twitch, his gaze flicking to the fake papers, then back to me. “Yeah. Come on.” He gestures toward the private meeting room at the rear of the lounge, and I follow him inside.
The moment the door clicks shut, I drop the folder on the table. “Okay, so there’s nothing to sign.”
He flashes me a lopsided smirk. “No kidding.”
I step forward and hug him, pressing my face against his chest. Dorian doesn’t hesitate. He pulls me in, holding me close like he needs this as much as I do.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper against the soft fabric of his hoodie. “I… I didn’t want our last in-person conversation to be a fight.”
His lips brush against my hair. “Me neither. You don’t know how many times I thought about driving to your house last night.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Anyone could’ve seen me and it was late.”
I squeeze him harder.
We breathe each other in, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against my back, my hands fisting his hoodie, memorizing the way he feels.
Too soon, a knock comes. One of his security guys letting him know it’s time.
