Page 54 of Chasing After You

Later that day, I had asked casually, and Dorian had just smiled and said, “That room’s not for you yet.”

What kind of weird-ass answer was that?

And what did the “yet” mean?

I didn’t push, but I thought about it more than I probably should’ve.

And then, yesterday, while we were in the basement unpacking my box of weights and resistance bands, he had asked, “Should we just build you a home gym down here?”

“Uh… no?” I’d laughed awkwardly. “Unless you’d use it? I mean, I’m not staying long-term.”

He’d hummed, noncommittal, crouched to study the wall like he was already measuring for mirrors or something. “You might.”

“Dorian…”

“Just think about it.”

I hadn’t brought it up again, but the idea had stuck with me like gum on my shoe. Iwassupposed to be looking for apartments. But I hadn’t toured any yet. I hadn’t emailed or called any of the listings I’d bookmarked. And whenever I tried to, it just felt… like a lot of effort.

And then Dorian would be there, holding out my favorite mug, already filled. Or tossing a clean towel onto the couch where I’d crashed after work. Or walking past me with wet hair and no shirt like he wasn’t even aware of the chaos he caused in my brain.

Did I need to come out to him? Just so that he’d cover up a bit more around me?

Like, “Hey, little bro. I’m bi, so please don’t walk around the house half-naked because your body makes me question my morality.”

Hell no. That made it sound like I was drooling over him. Which… no! He’d get creeped out and think his older brother was a deviant pervert. No incest here, thanks!

But… was it incest? We weren’t—

Nope, nuh-uh, no, heck to the no, not going there.

Maybe if he knew I was attracted to guys, he’d lay off on the weird comments, though?

* * *

It was maybe two weeks after I’d moved in when Dorian had intercepted me as I came home from Wild Roast, suggesting we “unwind” and have a lazy Friday night.

I agreed, which was probably a mistake. I expected to watch amovie on the couch, order pizza, and play a video game together—something like that.

But apparently, “unwind” in Dorian-speak meant dragging out a fancy bottle of dark liquor that I couldn’t even pronounce, pouring us both generous glasses, making a goddamn cheese platter, and putting on some moody instrumental playlist that sounded like the background music to a secret villain monologue.

We sat on the back deck, the warm night air smelling like the cheese beside me and rain-soaked earth, the string lights overhead throwing a soft, golden glow over the dark wood planks. I loved it out here.

It was quiet. Comfortable and cozy.

A fiberglass fire pit was located in the center of the deck, surrounded by cushioned benches. He hadn’t brought up the topic of s’mores yet during my stay, but maybe I needed to put it out there that making s’moreswasthe primary use of a fire pit.

My second glass went down too fast. My third went down without me noticing.

Somewhere between the fourth and fifth, I was doing that thing where you can hear your own voice in your head warning you toshut up, shut up, shut up,and you don’t listen.

“I’m bi,” I blurted out.

Dorian didn’t even flinch. He just tilted his glass toward me like I’d saidthe weather’s nice tonight.“I know.”

I blinked at him. “Wait. You—what? How? Did you talk to Oliver about me or—”

He turned toward me on the bench, one arm slung casually over the back of it, eyes dark and lazy with amusement. “Josh. You arenotsubtle. I’ve known since before you ran off.”