Page 56 of Chasing After You

But Dorian didn’t laugh.

He just looked at me for a long second—eyes steady, mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite teasing anymore.

“I can’t help it,” he said softly. “You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted.”

My breath caught.

But before I could say anything, he stretched and stood, gathering our glasses. “You’re way too drunk for us to continue this conversation. Come inside before you fall asleep out here, and I have to carry you in.”

That was it. Like nothing had just happened.

Like he hadn’t cracked open a door I’d spent years pretending wasn’t even there.

I followed him inside.

I didn’t sleep much that night, not because of the alcohol, but because, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t know how to lie to myself anymore.

I was turned on by my ex-brother. Ex-adoptive brother?

Fuck.

* * *

The morning after our little drunken heart-to-heart, I woke up with a headache, a dry mouth, and a deep sense of “oh no, what the hell did I say last night”hanging over me like a storm cloud.

I avoided Dorian for most of the day. Not obviously. Not in a way he could call me out on. I just… stayed busy. I offered to do the grocery run, cleaned my room, and made up some excuse to run to Wild Roast for “inventory stuff” that I definitely wasn’t needed for. And when I came back, I beelined for the shower andstayed in there way longer than I needed to, hoping he wouldn’t bring anything up.

But of course, Dorian wasn’t the type to be avoided.

When I passed him in the hall after my shower, naked besides the towel around my hips, he gave me that quiet, knowing smile, all while dragging his gaze up and down my damp, flushed skin. I panicked and sped to my room, locking the door behind me.

And then came the bedroom situation. He stopped closing the door to his room all the way at night. He’d always told me to knock if I needed something during the night, and he always kept the door unlocked, but it was still shut. It was normal. I closed my door too when I went to sleep.

The first night, I’d accidentally caught him changing shirts, catching a glimpse of his lean and toned back in the mirror illuminated softly by his lamp.

And because I was a freaking weirdo, I didn’t say anything to him about it and instead snuck back down the hall like a little freaking pervert.

And every time I noticed the door was cracked, I told myself not to look. I told myself,you’re making it weird. Don’t make it weird.

I told myself,he’s your brother.

But was he? Legally, no. Biologically, no. He was just a piece of my childhood who had somehow grown into a very good-looking man who liked to make me squirm.

I started keeping my headphones on more often. I kept the volume up. I spent more time at work. I made excuses not to hang out in the living room if he was already on the couch. It wasn’tavoidance, exactly, especially since he’d talk me into spending time with him anyway.

He didn’t make it easier, either. He kept beingnice. Too nice. Bringing me smoothies after my runs, replacing my almostempty shampoo bottle that he noticed was running low while cleaning my bathroom, buying me supplements and vitamins and adding them to the meals he made for me.

The tension was fucking everywhere, and I was drowning in it.

15

Josh

I was certifiably a fucked-up pervert. It was official. Slap it on my medical records, bitches.

When I’d gotten up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, I happened to overhear some weird noises coming from down the hall. Worried that Dorian was hurt or needed help, I padded quietly to his door, peeking through the crack.

To say I was shocked at what I saw would be an understatement.