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“You want to get that?” he asks.
“No,” I say.
Until it chimes again.
And again.
“Maybe I should.” It takes all the strength I have to sit up. My entire body aches with a sweet kind of soreness thanks to the man who was determined to prove I’m more flexible than I ever thought possible. “It’s Vivi . . . she wants to know if I’m alive. And if I’m with you.”
Quietude settles between us.
Despite the fun I’ve been having, Vivi’s warning from last night keeps finding its way into my head.
He’ll break your heart into a million pieces . . .
While I don’t know Dorian as well as Vivi does, the more I get to know him, the more I can’t help but notice we’re on the exact same page of the exact same book. I’ve never met someone like him before—so boldly unapologetic, so sure of what he wants, so in step with me on every level.
I text her back, letting her know we’re just relaxing and we’ll see everyone at breakfast in the morning. I’d feel guiltier about this if we hadn’t met the group for dinner earlier tonight. It would’ve been tempting to hole up in this hotel room after our time on the beach, but we both agreed we needed to make another appearance after missing the majority of the bachelor-bachelorette party.
The instant I set my phone down, Dorian guides me back into his arms. I rest my cheek against his warm chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart, wondering if I’ll ever have a chance to do this again someday or if this entire trip will be some random memory I’ll relive in my head a million times on nights I can’t fall asleep.
“One more day,” I say. “That’s all we have until we have to go back to the real world.”
Well, one more day and a handful of hours, if I’m being technical.
We both fly out first thing the day after tomorrow.
He interlaces his fingers with mine, exhaling his warm breath on the top of my head as I nuzzle against him.
I close my eyes, dragging the musky, spicy scent of his aftershave into my lungs.
Two days from now, I’ll be lying in my empty bed, listening to the upstairs neighbors blaring polka music while the symphony of Manhattan traffic plays outside my window. There’ll be no palm trees or sunshine or brightly dressed vacationers smelling like coconut suntan oil. Gone will be the fruity umbrella drinks and happy couples everywhere I turn.
“What city will you fly to?” I ask. “For the Phantom Symphony tour, I mean. What stop are they on?”
“Chicago,” he says without a trace of excitement in his voice. “Then Milwaukee . . . Saint Paul . . . Kansas City . . . after that we’ll head west . . . Denver . . . Phoenix . . . Vegas . . .”
“You ever get tired of living on the road?”
“All the time.” He runs his hand along the tip of my elbow resting above my hip, but for the first time in forever, I don’t recoil. In fact, I haven’t recoiled at all with Dorian.
My ex used to obsess over my body—and not in a good way. He was never shy about pointing out if my clothes were fitting tighter or if my muscles were suddenly less defined than they were a couple of weeks ago.
Dorian has done nothing but worship every inch of me.
“Any chance you’ll be headed east at some point?” I ask. I squeeze my eyes, bracing myself for his answer.
“We kicked off the tour on the East Coast.” There’s a hint of an apology in his tone.
“I figured as much,” I say.
I tried to get tickets to their show at Madison Square Garden last year, but I bought them from some scalper, and they turned out to be fakes. I should’ve known better. And I’m still embarrassed about the whole situation, but I don’t want to mention it to Dorian because the last thing I want is for him to think I’m fishing for handouts.
All I want is a chance to see him again . . . whatever that entails.
“So where do you live when you’re not on the road?” I ask. I could’ve sworn he said something about being from New York that first night, but it also could’ve been wishful thinking on my part. And I never did clarify if he meant New York State or New York City.
“I have a place in Manhattan,” he says. “I’m subletting it right now.”
“So where do you go when you have off time?”
My questions are becoming more obvious by the second.
I should quit while I’m ahead.
His chest rises as he draws in a long, slow breath, and he pinches the bridge of his nose when he lets it out.
