Page 28 of Caesar DeLuca
Confusion swirls inside me, leaving me stiff and uncertain. The frankness in which he speaks, all while maintaining eye contact with me, renders me speechless.
He returns to the movie as if nothing’s happened. Sounds of explosions and action movie music drown out the silence between us.
I’m not sure what to make of his confession other than to remind myself it doesn’t matter. What do I care what Caesar looks for in a woman? Much less a wife? Why is it any of my business whether he’d be faithful to the woman in his life?
It’s not, Ari. Back off.
I nibble some more on my Twizzler, though it’s never the same.
A tension has developed, lingering in the air.
Caesar has to feel it too.
When he shifts on his sofa cushion, his hand brushes the sole of my sock. A touch that should mean nothing. Yet his gaze snaps to mine and a funny fluttery sensation lives in my stomach. As it turns out, even the simplest touch between us draws a visceral reaction.
I look away almost bashfully, sucking on my bottom lip.
It’s been so long since I’ve responded this way to another man. Not that I’ve been around many men in recent times. Mr. Craig and the clerk at the grocery store in town hardly count. Freddie was the last man to make me feel anything remotely close to these moments with Caesar.
But, really, did Freddie ever give you butterflies like this? Did he ever make your heart race from a simple touch?
Avoiding the answer, I clear my throat. The movie credits have rolled and yet Caesar’s just as immersed in the names scrolling across the screen as he was the alien invasion storyline. He finally pulls his attention from the TV and looks back at me.
“Want to watch another movie?”
“Maybe,” he answers. “After I learn more about my hostess.”
I break out into a surprised smile and mumble his name. “Caesar?—”
“It’s my turn for a question.”
“I’m not talking any more about my ex.”
“What are you reading?”
His question throws me for a loop for a second or two, my expression a puzzled frown. Then I realize he’s referencing the Kindle that’s on the end table next to me and I laugh. He can’t seriously be asking about what book I’m reading?
“You read a lot,” he observes aloud. “I’ve seen you curled up on the sofa a few times… and I’ve noticed you take your Kindle with you into your bedroom every night.”
“You’ve only been here for three.”
“Long enough to pick up on a pattern.”
I pick up my Kindle and place it into my lap. “If you’re being serious, I’m reading Secret Remains. It’s a thriller by best-selling author T.J. West.”
“Thrillers,” he says. “I can see it. That, or self-help books.”
My brows quirk in offense. “I’d read a western before I’d read a self-help book.”
“There’re some good ones.”
“Don’t tell me you read self-help books.”
“Never a day in my life. But I did have a cousin with anger issues, and he read some kumbaya type self-help book that helped him deal with it,” Caesar explains. He reaches for the bowl of pretzels and takes one despite how many times I’ve lectured him about eating lightly. He tosses it into his mouth, the crunch filling up the room for the time it takes him to continue. “I don’t have many pastimes beyond what I do for a living, but I do make sure to read almost every evening. Not anything exciting like your thrillers.”
He flashes me half an amused grin that looks so handsome on his face, I can only blink.
“I’m sure your life is thrilling enough. You don’t need to read any.”
