Page 29 of Caesar DeLuca
“I do historical,” he says. “I like strategy and understanding past dynamics between different countries and regions. It’s always fascinating to me how certain historical events went down. There’s a saying that if you don’t study the past, you’ll repeat it in the future. I try to learn lessons from other people’s lives.”
“That’s an interesting way of looking at it.”
“So, you can imagine, I don’t watch many movies and TV shows. But the ones this afternoon weren’t so bad. If you can imagine aliens invading our planet.”
I fold my legs under me and lean slightly closer. The cushion between us feels a lot smaller all of a sudden. “Have you always been fascinated by history?”
“Well, I was named after Julius Caesar. Seems I was doomed from the get go. I come from a huge family. Lots of adults and kids of all ages. It was always too much noise for me… so I’d sometimes make my way to my grandfather’s library. Get lost for a while.”
“I used to live down the street from a library. I once ran away there.”
His naturally tense features relax a little, making him even finer. “You ran away to the library?”
“I was six,” I clarify, my cheeks warming up. “It was because my mom wouldn’t give me money for the school book fair. So I did the next best thing and ran away to the library. They found me hiding in the story time room.”
He releases a wolfish laugh that’s loud and catches me off guard. Slowly, as my surprise fades, I laugh along with him.
“I don’t know why I told you that. Pretend I never did.”
“Are you kidding? I’m imagining you trying to hide away as the librarian turns off the lights for the night,” he says. “Sounds a lot like the time I tried to stow away in my grandpa’s Buick because I wanted to see a real live shootout for myself.”
My mouth drops open, my voice absent. Caesar lets out another wolfish laugh and clamps a hand down on my thigh, giving the tender flesh a fond squeeze. I wish I could say I’m equally as playful, but I’d be lying—more like I’m burning up at the feel of his touch.
On my thigh.
On. My. Thigh.
It’s been years since I was hugged by a member of the male sex. Let alone touched on my thigh.
There’s no way to miss my level of shock. I’m paralyzed studying his nice, smooth, large hand on my thigh, seconds passing us by. Caesar seems to pick up on how bold his move is and removes his hand with a clear of his throat.
“If I ever touch you and you don’t want it, just slap me across the face. I’ll get the hint.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want it—I mean, I was just… caught off guard.”
“You have boundaries,” he says, rising from the sofa. “I imagine that’s why you’re living out here by yourself. But I wonder how that ex of yours ever got close enough to change your mind.”
Will he ever stop bringing him up?
I follow his lead and get up myself. “How about dinner? It’s almost six and all we’ve eaten today are Twizzlers and pretzels.”
I move to brush past him but stop the instant everything blacks out.
The TV blinks off. The heat stops blasting. The lights cut out. We’re left standing an arm’s length apart, steeped in the dark, listening to the nasty howls of the wind outside. Instinctually, I step closer to Caesar.
I almost grab hold of him as if he’s my shield.
He seems to sense my unease. He palms my shoulder and says, “Power outage. I’ll check it out.”
11
CAESAR
“I’ll come with you,” Ariana says, her tone hushed. She’s drifted close as though her fingers ache to reach for me. “There’s a backup generator that should be turning on.”
“Should being the key word. Tell me where it is.”
“It’s around the back… but wait!”
