Page 16 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius

He nods. “Yes.”

I watch him groom Buddy, but it’s hard to focus on his hands when I can’t stop noticing how his muscles ripple under his black t-shirt, stretched tight across his wide shoulders.

His brow furrows in concentration as he lifts one of Buddy’s front feet, using the hoof pick as though he’s done it his whole life.

“Perfect,” I say, fighting the urge to skim my hands over his brawny biceps. Instead, I move to Buddy’s other side and keep grooming.

As we work, I can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment that none of the other gladiators volunteered to help with the at-risk youth program. I understand their hesitation—they’re still adjusting to this new world themselves. And it’s not as though we’ve had any takers from the community yet. Still, I’d hoped…

“Diana?” Cassius breaks into my thoughts. “Is everything alright?”

I force a smile. “Sure. Just thinking about the program you suggested. Which was brilliant, by the way. I was hoping some of the men would volunteer.”

A smile flashes across his face, gone in a second. This man thrives on praise; that’s obvious.

“Give it time,” he says quietly. “They’ll come around.”

His confidence warms me. Our eyes meet and lock, and suddenly the air is thick with unspoken possibility. When he shifts his weight and resumes brushing, I can’t help noticing the easy grace in his movements—so different from the uncertain man who showed up for his first lesson.

A stray lock of blond hair falls across his forehead, and my fingers itch to brush it back. My gaze catches on his throat as he swallows, and I find myself staring at the strong, stubbled line of his jaw, wondering what it would feel like under my fingertips.

He steps half a pace closer, then catches himself, keeping that careful distance we’ve established. But his eyes, his eyes betray him. The heat in his gaze makes my skin tingle, and I have to fight my urge to close the space between us.

His scent fills my nose—hay and sunshine. My breath catches when his tongue darts out to wet his lips. The tiny gesture feels like torture to watch.

Get it together,I scold myself. He’s trying to adjust to living two thousand years in the future. He doesn’t need me burdening him with some unwanted crush.

When Buddy is groomed and saddled, it’s time for the main event. I lead the horse to the mounting block, positioning him carefully.

“Alright, remember what we practiced. Left foot in the stirrup, grab the pommel and cantle, swing your right leg over.”

He nods, taking a deep breath. I stand close, ready to help if his balance acts up. When he puts his foot in the stirrup, I can’t tear my eyes from how those jeans hug his thighs.Focus, Diana!

He swings into the saddle with surprising grace for a beginner. After wobbling slightly, he grips the pommel and finds his balance fast.

“Great job!” I exclaim, genuinely impressed. “How does it feel?”

“High,” he says with a nervous laugh. “But… good. Powerful.”

I smile up at him, resting my hand on his calf to steady him. The warmth of his leg seeps through his jeans, and I let my touch linger longer than I should.

It’s been forever since my first time on horseback, but I remember how it felt—being up high, a little scared, but thrilled at controlling such a massive animal.

“Okay,” I say, clearing my throat. “Let’s start with finding your seat.”

For the next hour, we work on balance and posture while Buddy stands still. I guide Cassius through stretches and movements designed to help him relax into the saddle. His progress amazes me—whether it’s muscle memory from his past life or natural talent, he takes to riding like he was born in the saddle.

It’s sweet torture every time I reach up to adjust his position. Each point of contact between us sparks like electricity.When I demonstrate proper arm position, his eyes follow my movements with an intensity that makes my cheeks flush.

“Now,” I say, moving to Buddy’s head, “we’ll try walking around the edge of the corral. Remember, don’t just use your reins—use your seat and legs, too.”

I click my tongue, and Buddy starts forward at a gentle walk. Cassius tenses at first but quickly relaxes into the movement.

“That’s it,” I encourage, walking alongside. “Feel how he moves? Try to match your body to his rhythm.”

As Cassius finds his groove, I watch the tension melt from his shoulders. A smile spreads across his face—not the polite, restrained smile I’m used to seeing, but a wide, genuine grin that takes my breath away.

We make a few laps around the corral, Cassius growing more confident every minute. I watch him more than the horse, admiring how he moves in sync with Buddy, the concentration in his expression, the strong line of his jaw.

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