Chapter One #3
“Oh, gosh. Caleb, I am so sorry,” I say, instinctively reaching across the table to cover his hand with mine, suddenly uncaring how many professional boundaries it crosses by touching a client.
Also, I should note how very unlike me it is to reach out and initiate physical touch. If it's not Brody or Marcus? I pretty much start to panic at even the slightest graze of skin from anyone else. This, though? Totally odd, because no tendrils of fear wrap their way around my throat. None at all.
After an awkward moment of not knowing where to take this conversation from here falls between us, he slips his hand out so he can speak again.
“I’m the one who should be sorry. You were probably hoping to learn something more upbeat about me, and I go ahead and lay that on you. That was four years ago now.”
“I bet it still feels fresh in your mind though. Trauma like that doesn’t really ever go away.”
Something I’m all too aware of.
“Absolutely.” His eyes meet mine for the briefest moment before darting away, as if he’s looking for something—anything, really—to change the subject.
Yet another thing I’m familiar with. “Anyway…
I accept no arguments that the absolute best era music is the eighties, I have way too many vintage comic books than what's probably deemed appropriate for a man my age, and my favorite color is purple,” he adds, finally.
That gets a grin out of me, because I know someone else whose favorite color is purple and who also happens to be gay. “Is that so?” I ask, quickly changing directions and plotting a whole new course for this line of questioning.
Caleb may have no interest in women, but that doesn’t mean I can’t set him up with my sort-of husband.
Marcus has been refusing to outsource his sexual gratification since he and the last guy I set him up with—Micah, the owner of the gym I go to—broke their arrangement off.
Since then, I’ve been doubling down on my efforts to keep him satisfied.
Not that I’m worried he’ll take off and leave just due to a lack of sex, but I routinely initiate intimacy because this girl’s got needs too, and he’s the only one I trust when it comes to getting off on anything other than my toys.
It took years into our relationship for it to go that route, however, us having sex and all.
He assures me that he is satisfied with me—that he’s gay, but is still sexually attracted to me specifically—and that helps boost my confidence exponentially.
But I can’t help that niggling little voice inside my head that keeps telling me that, because I’m a woman, I’m not satisfying enough.
He’d tell me that is an unfounded fear, but…
what if I could set him up with someone else who would keep him more satisfied with his attraction to men, you know?
Caleb nods, the corners of his lips turning upward slightly.
I don’t fail to notice the pink stain on his cheeks as well.
The moment is broken mere seconds later when he looks down at his watch.
“I really hate to do this, but I really do have to cut this off short. Sorry, I totally forgot I have a job interview in a little bit, and I probably should go get ready for it—though, I hate to admit it, this one will probably be a dud as well. I appreciate the coffee and breakfast,” he explains, then adds, “As usual, I’m having a really great time with you, Lauren.
Am I allowed to request specifically you to be my sole interpreter from now on? ”
I giggle. “Unfortunately, no. However, since I live in the area, I’m probably going to be the one to attend most of your PT appointments with you. We’ll be seeing a lot more of each other in the coming weeks.”
“Oh, perfect. So you’ll get to watch me flop around on an exercise ball.” His expression is unamused.
“I suppose I will,” I quip, grinning. Then, because my brain to mouth filter is apparently broken, I add, “Look forward to seeing you sweat it up!”
His brows shoot up to his hairline. He smirks. “Just for that, I’ll do my best to dress like Richard Simmons.” Then, he winks.
Oh gosh… I actually flirted with him today, and he’s—he’s flirting back? I think he’s flirting back! Maybe he’s bi? Holy shit… what if he is?
Oh man, my gut clenches, and I don’t think I can blame it on the sugar rush of the croissant either. Sure, I’ve admired men from afar since that night, but I’ve never worked up the courage to actively flirt with any of them. But with Caleb? I don’t know, everything with him has just been so easy.
Maybe I’m wrong. I could be wrong. He could very well just be polite, and my misguided heart could just be misjudging things.
Just because I’m decent enough at interpreting sign language to make a living, doesn’t equate to being able to accurately interpret all other facets of life…
such as feelings and intentions. He’s just being friendly, and I’m getting all up in my head.
“I’ll hold you to it, Mr. Dupris,” I snark back, trying to keep my response light and playful. Then I add, “Good luck with your interview!” before grabbing my cup and heading to my next gig.