Dirty Little Secrets (Dirty Little #1)(9)
Yep, knees are definitely weak. I need to get some distance from him, because I want to find out all about those skills. Right now.
“Is it okay if I look around?” I ask. I only got a good look at the foyer before Caleb brought me into the kitchen so I could pick out a bottle of wine, and I’m curious about what the rest of the place looks like. I don’t want to be rude and go off and explore without asking.
“Absolutely. Let me know what you think.”
I walk out of the kitchen, and…wow. This is a nice apartment. It has that new construction smell, too, like sawdust and paint.
It’s a loft with exposed ductwork on the raised ceiling, and the wall on the far lefthand side is nothing but brick. The apartment somehow manages to be both industrial looking, and warm. Inviting. There is neutral-toned furniture in the living room, surrounding a big-screen television. On the mantel, there are pictures in frames of all shapes and sizes. Many of them feature Caleb with two of the same guys. He must be incredibly close to these people, considering how many pictures they’re in together, and how many years the pictures seem to span. There are photos of what looks like Caleb as a child, with a man and a woman that I assume are his parents, although they aren’t in any recent pictures.
I understand what that means, and it makes my heart ache. Either he’s estranged from his mother and father, or they’re dead.
I want to ask Caleb the stories behind these pictures, find out when and where they were taken. I’ve only just met him though, and I can’t expect him to be open and honest about his past and his present, when there’s no way I can be open and honest about mine. If he wants me to know who these people are to him, he’ll tell me.
When I make my way over to the dining room, I run my finger along the tops of the high-backed chairs. They’re upholstered and comfortable-looking, in sharp contrast to the large, imposing table. There is an interesting light fixture hanging from the ceiling—which is lower than the one throughout the rest of the loft—it looks like a chandelier, but is made out of what looks like delicately cut steel pieces. There aren’t any personal touches in here, not like in the living room, just a few modern accents hanging on the walls.
“So?” Caleb asks, startling me out of my thoughts.
“It’s nice,” I tell him. “To be honest, it’s not what I was expecting when you invited me over here.”
“No? What were you expecting?”
I look around, and shrug. “I’m not really sure how to say this, but I was expecting something more…I don’t know, plain? Smaller? This,” I say, waving my hand toward the floor-to-ceiling view overlooking Central Park. “This is real estate porn.”
“Porn, huh?” Caleb’s got this lascivious grin on his handsome face that makes my cheeks flush.
“Yeah,” I reply, trying to make it sound like I didn’t just bring up porn, even if it is of the real estate variety. “The good kind. The classy kind.”
Caleb lets out a bark of a laugh, as he walks into the kitchen and picks up his wine glass from the island. I’ve still got mine in my hand. “Feel like taking a look at the view?”
The thought of walking out on the balcony makes me uneasy. I’ve never been such a fan of heights, and we’re up high. Really, obscenely high.
“Don’t worry,” Caleb says, sliding the stems of our glasses between his fingers, before reaching out for my hand. “I won’t let you fall.”
Falling seems like it would be so easy around him, but I feel safe here with him.
Our fingers twine together, and he leads me out onto the patio.
* * * * *
After being in New York for a few days, cooped up in a hotel room, I’ve nearly forgotten what fresh air feels like. Caleb and I are so far away from street level that the air seems different up here. Cleaner, cooler. I take long, deep breaths, filling my lungs with it.
We’re both leaning against the railing, taking in the quiet calmness of the expansive park below. Our elbows are touching, and heat from just that small point spreads all throughout my body. I take a subtle step to my right, trying to get closer to Caleb, hoping I’m not too obvious about it. My fear of heights isn’t really bothering me right now, probably because the patio is huge, and there are thick, cement railings all around us. And, cheesy as it sounds, I feel safe standing out here with Caleb next to me.
“Is it okay if I ask what you do for a living?”
This is a question I can answer without any hesitation. “I’m a software designer.”
“Wow,” he replies, clearly impressed. “How did you get into that?”
I shrug. “It’s always been something that I’ve been interested in. I think it’s awesome that we have the ability to write code that can make a computer do pretty much anything you need it to do. Within reason, of course. And sometimes outside of it. When I was a kid, my dad and I lived next door to this older gentleman—Mister DiGrazia—and he used to let me play with all of his spare Commodore machines. It was love at first sight.”
Caleb laughs, and in the ambient light shining outside from his apartment, I can see him smiling at me.
“I can turn my laptop on, and check my email. That’s…yeah, that’s pretty much the extent of it.”