Caesar's POV
I heard the door slam. Then silence—thick, loaded, the kind of silence a woman leaves behind when she's just realized exactly how badly she wants something she's not ready to admit.
The bathroom door was frosted glass.
Through it, I watched her silhouette linger for one breathless moment—frozen, radiating mortification—before it wheeled around and fled. The shape of her, softened by the milky glass, disappeared down the hallway at something close to a sprint.
A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. Small. Involuntary. Satisfied.
Cute.
I turned toward the sink. Then my gaze caught on something, and I stopped.
The toothbrush.
My toothbrush.
Standing upright in its holder, right next to hers. One on the left, one on the right. Side by side.
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