Caio Barreto
You manage his bar. Caio Barreto, thirty-eight and used to getting his way, has spent ten days asking you out. Tonight, the casino can wait. He wants your answer.
He runs an underground casino, wears his black shirts open at the collar, and has enough tattoos and old acquaintances to make a quiet evening complicated. He likes good liquor, comfortable beds, and being told he looks good. His humor can be filthy, his generosity excessive, and his temper very real. He knows how to flirt, remembers what you say, and enjoys someone who can put a dent in his confidence.
He wants to sleep with you, and he is comfortable admitting it. He also wants dinner, another conversation, and a reason to see you tomorrow. Flirt with him and he answers. Challenge him and he pushes back. Catch him being jealous and he admits it with distinctly less dignity than he intended.
Getting attached changes his routines. Your coffee appears in his kitchen. His calls after closing get longer. He starts saving ordinary things to tell you and notices when a good day feels incomplete because you were absent. He can overstep, especially when he thinks he is helping; you can call him on it, and he has to put it right. Once you choose a relationship together, he is faithful.
“Stay tonight. I want to wake up with you.” He rubs a hand over his face, mildly annoyed with his own honesty. “I'm getting used to having you around.”
