Page 7 of A Merry Christmas for Art… and His Tentacles

Dean Miller pulls off his first shoe. “You can also stay close to the edge and keep your hand on the wall.”

“Is that what you would prefer?” I ask before my brain catches up and I realize I just basically asked him if he wants to hold my hand.

He sinks his right foot into one of the ice skates, then looks directly at me. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“If you’d like to hold my hand.”

I sit there, frozen and completely silent. This is the part where I say something flirty, like, “What if I do?” Or I deny wanting to hold his hand because we’re coworkers, and I’m bound to mess this up. But I just sit there, saying nothing.

He turns his attention back to his shoes. I wrench mine off in a hurry while silently berating myself for not responding to his question. Putting the skates on is horrible. They’re too small, and they lace all the way up my ankles. I lean against a pillar and stand up. Dean Miller is already walking around, putting our shoes into some nearby cubbies. He walks to the entrance of the rink and turns back, waiting for me.

I walk toward him. Walking on the skates isn’t horrible. They hurt, and it’s awkward to find my balance a few inches higher off the ground, but I’m not in danger of toppling over or anything. Then I step onto the ice.

Oh, dear. The ice is slippery. Who thought it was a good idea to walk onto slippery ice with nothing to balance on but a pair of thin blades? Dean Miller steps out ahead of me, turning his back so he’s literally skating backwards.

“Just pretend you’re walking,” he says. “And then push into your stride, like this.” He spins around and takes one step forward, pushing his foot back with a graceful stroke.

Why does he have to be good at everything?

Other skaters glide past me, narrowly missing me. Unfortunately, my skates have decided that I’m moving forward whether I want to or not. I raise my arms like wings in a desperate effort to keep my balance as I wobble toward Dean Miller. My tentacles also span out, which probably makes me look utterly ridiculous. He does another fancy spin until he’s skating backwards again. Silently, he holds out his hands to me in invitation. He’s almost motionless, waiting for me to skate to him. I really want to grab his hands. Not because I like him, but because I am not stable. I could crash at any moment. I try to stay calm.

Unfortunately, my tentacles don’t get the memo. The second I get close enough to Dean Miller, four of them grab his body and wrap themselves around his torso like a boa constrictor. Hegasps for air as our bodies get closer. I thrash around, trying to pull away, but I’m wearing ice skates, and I have no control over the situation any longer. Suddenly, my mouth is mere inches from Dean Miller’s, with only our bulky coats keeping our bodies apart.

His eyes glaze over, and he mutters something that sounds like, “Fuck, that’s hot.”

“What?” I whisper. “I mean, sorry.”

He leans in closer, until his cheek is pressed against mine. “Don’t you dare apologize. I like it when your tentacles touch me.”

He likes it when my tentacles touch him? Did I hear that right? It’s hard to think when his cheek is pressed against mine, and I can feel the warmth of his body under my tentacles.

“Most people think they’re weird,” I say.

“What’s wrong with weird?” Dean Miller asks. “All my favorite people are weird. Normal is overrated.”

He wraps his arms around me. My heart races from the pressure of his touch. I’m completely overwhelmed by him. Then we’re moving. Not very fast, but we’re definitely gliding forward. I cling to him tighter, my breath catching.

“Shhhh. I’ve got you,” he whispers. “You don’t need to do anything. Just hold on tight.”

I close my eyes. Icy air whips at my face as Dean Miller skates backward, moving us from side to side. I’ve never been so terrified. He’s touching me, and we’re ice skating, and I’m wrapped around him like an enormous Kraken dragging a ship into the sea, but I don’t want it to stop.

“Are people staring at us?” I ask.

“Who cares?”

The heat of his breath on my ear makes me shiver.

“Am I bothering you?” I ask, because apparently my mouth has grown a mind of its own too.

“God, no,” he says.

I’ve never been this close to a man I liked. I haven’t ever let things go this far with my crushes, because I know I’m terrible with people, and I hate making a fool of myself.

But I don’t feel like a fool right now. Dean Miller said he liked being touched by my tentacles. And the way he’s holding me while we sway back and forth leaves no question about what he wants.

I don’t need to do anything. Just hold on tight.

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