She smirked and patted my shoulder. "I have a feeling you'll get this caffeine deprivation idea out of you system soon."
"Shelley…"
She grinned as if she knew exactly what I was thinking and found me ridiculous. "Yes?"
I sighed, not up for explaining myself. "Nothing. I'm not thinking straight this morning."
She laughed. "Actually you are and that's the problem. You could fix that if you go get your caffeine fix."
She smirked and walked off as I stood there, staring. She looked over her shoulder. "Come get me for lunch if you want to talk."
* * * * *
A few hours later, Shelley showed up at my desk with a large coffee. "Dane says 'hi'. And he missed you this morning."
I felt cold and hot all at once. "I told you I was trying to quit." I gestured toward the coffee.
She snorted. "You haven't gotten a thing done all morning."
"How do you know? Unless all you've been doing is watching me?"
She tapped her head. "Mind powers."
I rolled my eyes. "Right."
"Just drink the fucking coffee."
I nodded and took a sip. I'd been dying for some and there was no way in hell I was turning it down. She'd already paid for it after all.
Shelley grinned, disgustingly smug. "Dane sure is hot. If he'd given me his number, I'd have used it as soon as I got home."
"Shelley, I'm not discussing Dane."
"You can't just ignore what you're feeling."
Actually, I could. I had to, because another serious change in my life might just kill me. "Shelley, please."
"Fine, I won't say anything else, but I'll be thinking it."
Dammit, she would, and I'd know it.
True to her word, she did not say a thing for the rest of the week. Every morning, I rushed through the lobby praying Dane wouldn't notice me, despite the numerous times I swore to myself that I would go into the shop, place my order, be polite, and pretend the intense attraction I felt for Dane didn't exist. And every morning Shelley showed up at my desk an hour or so after I'd arrived and handed me a cup of coffee with a knowing look in her eyes.
* * * * *
On Friday, Shelley insisted I wasn't allowed to eat the boring lunch I'd brought from home. "I'm flying out to my parents' tomorrow morning, and I won't see you for over a week. You need to get out of here, and I need a calzone from D'Ambrosio's."
At least I think that's what she said; the blinking Christmas lights on her sweater distracted me. Some holiday-crazed individual had suggested we make the last Friday before Christmas Tacky Christmas Sweater Day despite the fact that no one needed to wear a sweater in our climate. Shelley had gone full-out, shaking her head at my lack of participation.
I wanted to refuse, not because I didn't enjoy spending time with her, but because she'd restrained herself on the subject of Dane all week, and I didn't think she would be able to keep silent if she got me alone.
Last year, when she found out I intended to spend Christmas alone, she'd come up with about sixty-five schemes to "Save Tom's Christmas". This year, she'd yet to present me with a single one, but I was certain she had them in her head and they all involved Dane.
Shelley kept the conversation light as we walked the three blocks to D'Ambrosio's, our favorite Italian place. Bing Crosby was singing away when we stepped inside and a miniature tree covered in tiny ornaments sat by the register, but overall they'd kept their Christmas display tame. After we'd placed our orders at the counter, we took our numbers and sodas to a table.
As soon as were seated, Shelley said, "You've got to call him."
"Wow. The direct approach."
She grinned. "You told me you dislike complex schemes."
"Only when they involve me and holidays."
"Or dating or vacationing or most things other people consider fun."
I rolled my eyes. "I have fun."
"When?"
Um… "I went to the office party."
"And took care of me."
"And I…" Work a lot, then go home by myself. I enjoyed watching TV or reading in the evenings, but I knew that wasn't what Shelley meant.
"Would it kill you try to do something fun, to spend some time with someone other than me?"
"You seem to be forgetting a major point here."
"If you say 'I'm not gay', I'm going to kick you. So he's a guy. You're attracted to him. It's not like you have to have ass sex on the first date. Just go out to dinner or something."
I looked up to see a young man standing by our table with our order. He grinned at me and I choked on a piece of ice so hard Shelley looked liked she was about to jump up and perform the Heimlich maneuver. Eventually, I got myself under control.
"Could you at least turn your sweater off if we're going to have this conversation?" I didn't need to have a seizure from all the blinking as a follow-up to my coughing fit.
She fiddled with the battery pack, and the little lights went out.
I started to speak, but Shelley held up her hand. "I know it's a big deal, okay? But you've already broken away from your family, and no one who counts at work would raise any serious objections. If you want Dane, if you've realized you like men or that you like men
and
women, there's nothing holding you back from going out with Dane besides you."
"I… Yeah, you're right, but I'm not sure I can handle it. I've made myself into a completely different person, given up almost everything I was taught to believe, and now, I'm supposed to do that again."
"You're supposed to open yourself up to the possibility of being with someone."
I took a bite of my double pepperoni calzone, hoping it would help the light-headed feeling the conversation was bringing on. "And ignore that the someone is a man?"
Shelley shook her head. "Ignore might not be the right word, but you shouldn't let it bother you. You need to do something just for yourself."
I stared at her. Where had she been? "Don't you get it? I've done all this for me: changed schools, kept my grades up, learned how to think for myself, left my family, found a good job when my parents told me I wouldn't. All of that has been for me."
"All of that is to show your family that you can succeed without them, but other than figuring out what you actually believe, how much of that has made you happy?"
"I enjoy my job." I was lucky to be doing marketing design for a profitable company. Too many others who'd graduated with me had taken jobs outside their field.
Shelley nodded. "Okay, but do you love working almost nonstop?"
"I have to prove—"
"Exactly. You want to prove something to your family and yourself, but you have to slow down before you burn out."
"I can't handle any more change."
"What if you can't handle
not
making a change? Don't spend Christmas working. Please."
"What do you want me to do? Watch
It's A Wonderful Life
over and over?"
Shelley grinned. "I'd advocate mixing it up with
A Christmas Story
and the occasional viewing of
Rudolph
."
"That Santa in
Rudolph
was mean. I don't like him."
She laughed. "Yeah, he was. I'm surprised you've actually seen it, though. I thought you hated Christmas specials."
"After not being allowed to watch them as a kid, I had to figure out what I was missing, cultural literacy and all that." Without meaning to, I started to hum the tune to "Holly Jolly Christmas". It was one of those songs that once I got it stuck in my head I couldn't get it out. But I wasn't sure I'd ever been truly "jolly" in my life. Happy, yes, on occasion. But "jolly" seemed to imply a level of fun-loving, relaxed happiness I was unlikely to achieve.
Shelley started singing, loudly, to accompany me.
I glared at her but she finished the verse she was on.
"I've never had one," I said.
She gave me a questioning look.
"A holly jolly Christmas. I doubt I ever will."
She narrowed her eyes. "You know what I think?"
"I doubt I want to."
"I think you're a closet Christmas fan. You love the music, the movies, the decorations; you just don't want to admit it."
I was building my defense when she changed subjects.
"Speaking of closets—"
I interrupted her before things got even more embarrassing. "I like Dane, okay? I enjoy looking at men sometimes, but I've never wanted to go out with one before."
"What else do you want to do with him?"
"Shelley." I squeezed my eyes closed, willing the humiliation to end.
"I'm just trying to gauge your interest."
My cheeks heated until I was certain they were bright red.
"Ah, there's full-fledged interest, then."
"Can we please talk about something else?"
Shelley relented, probably deciding she'd tortured me enough. "Pie. Let's talk pie. My grandma makes absolutely the best pumpkin pie in the world, and I'm going to bring you some back."
"Thanks."
"Well, I'm going to try to anyway. I was going to bring you back some cake last time I went home, but I ate it on the plane. Hopefully, I won't get delayed this time."
I shook my head. I loved Shelley, but she exhausted me sometimes.
Chapter Two: A Touch of Christmas Spirit
I'd promised Shelley I wouldn't spend Christmas day working. I'd not promised her I would call Dane. He surely had holiday plans anyway. Nevertheless, I spent all weekend thinking about him.
Once I even pulled out my phone and started to call him. I'd memorized his number before I threw it away, and my damn brain wouldn't forget it. My hand shook as I stared at my phone's screen, and my stomach clenched like I might throw up. I'd tossed the phone on the bed and gone for a run without it.
On Monday I waited in the long line at the coffee shop down the street from my building, pretending I wasn't annoyed by people wrapped up in scarves and hats, playing winter when it was fifty-eight degrees. I even plastered on a fake smile and said 'Happy Holidays' to the barista when she handed me my holiday-themed cup filled with a gingerbread latte with whipped cream rather than my usual black coffee. And Shelley said I didn't know how to have fun. What's not fun about overpriced Christmased-up coffee? The fact that I didn't care for this shop's regular brew had nothing to do with my fanciful choice. I was a fun person.
I scurried through the lobby of my building not daring to even glance toward The Coffee Bean. If I saw Dane, I'd either pass out or dump my latte in the trash, run into the shop, and beg Dane for a large black coffee lovingly poured by his own hand. Possibly, I'd ask for a hell of a lot more.
Tuesday morning, I repeated the process except with a grande Americano—the gingerbread syrup had been shudder inducing, but I'd suffered through it to get the caffeine into me.
I pulled out my phone to send a text as I entered my building, using it as an excuse not to look across the lobby. And then it happened: I collided with a man who was walking toward me. My coffee flew out of my hand, my phone crashed to the floor, and I was too embarrassed to look at the person. Mumbling an apology, I squatted to grab the coffee cup before the rest of the brew poured onto the floor.
"Here you go." The man I'd run into handed me my phone. His voice… It was familiar. I looked up and saw Dane.
"Um…hi. I…um…I'm really sorry."
"That's okay. I'd been hoping I'd run into you, although not quite so dramatically."
My gaze dropped to his lips. They looked so soft. How would they feel? How would they taste?
I rose to my feet and took a step backward. The lobby tilted and I worried I was going to fall.
Dane grabbed my arm. "Are you okay?"
His hold on me was comforting, but I needed him to let go, because the way I felt about him terrified me.
"I think you got the wrong impression. I'm not…"
Dane waited, watching me, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
I couldn't say the words. I wasn't going to lie and say I wasn't gay or bi or whatever I was, not when I was half-hard just from being close to him.
After a few more seconds, Dane released my arm. "I've got to get back to work. If you figure out how to finish that sentence, call me. You still have my number, don't you?"
"225-555-0164," I said without even thinking. If I hadn't already been blushing, I would have then.
He smiled. "I hope I'll hear from you soon."
He walked off and I stood there in a puddle of coffee, wondering what the hell I was going to do.
* * * * *
When I got home on December twenty-third, I had to face the fact that I had two days off work and no plans. Shelley wouldn't know if I worked on Christmas, but I was terrible liar, and she would expect me to tell her what I'd done instead.
I'd stayed at work late, deliberately trying to keep my mind off Dane. I'd picked up dinner on the way home. Once I'd eaten, cleaned up my apartment a bit, and now freshly showered, I was ready for bed. Despite being exhausted, I stared at the ceiling for a long time, thinking about Dane, about what Shelley had said to me, and hating my reluctance. Panic fluttered in my chest every time I imagined calling him. There was no way I was going to make myself do it.
At some point, I drifted off to sleep, but I woke several times, hard from dreams of Dane but stubbornly refusing to do anything about it.
Sometime around six, I gave up trying to sleep. I was sweaty, despite the unusually cool morning air coming through my window. Images from my dreams flitted through my mind, and I gave into what my body needed. I wrapped my hand around my cock and slid it slowly up and down as I imagined Dane leaning over me. His soft lips taunted me, and I raised up, kissing him and groaning.
I pumped my cock faster as I imagined Dane's hands on me, touching my throat, my chest, brushing over my nipples, sliding down my abdomen. In my mind, his hand was the one gripping my cock. I was so close: heat built, my balls tightened, precum slicked my way, making it easier to slide up and down my shaft even faster, twisting my hand over the head on every stroke.
I reached for my balls, tugging on them, and I cried out as my orgasm slammed through me. In my mind, Dane smiled at me as I writhed on the bed, shooting over and over, spunk landing all the way up my chest.