Page 31 of Tasty Tentacles

“You know, I think it’s already Christmas Day. Maybe you’d like to unwrap me yourself?”

13

ORION

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Bertie demands. The second he walked through the door, he set his bags down, lifted his hand, and dangled a sprig of mistletoe over his head. “I tried it out on Hideo, and it seems to be working fine.”

I want this so much, but…there are so many buts. They’re a couple, and I wouldn’t want to cause any problems with their relationship. He’s my best friend, and I honestly don’t know if I can lose that. And the obvious one…who would want to kiss me with all of this?

“You better kiss him quick,” Hideo says. “It’s tradition, after all, and you will not believe the trouble he went through to find that mistletoe on Christmas morning.”

Bertie does a duck-lips pucker, comically inviting, and wiggles the mistletoe expectantly.

I still have my doubts, but Bertie went to a lot of trouble for this moment. Maybe he really does want a kiss from me. I certainly want one. This is it, I’m going to do it, and hopefully our friendship will survive.

I tuck them all away, trying to make myself as minimally repulsive as possible. Then I bend down to his waiting lips and give him the sweetest peck I can muster. My tentacles fight me every step of the way, demanding to be in on the action, but I battle them into submission.

“Thank you, handsome,” he says with an odd twinkle in his eye. “That was a great start, but you’re not finished.” He hands the mistletoe to Hideo.

Oh, how I want this. I give him a quick kiss too, before my tentacles completely take control and drive them both away.

“Merry Christmas, Orion,” Hideo says. “Where’s Jake?”

“He’s out back, but I’m sure he’ll come running when he hears you.”

“He’d better,” Bertie says. “I brought the rest of his cookies.”

“Where do you want it?” Hideo says, laying his hand on my shoulder and nodding to the bags.

“Let’s set up in the kitchen, like you guys did last night. Then we can graze while we’re decorating.”

“I like your house,” Bertie says. “It’s cozy.”

“I try,” I say. I like to think I keep it tidy but not fussy, with comfortable furniture meant to be lived in and lots of art on the walls. “Since I work at home, I spend a lot of time here.”

“There he is!” Hideo shouts when Jake pushes through the doggie door. Jake is excited and jumpy, but Hideo doesn’t seem to mind. They roughhouse and he says, “Who’s the cutest pup in the whole house? You are!”

“I’m famished,” Bertie says, stroking his hand across my back. “I’ll unpack the goodies. You said something about mimosas?”

“Coming right up.”

We move to the living room after we’ve filled up our plates and glasses. The tree looks forlorn, empty of everything but lights, but we’ll soon change that. I pulled out everything I have: ornaments, garland (tinsel and beaded), and a big star for the top. All we need now are hands and creativity.

And speaking of hands, something is up. They’re touching me a lot this afternoon, far more than they did last night at the party, and I like it. When I bend over and open the plastic crates, they’re both right there, flanking me, watching me unpack my treasures, with hands on my back. When I give Bertie a box of bells, a present from my mom, he squeezes my arm, saying, “These are pretty!” As I hand Hideo some glass snowflakes, he strokes my shoulder when he takes the box.

They’re delightfully free with it, making me wonder if they’re open to something more. I like it a lot, all this touching, so I take it as my green light to do what my hands are begging to do. I can power back if it gets to be too much for them, but if it’s not, all the better.

“You might want to hang the delicate ones higher,” I suggest, cozying up close behind Bertie and lifting his hand. “Jake has a way of wagging everything off at the bottom.”

“These are my favorites,” I say as I pull out a box of ornaments shaped like dogs and cats, passing one to Hideo and lingering longer than necessary as our fingers touch.

Through it all, I wonder where it’s going. They’re flirting—that much is obvious—and it feels great. But is it just flirting? Bertie has flirted with me for years…but he never touched me like this. I don’t think anyone has ever touched me like this, with such easy and obvious affection.

Two plates of food and three mimosas later, the tree is finished, and it finally feels like the holidays. I flip off the overhead lights and pull the curtains closed, and we stand together, admiring our handiwork. Hideo on one side of me, and Bertie on the other. The moment seems perfect. Do I dare make a more obvious pass at them? Is that even what they want?

“You said something about Next Generation?” Bertie asks, pointing us to the obvious activity for the rest of the afternoon, and I feel like I’ve lost my opportunity.

“Sure thing. I have them all on DVD. Do you have a favorite episode?”