That was flirting. I may have been out of the game for years, but I wasn’t an idiot. My dick got hard. I tapped my credit card on the scanner with barely a glance. “It has its advantages.”
She nodded. “I bet you’ve never met a pickle jar you couldn’t open.”
Not exactly what I’d been thinking. Hell, maybe I’d read her wrong. I took the hat from the cashier and absently thanked her. “Maybe that’s my superpower.”
Dakota laughed. “I think you can do better than that.”
“Maybe.” Then I winced at the song that started blaring over the speakers. “Let’s go. I hate this song.” The forced cheerfulness of that fake kid demanding a hippopotamus. It was just too much.
“You can’t hate this song. That’s impossible. No one hates this song.”
“A lot of people hate this song.” I opened the door for her. “I bet it’s sixty-forty in favor of hatred.”
“That makes you a Scrooge. Hates parties and hippopotamuses.”
“Is that even a word? Hippopotamuses? Isn’t the plural just hippopotamus?”
“I have no idea.”
“Me either. I’m going to look that up later.”
“You’re avoiding the real issue,” she said, as we crossed the street to the ice rink. “Your grumpiness.”
I wasn’t offended. I was just amused. “Because I don’t like parties and grating Christmas songs that have nothing to actually do with Christmas? So what? You can’t like everything.”
“I do,” she said. “I like everything.”
It was a ridiculous statement. No one could possibly like everything. But she didn’t seem to care.
“Brandon, look! There’s almost no one in line. Our timing is perfect. Let’s go.” She grabbed my hand and tugged me forward.
I went. Very, very willingly.
Big hand. Yep. Brandon had a very, very big hand. I had impulsively grabbed it in my rush to get to the nearly empty line (which never happened anywhere in New York ever) and now my own hand was enveloped by a large, callused very masculine and surprisingly warm hand.
We were holding hands. And I kind of wanted it to never end. His touch was comforting, and was giving me all the feels. Not to mention now I was again fixating on his overall largeness and what that might mean for sexy times.
But I had to drop his hand to open my purse to pay for my ticket. Brandon beat me to the punch and handed the cashier his credit card. I thought about protesting then decided why would I turn down a nice gesture? It wasn’t like I’d asked him to pay for it.
“Thank you,” I said, instead of protesting.
“You’re welcome.”
While he got the tickets and skates, I texted my friend Felicia. She lived the closest to Rockefeller Center and she had a huge townhouse. I could crash there tonight. She had a baby, but that actually worked to my advantage. Felicia fretted about everyone and everything now. She had gone full-blown Mom Warrior.
She answered immediately.
Of course you can stay with us tonight. Michael and I are actually out to dinner. Amelia’s with my in-laws. We’ll swing by and pick you up. And if I see Dante I will kick him in the bollocks.
Perfect. I knew she would have my back.
“Here you go,” Brandon said, handing me a pair of skates. “Last chance to bail.”
“That’s not happening.” I sat down on a bench and undid the straps on my heels. On went the green reindeer socks and the skates.
I’ll be honest, standing up was a little scary. It’s harder when you’re tall. Your center of gravity is higher. I’d spent my middle school years jealous of petite gymnasts and figure skaters. Now I appreciated my height. There was no shelf out of reach and I looked great in any dress. But the skates were just a touch unnerving.
Brandon didn’t look uneasy at all. A little ridiculous, maybe, in a hot-guy-wearing-a-suit-with-skates kind of way. But mostly confident and sexy. He took my shoes and his and put them in a locker.
Then he held his hand out for me. “Ready?”
“Let’s do this.” The second I hit the ice, I bobbled, and gave an involuntary shriek, but Brandon was still holding my hand so it was only a minor slide.
The dress really wasn’t an issue, thanks to the slit. A few steps and I had a handle on it. I even let go of Brandon’s hand, which seemed to serve as an opportunity for him to show off. He literally skated circles around me.
“Okay, okay, Minnesota Man. Point taken.” While I didn’t feel in danger of falling, I was conscious of the other skaters and the vagaries of ice. I wasn’t so nervous though that I wasn’t having fun. It was actually very freeing to be doing something that was such a Christmas cliche. I love a cliche. I’m one of those people who loves a good classic holiday moment.
“I haven’t done this in years,” he said, going backwards, glancing over his shoulder at intervals. “This is actually fun. I should–
“Brandon, look out!” He was about to run into a girl who had come to a dead stop and was holding her arms out for balance.
“What?” He turned and somehow managed to both avoid her and stay on his feet. But the air from his sharp turn was enough to throw her off-balance. She went down in a sudden scramble.
Brandon sliced his skates into the ice to stop and immediately bent down. “Are you okay?”
The girl was about ten. She nodded, tears in her eyes, which I suspected were more from embarrassment than pain. He tried to offer his hand to help her up, but she shook her head. Probably because he was big, and despite his gentle voice, was a total stranger. So I intervened and shoved him aside with my hip.
“Here, take my hand.”
She looked up at me, sniffling. She reached out and accepted my help. “Thanks. I like your dress.”
“Thanks. I like your pink hair.”
She smiled, wiped her eyes and tentatively skated away.
Brandon looked sheepish. “No more skating backwards.”
He looked so contrite it was kind of adorable. “I guess not.”
Then without warning and for zero reason whatsoever, my feet went out from under me. I screamed and windmilled my arms to try and recover. Brandon had lightning quick reflexes. He grabbed me with an iron grip and hauled me against his broad chest. I stayed upright. I stared up at him, breathless for reasons that had nothing to do with nearly breaking my ass on the ice. “Thanks,” I murmured.
I wanted him to kiss me. He looked like he wanted to kiss me.
But then a teenage boy rammed into us, sending us sliding back a foot. Brandon managed to keep us both upright by sheer force of will. The teenager yelled a very unrepentant, “Sorry!” as he flew past.
It shattered the moment, which was probably for the best. My phone was buzzing in my purse again and it made me aware of reality. This wasn’t a date. It was a stranger I’d met running away from my surprise wedding. “Maybe it’s time for coffee,” I said. “It’s getting rough out here.”
His expression was enigmatic. “Sure.” He dropped his hands from my shoulders.
We got two coffees and found a bench and sat and sipped and talked casually about the various skaters on the ice. Dante was blowing up my phone and I sent him a text saying I would talk to him tomorrow but I wasn’t doing this right now.