Page 82 of The Fireman and the Flirt

As predicted, as soon as I pushed off, I fell over. I didn’t even have the grace to fall on my ass. I belly flopped onto the ice, a sheet of freezing cold residue slicking my Derek-scented hoodie. My fingers burned from the frigidness of the ice.

Derek squatted next to me and offered a hand up. How he was able to squat while ice skating was a feat I could only dream of mastering.

“Why is there a blade at the front of the skate?” I asked, pointing at the jagged metal.

“It’s a toe pick. It helps you to stop.”

“Mission accomplished.”

“Let’s try it again. This time, I’ll help you.”

Was Derek into me being an oaf on the ice? I preferred being someone who had their shit together, who could pull himself up.

“What are you doing?” I asked as Derek spun around to face me.

He held out his hands, a sweet smile greeting me when I stood up. I could stare at that face all day.

Derek held my hands and skated backwards, slowly pulling me around the ice. I felt like I was floating, my body having no control over my limbs. I gazed into his dark, swirly, warm eyes. They kept me safe.

“Doing good, Cary.”

I built up a whisper of confidence, and I used it to try pushing off again. This time, I kept my foot straight, not pointing down, so I didn’t toe pick onto my ass. And I did it. I was floatingandgliding! Derek pushed off in time with me. We were dancing. We were flying. My heart pounded in my ears.

I could do this forever with him.

My fears and reservations slipped away as I pushed off, moving further and further from the scared, lonely man I’d been for most of my adult life.

Derek slowed down, and I sped up so I could get closer to him, so I could kiss him. This was a moment meant to be seized.

“Oh, shit,” he said just before our lips touched.

I followed his tender gaze to our hands clasped together. Only one of them was covered in blood.

“Shit!” I yelled.

Drops of blood had dripped onto the ice, leaving a breadcrumb trail of red around the rink.

“Shit,” said Derek, the word of the moment. “I think this is how horror movies end.”

“Not to make things even creepier, but is this your blood or mine?”

When we pulled back our hands, I found the culprit, a cut on my ring finger. I must’ve cut myself when I fell. Or maybe when I laced up my skates. The cold and the adrenaline rush of being with Derek kept me from feeling the wound.

I looked down and, because I was incapable of embarrassing myself at every turn, discovered a dotted trail of blood down my pants.

“It’s a good thing we’re not in the ocean, right?” I joked.

“Let’s get you bandaged up.”

“I don’t even feel it!” I said, as if that would make this better.

Derek cracked a wide smile and chuckled to himself. “The red of the blood really pops against the ice.”

“A Caryism? When I’m mutilated?”

“You’ll be fine.” He took my clean hand and skated us off the ice. He found a first aid kit and had me sit on the bench. Derek proceeded to clean out and bandage my cut, which was surprisingly minor despite what it produced.

“I’m sorry about getting it on you.” I nodded at the red stains on the sleeve of his hoodie.

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