14. Art

Art

Over the next couple weeks, Dean Miller is a major distraction. He walks into the lab with his ridiculously symmetrical face and soft lips every morning, and instead of giving me a verbal greeting like everyone else, he kisses me. How am I supposed to focus in the morning when I know he's about to make every nerve ending in my body light up like a firework?

Sometimes he approaches from behind and wraps his warm arms around me while I'm trying to look through a microscope. It's highly unprofessional. We're supposed to be working. But I don't tell him to stop. I've discovered that work is a lot more enjoyable when a handsome man has his arms around me.

Dean Miller takes me with him to a large grove of Christmas trees, all potted by wood nymphs so they'll survive the holiday season. We bring one home and decorate it together with strands of popcorn, candy canes, and the lopsided little ornaments he carved with his dad when he was a child. He teaches me how to make spicy gingerbread and brew eggnog over a fire. I've spent my whole life surrounded by Christmas every December. It's always felt like an invasive species—something unwelcome and unavoidable. But no one's shown me the beauty of it before. Dean Miller has this secret smile that I've only seen when he's rolling out gingerbread dough or trying to haul a Christmas tree that's much too big for his apartment over his shoulder.

I think I'd be willing to suffer through a hundred Christmases if it means seeing that smile on his face.

Between the Christmas trees and the mildly disgusting holiday foods, we have lots of sex. I get to taste him everywhere. I get to push inside him, drag my tentacles across his skin, and kiss every inch of his face. After a lifetime of barely touching anyone, it's overwhelming to get to touch Dean Miller that much. And since that touching generally happens after we've done something festive, I am embarrassed to admit that Christmassy things are somewhat arousing now.

The day we're scheduled to decorate for the work Christmas party begins just like any other. Dean Miller distracts me when he arrives at work. I've already been there for hours, obviously. I get up much earlier than he does. He distracts me several more times throughout the morning with casual touches that don't feel casual at all. I would be annoyed if I didn't like those touches so much. But there's an unexpected turn at lunchtime when he swings by my section of the lab and whispers, "Ready to go?" in my ear.

"I brought a packed lunch today," I say.

"I mean to my apartment. We're making sugar cookies for the party, remember? And then you're going to help me decorate the tree in the conference room where they're holding the holiday party."

I narrow my eyes. "When did I agree to this plan?"

"A couple nights ago when we were in your tub? We were… in the middle of other things. Exciting things."

"You mean engaging in sexual intercourse," I say.

He laughs. "Yes."

"Clearly, my brain was distracted or I would not have agreed to decorate the tree at work."

I have not told Dean Miller that I am now aroused by Christmas-related things. It's something I'd like to keep to myself for as long as possible. That won't be possible if I develop an erection while hanging ornaments.

"Okay. How about making cookies?" he asks.

"At your apartment?"

He nods. "We might even have time for some other things?"

"You mean sexual intercourse."

Dean Miller laughs again. Apparently, he thinks sex is very funny. "I'm trying to be subtle here."

I look around us. We're the only people in this part of the lab. "Why? We're alone."

Unfortunately, Frank walks into the lab, proving me wrong. His eyes light up when he sees us, and he beelines for the corner where Dean Miller and I are standing.

"Just the two people I was hoping to find. I wanted to check in about the people lessons. How is it going?" he asks.

Dean Miller's smile fades. "It's fine."

Frank is holding a cup of coffee, which makes me nervous. Food and drink aren't allowed in this part of the lab. It's a safety hazard.

"Do you think Art knows how to be nice now?"

Dean Miller clenches his jaw. "I think he always knew how to be nice."

"The interns?—"

"Were never encouraged to communicate with Art after he offended them. I think some good old-fashioned conflict resolution would have worked just fine. Art isn't mean. And he's right here. You can talk to him." Dean Miller's voice is clipped and even. It's such a contrast to the warm tone he uses with me.

Frank's gaze darts from Dean Miller to me, then back to Dean Miller again. "We're feeling a little prickly today, aren't we? This wouldn't have anything to do with the new romantic relationship the two of you are in, would it?"

Dean Miller shakes his head.

"What do you think, Art? Are the people lessons working?" Frank asks.

I stand there, unable to answer as quickly as Dean. I can't deny that I'm awkward with people. I offend them without meaning to. It's incredibly difficult for me to connect with them the way I connect with Lisa or other members of my family. But I've connected with Dean.

"Yes," I say honestly. "Dean Miller has helped me a lot."

Frank smiles. "That's good to hear. I would hate to have to put you on probation after all of Dean's effort. I trust that there won't be any more problems with the interns."

"If there are, you can send Art and the intern to HR, right? Isn't that what Harry is there for?" Dean asks.

Frank glares at him. "Obviously, we want to avoid escalating things to HR whenever we can."

"You mean you'd rather let people quit than use the proper channels to handle conflict in the lab," Dean says.

Frank raises his eyebrows. "That's an interesting take for someone who is so… how should I phrase it? Expendable." He flashes a smile that makes my stomach twinge. That isn't a good smile.

Dean Miller watches Frank walk out of the lab without saying another word. Which is surprising, because I thought he'd tell Frank he isn't expendable. He was certainly willing to defend me. Why wouldn't he do the same for himself?

"I need to learn how to keep my mouth shut," Dean Miller says. "Or I might not have a job."

"If he fires you, we can go to Harry Ebershoff."

Dean slides his arm across my back and gives me a half-hug. "Thank you. That is actually very comforting. Between the two of you, I'm sure you could come up with some kind of solution. But it's never good to have a boss who hates you."

Does Frank hate Dean because he defended me? That doesn't seem fair. A part of me wishes that I'd never agreed to people lessons with Dean, especially if he loses his job over this.

"C'mon, let's go make some Christmas cookies," Dean says, holding out his hand to me. I take it, even though I'm still concerned about his impending Christmas tree decoration plans and my possible erections.

We still haven't had sex at work. Maybe it's time to figure out how to make that happen.