Merry Cherry Christmas

“Definitely not. Can I blame this confessional on a concussion?”

“Absolutely.” But Max’s smile vanished, and he unfolded his big body, fluidly moving to kneel at Jeremy’s feet. He held up his index finger. “Follow this with your eyes.”

“I was kidding. I really didn’t hit my head.” Jeremy was very aware of Max’s other hand resting a few inches from his hip on the rumpled duvet. “I swear.”

“Humor me. Concussions are no joke. Honey kept playing once when he should have gone to the hospital.” He shuddered. “It was bad.”

So Jeremy submitted to Max’s experiments, finally standing and closing his eyes to test his balance. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze rested on Max’s Adam’s apple. A bristly five o’clock shadow was visible over his smooth brown skin, and Jeremy followed the shadow up over that chin cleft to Max’s full, smiling lips. Then he met brown eyes through lashes so thick that this close, Max looked like he was wearing eyeliner on his bottom lids.

Jeremy had never wanted to climb another person like a tree so much in his life.

“Did I pass?” he croaked.

Smiling, Max flopped back onto Doug’s bed and drained his beer. “You passed. Okay, what are you doing tomorrow?”

“Studying.” Jeremy perched on the side of his bed again, running through the periodic table in his head to avoid a humiliating erection.

“Study in the morning, and then we’ll knock out our to-do list.” Max ticked off items on his long fingers. “One: get your glasses replaced. Two: new boots. There’s a good place on Queen West that usually has a sale going. Three: get you a winter coat and gloves and all that. We can hit Winners.”

For a moment, Jeremy could only stare. “You—you don’t have to do that. I can figure it out on my own.”

Max ignored him, tapping another finger. “Four: get you laid. We’ll go to the Village.”

Excitement and fear jackknifed through Jeremy. “What? Me? Tomorrow? That’s… Tomorrow?”

“Why wait?” Max asked it like it was a genuine question, as though he just did things all the time without analyzing them for days first. Weeks. Months. Years.

Max stood, and he had to be six-two. Jeremy was only five-seven, and Max towered over him—which was oddly pleasing. He’d liked being tucked under Max’s arm. Max grabbed his coat off the doorknob and fished something out of the pocket.

“I guess these aren’t much use now, but it seemed wrong to leave them murdered there on the sidewalk.” He deposited the twisted metal remains of Jeremy’s glasses on the desk. “Sorry I smoked them.”

“It was an accident. You’ve already done way more than most people would.”

Max shrugged. “’Tis the season for giving, remember? Think of it as an early present. Besides, I need a distraction from waiting for my LSAT scores. It’ll be fun. I’ll be your fairy godfather.”

Jeremy probably should have protested more, but his chest was strangely warm and tight. Max’s friend had said something about him taking frosh under his wing, so apparently this was a thing he did? It didn’t mean Jeremy was special—just that Max was generous.

“I’ll get my glass slippers ready,” Jeremy joked, but his smile faded. “Thank you. Really.”

“Sure.” Max pulled out his phone. “Give me your number.” Jeremy did, and then Max was gone with a wave.

Jeremy honestly might have thought the whole thing had been a figment of his lonely mind, but the blue-and-white toque sat forgotten on Doug’s bed. Letting his dick get hard freely—which took about three seconds—Jeremy picked up the hat by its fluffy pom-pom. The wool had a soft fleece lining, and he buried his face inside, inhaling deeply.

It smelled like any hat would—stuffy fabric and dried sweat and a hint of coconut, maybe? Probably from Max’s shampoo. If Jeremy pressed his face to Max’s actual head, dipping his nose into that tousle of almost-curls, would the coconut fill his senses?

Jeremy carefully folded the hat into his coat pocket so he wouldn’t forget it tomorrow. Tomorrow, when he’d see Max again. When he actually had plans to hang with someone. And not just anyone. Max had spent time with him and listened to him and seemed like he really gave a shit.

Even if Max was just being nice to the pathetic frosh virgin, Jeremy couldn’t deny that it felt really, really good to have someone look after him. To have someone care enough to give up their Saturday to hang with him. It was the best Christmas present he could hope for, even if it was only for a day.

Chapter Two

When Max’s alarm blared, he automatically threw back the covers, rocked to his feet naked, and yelped at the cold. He’d left his phone plugged in on his desk, and he crossed the few steps to jab the screen before Honey banged on the wall and knocked down his cheaply framed Maple Leafs poster again.