“You can relax here,” Max said. “Be yourself.”
“Yeah.” Jeremy gave him a strangely sad little smile. “If only I knew who I was.”
“Dude, that’s the whole point of university. I mean, yes, also the book learning, but you’re nineteen. You don’t have to have everything figured out yet.”
“I guess not. You do though.”
Do I? “Come on, let’s get a drink. This isn’t supposed to be my therapy session.”
“Just mine? We can take turns.” Jeremy smiled, then put his hand on Max’s forearm, his expression earnest. “But if you do want to talk about it, I’m happy to listen.”
For a moment, Max was sorely tempted to unload it all on Jeremy and get his advice, but no. That would be a dick move. “Thanks,” he said, just as seriously. They smiled softly at each other, and Max was very aware of the light pressure of Jeremy’s hand. Then someone jostled them as a throng of people passed by, and Max realized they were standing there smiling at each other like goofs, and maybe this was what Honey was talking about.
He shook himself. “I’ll get the first round. You want a beer or something else?”
“Well, only if it’s craft beer.”
Max laughed. “Rickard’s coming right up.”
He actually went with Moosehead since that’s what Jeremy had offered him in his room. They drank their bottles and half-shouted a conversation about football as the music got louder, more people crowding the dance floor.
“Wanna dance?” Max asked. “I mean, I’m sure you’re fascinated by the differences between the NFL and CFL, but you’ve humored me long enough.”
“Dance?” Jeremy looked at the dance floor as though it was a pit of writhing snakes and not people having fun to a disco mix of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.” The colored holiday lights reflected off Jeremy’s wire glasses.
“We don’t have to!” Max laughed, draining his bottle. “You ready for another?”
“Yes!” Jeremy seemed relieved. “My turn! I’ll be back.”
Max leaned on a railing and watched Jeremy weave through the crowd to the bar. The skinny jeans and Henley were a great look. Which apparently a dude at the bar agreed with, since he started hitting on Jeremy while they waited for the bartender.
He looked university age and had a cute smile. Decent bod. Shaggy hair. From a distance, didn’t have a creepy vibe, which was good. He leaned in closer to Jeremy, and Max tensed. Whatever he said made Jeremy laugh.
And Max got even more tense.
This was messed up. Max should have been happy. Not jealous. Not tempted to march over there and shoulder in-between them at the bar. “Jesus,” he muttered to himself. “Who’s the creep now?”
If Jeremy was into this guy, that was great, and Max was going to get his shit together and not be a dick. This is what I get for listening to Honey. Because maybe—maybe—he’d let what Honey had said about Jeremy liking him go to his head. Get under his skin.
This wasn’t the plan. The fairy godfather wasn’t supposed to be jealous. This was a fun distraction. But he’d planned to go to law school since he was a kid, and now he wasn’t sure of that either. Maybe he was shit at plans.
Max gulped his beer, hearing Honey’s persistent voice in his head saying yesterday had been one big, long date. No, enough. He and Jeremy were new friends and that was all. He determinedly looked at the DJ—their Santa suit flapping open over a sparkly padded bra—and stopped spying.
Although… When he looked back—just to make sure Jeremy was still okay—Jeremy had his arms crossed and was shrugging tightly. He got the beers and said goodbye to the guy, who watched Jeremy go and then started talking to the person on his other side.
Jeremy handed Max the beer with a shouted, “Here you go!”
“Thanks!” He took a swig before saying, “So, he was cute.”
“What?” After a brief deer vs. headlights moment, Jeremy shrugged. “Yeah. He was all right.”
“You wanna talk to him more? Don’t worry about me. Go on.”
Something like panic pinched Jeremy’s face. “Do I have to?”
“What? No!” Max slung an arm around him. “Not at all.” He frowned. “Did he say something gross? Do I need to kick his ass?”
“No!” Jeremy laughed, sagging against Max. “He was really nice. Seriously, no ass-kicking required. But thanks.”
Max squeezed him before forcing himself to let go. “Anytime. Come on. Let’s dance. Or shuffle in place. Whatever.”
They sipped their beers and danced, Jeremy’s awkward shuffle slowly loosening up as Boney M came on. Christmas disco didn’t get much better, and they laughed as a group in Santa hats started a dance-off. They clapped and cheered, and Max was pleased that Jeremy seemed to be having fun.
Yet not long after, Jeremy returned from the bathroom with tension in his hunched shoulders and his smile strained. Max asked, “What happened?” He glanced toward the stairs down to the bathrooms. “Do I need to kick someone’s ass after all?”