a bottle. It was definitely going to his head, his face pleasantly flushed.
Here he was playing cards and drinking like an actual university student instead of hiding alone in his room studying. Sure, he still had two exams, but he could study tomorrow before meeting up with Max again.
You’re going to get laid in no time.
No. Jeremy ordered his asshole brain to stop worrying about that. It wasn’t as though he had to hook up with someone. Besides, that was tomorrow. Tonight, he was one of the guys. He drained his cup and squinted at his cards. He wasn’t doing too badly, although his pile of quarters was diminishing.
“Are we gettin’ you drunk for the first time?” Honey asked.
“No!” Jeremy insisted, with honestly more offense than was warranted. “I’ve been drunk plenty of times.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘plenty.’ Are we talking double digits?”
Jeremy opened and closed his mouth. “Well. Probably not. But I’ve been drunk more than once!”
“We’ve got a wild man on our hands here,” Tyler said. “So what did you first get drunk on? For me, it was Baby Duck.”
Everyone groaned, and Jeremy shuddered at the thought of the super-sweet bubbly. Max said, “Meg and I skimmed off the top of Dad and Valerie’s random collection of bottles in the liquor cabinet and mixed it all with Coke. We puked so hard.”
Jeremy grimaced, rearranging the cards in his hand. “For me it was Smirnoff Ice.”
Everyone groaned again, laughing. Mike said, “I haven’t had that in ages.”
Honey snorted. “Right, because your palate is so fucking refined these days.”
“This is craft beer, I’ll have you know.” Mike lifted his bottle. “I’m refined as fuck.”
“Since when is Rickard’s craft beer?” Max asked. “That’s Molson, you tool.”
Mike took a gulp from his bottle of Rickard’s White. “This is wheat beer. I squeezed a motherfucking lemon into it.”
“Do you even know what craft beer is?” Tyler asked.
“Clearly not,” Jeremy mumbled, then flushed, shocked he’d said it aloud.
The rest of them howled as Mike puffed up his chest. “Easy there, Smirnoff Ice.” Then he grinned and gave Jeremy’s shoulder a playful punch. Jeremy returned his smile as Mike took another gulp of his beer. “I don’t care what it’s called. I like it.”
They finished the pizza and Honey won just about all the coins on the table before saying, “Let’s go skating. The rink at Nathan Phillips is open to midnight this weekend. We’ve still got a few hours since we started so early.”
Everyone seemed into it, and Jeremy wondered if he should leave them to it. They probably didn’t want him hanging around all night. Max had already spent the whole day with him and had been way nicer than he had to be. Besides, Jeremy hadn’t been on skates since he was a kid.
Max nudged his arm. “You up for it?”
Jeremy said, “Uh, I’m not so great on ice. You might recall.”
“Now’s your chance to get revenge for us laughing at you,” Honey said. “Because I guarantee some of us will be falling all over the damn place.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun.” Mike grinned. “We’re drunk enough, but not too much to get kicked out or anything. I’ll order a ride.”
So Jeremy found himself squeezed into the back seat of a Lyft after Tyler convinced the driver to let them all pile in. Not just squeezed—he was sitting on Max’s lap. Max’s arm was slung around Jeremy’s waist, and Jeremy sat rigid, hardly breathing.
They bumped over streetcar tracks, and he mumbled, “Sorry.”
But Max only chuckled. Then he leaned forward and said quietly, “Relax. You’re good.” His breath ghosted over Jeremy’s ear, sending a ripple down his spine.
Beside them in the middle seat, Honey said, “Maxwell enjoys a cute boy sitting on his lap.”
From the front seat, Mike added, “Lap. Face. He’s easy.”
The guys laughed, and Max shrugged. “Where’s the lie?” He gave Jeremy’s waist a squeeze.
Was that a friendly squeeze? To get Jeremy to relax already? Or did it mean that Max really did like having Jeremy on his lap? Was Max hitting on him? Or was this all just friendly joking around? It had to be that. Max was way out of Jeremy’s league. Like, in another stratosphere.
No, Jeremy could not even think about going down that road. Max was only being nice. The end. Jeremy was not going to daydream about anything more. He was not going to start crushing on Max.
Fine, he already was, but he was nipping it in the bud. No more crushing. No more enjoying