Merry Cherry Christmas - Keira Andrews Page 0,26

his freckled skin flushed and that pink mouth open on a moan—

Max’s lungs seized, his balls tight and his dick rock hard now. Jeremy still stared up at him, and Max swore it was raw hunger he saw on Jeremy’s flushed face, in his parted lips and soft panting breaths. He wanted to offer Jeremy more. He’d promise to go slow and make it so good for him. Shit, he wanted to beg Jeremy for more—to let Max teach him.

Stepping back took all his willpower. Jeremy had only just been to his first gay bar. He’d just been kissed for the very first time. He was lonely and vulnerable, and the way he was looking at Max, he’d probably do anything Max asked.

Which was exactly why Max said with a smile, “We’d better keep walking.”

Ugh, why was Honey always right?

Max wanted Jeremy—there was no question now. No room for denial. He wanted him, but he had to let Jeremy sleep on his first kiss. Max had to figure out law school and his life—he wasn’t looking for a boyfriend or commitment. This wasn’t the plan.

Staying strong, Max started talking. They went back and forth about nothing in particular, randomly getting on the subject of the best holiday specials, agreeing Rudolph and the Grinch were tops. Max loved hearing Jeremy laugh and thrilled at the heat of his sneaked glances as they crossed the sleepy city. No reason he and Jeremy couldn’t have fun together, but he wouldn’t rush it.

Even if his lips still tingled from that kiss.

Chapter Five

It was the middle of the night, but Jeremy sent the text anyway.

He’d tried sleeping, but it was no use. He’d told himself he’d feel better once he sent the message, but now the knot in his stomach was a clenched fist squeezing. Hard. He stared at his phone, willing Max to respond even though it was seriously the middle of the night and Max was surely asleep—or pissed to be woken if his ringer was on.

Shit. Why had Jeremy pressed send? Could you take back a text? He jabbed at the options as if his phone would suddenly have a magic button along with “Forward” and “Copy” that said “Recall the Stupid Text You Just Sent the Guy Who Actually Kissed You With His Lips.”

Cringing, he cleaned his glasses with the hem of his old tee, then put them on to reread his message.

Thanks for being so cool. Sorry I’m such a drama queen about this stuff. But I had a great time.

At least he’d refrained from adding, “Especially when you kissed me!!! With your lips!!!”

There was so much he wanted to say, and it was all probably deeply uncool. Now he was extra anxious that he’d wrecked Max’s sleep. But no typing reply bubble appeared, so maybe Max was out for the count and it was okay. Hmm. Could Jeremy somehow get Max’s phone and delete the text before he woke up?

He groaned aloud in his empty room. “Sure. You’ll just break into his apartment, sneak into his room, hold his phone to his face to open it, and delete the text. Then sneak out. All without waking Max or his linebacker roommate. Or quarterback? Whatever kind of ‘back’ he is. Sure. Sounds great. Easy. Because you live in a wacky rom-com. And you pick locks now or something.”

The bubble. The bubble was happening! Jeremy nearly dropped his phone, shooting to his feet, the duvet twisting around his ankle and almost bringing him down. Pacing, he held his breath, dreading and anticipating Max’s response in equal measure. Was he mad? Was he going to tell Jeremy he was sick of his whiny shit? Was he—

You have nothing to be sorry for. Chill. :)

Jeremy exhaled and climbed back under the covers. He was relieved for a moment, but then the worry returned with a vengeance. He couldn’t tell if the “chill” was annoyed or not. He hoped not, but… Was the smiley face ironic? He tapped out a reply.

Okay. Hope I didn’t wake you.

He waited again, jiggling his foot so hard the duvet half slid onto the floor. He yanked it back up over him. Max replied quickly.

Nah. Couldn’t sleep. You neither, I guess?

Seriously, how was he supposed to sleep when Max had kissed him? Kissed! With his amazing lips! They’d kissed. And Jeremy reminded himself for the hundredth time that it hadn’t been real. A real kiss was when someone wanted to kiss you because they liked you, not when someone