33. Davis

Davis hadn’t used an alarm in years. He had gotten up early in high school, the result of attending a school that started at seven a.m. and was a thirty-minute drive from his house. That had continued through his time working and attending community college, trying to fit in shifts at various jobs around the classes and the hours of studying he had to do to make sense of all the textbooks, and well into his time in Morgantown, then back to the New River. There was a tiny part of him that, he admitted, felt a little better than everyone else when he was able to complete tasks before the rest of the world had risen. Early coffees, early bike rides, early hikes— excellent ways to experience the world. So when the first hint of sunlight slid between the blinds in Jeremy’s bedroom, Davis was already awake and only panicking slightly.

He had awoken with their legs tangled together, Jeremy’s limbs that seemingly went on forever twisted and braided around his own. Jeremy, it seemed, was not the type of person that believed in personal space in bed. If Davis was estimating correctly, he had roughly three centimeters before he would tumble off the side, while Jeremy’s left arm was tossed out with what seemed like miles of mattress to spare.

Davis gingerly lifted an arm and a leg from his body and ignored how those places went cold the minute Jeremy’s limbs were gone. Quietly— well, as quietly as a man of his bulk could— Davis crept into the bathroom to relieve himself.

Taking a glance in the mirror as he was washing his hands, Davis was surprised to find that he had scratch marks down his stomach, little whispers of pink and red that flashed between the hair on his torso. He shouldn’t have been surprised, based on the way he had begged to feel more.

Jeremy, he was learning, was full of surprises. The wry, witty man became dominant and all-encompassing in bed. He had wanted Davis, had shown him that by pressing him against the door and the bed and had opened his perfect mouth and called him baby. So Davis was learning not to assume anything about Jeremy Rinci. But he did assume that he would have woken up before nine a.m.

Davis assumed wrong.

He needed something to do, and he couldn’t just slip out Jeremy’s front door and spin away in his truck because they worked together. And, also, Jeremy had driven him to his place, and Davis, lust drunk in a way that sent him for a loop more than whiskey had ever done, had no idea where Foster lived. More than that, Davis liked Jeremy. Liked him as something more than just a hookup, and that meant that Jeremy deserved to have a morning conversation. Which, based on the way that his eyelids were fluttering when Davis peeked back into the bedroom, was looking like it would be more like an early afternoon conversation.

So Davis did what he always did in the morning and made himself useful. He emptied Jeremy’s dishwasher, grinning as he found a light yellow Fiesta Ware mug that he hadn’t seen in his previous visits to Casa di Rinci. He snooped a bit. It was something that his Pap would have called him a nebnoser for, but he found a load of towels in the dryer that he could fold. He perused Jeremy’s bookshelf, flipped through a heavy text filled with high-quality photographs of art by names Davis didn’t recognize— Clyfford Still, Mark Rothko— and one he did— Jackson Pollock. Davis didn’t know the first thing about art, but when he looked at one page, at a print that was blazes of sharp colors dripping into one another, he felt something in his chest that reminded him of the first time he had seen Yosemite Valley.

This matters, that feeling said to him.

“Which book did you choose?” Jeremy’s voice came, and Davis was so startled that he closed the book with a slam, then worried he had ruined the page with that one painting.

“Uh, I dunno,” Davis said, embarrassed. “I just grabbed this one.”

Jeremy walked over, his hair a mess and his eyes only half awake. He had not put on a shirt, but he had slipped on pants that looked so soft that Davis wanted to touch them. He curled his hand into a fist. Then he remembered that he had touched, could touch, and he did, rubbing the material between his thumb and forefinger. It was as soft as it looked.

“Abstract Modernism,” Jeremy said as Davis opened up to the page he had been looking at. Davis was sitting on a stool, and Jeremy was over him, leaning into him slightly, the way Mary Anne did when she liked a new person.

“I have no idea what that means.”

Jeremy opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. “It’s hard to explain. It’s better to experience?” He leaned down, reached over Davis’s shoulder, and tapped one long finger on that painting, the one with the colors that looked like they had been torn away. “This was done by Clyfford Still. There’s an entire museum dedicated to his work in Denver.” A pause. “We should go.”

Davis gently set the book down and rotated on the plush stool toward Jeremy, who was still standing above him. “You’d want to go with me to an art museum?”

“I want to go a lot of places with you, Nathaniel Davis,” he responded, and Davis almost fell out of the chair. He had been sure that at some point this morning, Jeremy would have given him a very honorable and deep sigh and said something like we are better as colleagues.

“Oh,” Davis replied eloquently.

Jeremy scratched the side of his head, a nervous gesture, and Davis’s heart smiled. “Would you like that? Doing things together?”

“Yeah, Jeremy,” Davis said, standing up and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “I would.”

“Good, because we got an invite to a brunch with everyone.”

“We?”

“Well, Dec texted me that he’s organizing a brunch, but I doubt he’ll care if you show up.”

Davis did a quick scan of the litany of faces he had met last night and remembered Dec. Tall, tattooed, dating Phoebe, the small, chatty woman. Dec had known his costume. “Oh, that’d be great. I have a change of clothes in my bag, so I don’t have to wear that stupid costume.” He cringed, thinking that he had brought a forest service hoodie and a standard pair of jeans. Nothing sexy or interesting to meet Jeremy’s friends in the light of day.

“That stupid costume made for a very enjoyable evening.” Jeremy shifted and paused again. “Uh, the brunch is at the bar Dec owns. Is that okay? With, well, you know.”

“With my sobriety?” Davis asked, maybe a bit more forcefully than he intended. He ran a hand down Jeremy’s arm and was rewarded with a little shiver from the taller man. “Yeah, Jeremy. I’m good. Thank you for checking.” A little spark of hope flared in Davis’s chest that there would be a day that Jeremy wouldn’t have to ask because he would just know.

“Perfect,” Jeremy said, smiling. “I’m going to grab a shower.”

“Okay, I’ll grab my stuff while you’re in there.”

“I think you misunderstood me,” Jeremy said again, his voice dropping and his fingers curling into the T-shirt Davis had tossed on. “I’m going to shower. You’re going to join me.”

“Oh. Yes.”