43. Jeremy

“You know, I’ve never dated anyone like you,” Davis muttered.

“Wildly good looking and phenomenal in bed?” Jeremy loved seeing the way Davis’s cheeks got pink.

“I sleep with myself every night,” he replied, and Jeremy gave him a playful shove. “No, you know what I mean. A man.”

“Yeah, baby. I am a man,” Jeremy said, pressing a kiss to his cheek as they walked up to the brewery. “You sure you’re fine with this? We don’t have to go.”

“Jer, I promised Foster I would check out his brewery. Plus, they’re showing one of my favorite movies of all time.” Earlier in the week, Jeremy had called Foster and asked if the brewery was dog friendly, to which Foster had replied, “Duh, it’s Colorado.” So Davis had driven down with the dog, and Jeremy had greeted Davis with a kiss and Mary Anne with a Mountain Friend dog T-shirt, which Davis had put on her before showing the dog to the guest bedroom, telling Jeremy that he wanted to focus more on his friends than his dog. Jeremy was slightly disappointed. He had wanted to show off Mary Anne, who he had been increasingly thinking of as their dog.

“Foster is always showing movies here. He does a Hallmark marathon throughout December,” Jeremy explained, walking toward the entrance. “What is it tonight?”

“The Sandlot.”

“Huh, never heard of it.” Jeremy shrugged, thinking it wouldn’t be a big deal, but Davis had stopped in his tracks.

“That is the most offensive thing you’ve ever said to me, Jeremy Rinci,” he said. “This movie is a classic.”

“Hmm, well, we’ll see,” Jeremy joked, reaching for Davis’s hand. Davis took it, then quickly dropped it as they headed inside. “It’s okay, baby. It’s just my friends tonight. Soft launch, as the kids say,” Jeremy said, lowering his voice to a quiet whisper. Jeremy watched Davis’s shoulders straighten, and then he took Jeremy’s hand definitively. Something deep in Jeremy’s chest purred, and he felt like a cat in a sunbeam with the way Davis was claiming him. As if he was something that Davis— strong, beautiful Nathaniel Davis— could be proud of.

Jeremy led Davis into the brewery and reflected on the space. It was an industrial space that he had walked into a few years ago on a horrible date, one where the other man spent too much time talking about his new climbing gear and his plans to head to Burning Man. Jeremy got up to get a second round of drinks and had met Foster, who was bartending, and struck up a conversation with him and hadn’t even noticed his date leave.

“Do you want this beer?” Jeremy said, sipping his pinot and indicating the glass of lager on the bar. “The guy I was with apparently left, and I hate beer.”

“I don’t like beer either,” Foster had said.

“But you work here?” Jeremy asked, feeling a sense of kinship with this man that had heralded friendship without one iota of sexual attraction. Foster gave off straight man pheromones or something, because Jeremy just knew.

“My sister is the brewer,” he said, nodding toward Flo, who had been wrestling with a complicated series of pipes and hoses, her hair tied up in a colorful scarf. “I manage the business side of things. I’m Foster,” he had said, holding out his hand.

Jeremy and Foster had become unlikely friends, the male equivalent of a house cat and a Clydesdale that had become barnyard pals. Jeremy was excited for all of his friends to meet Davis, to meet Davis as his boyfriend, but he was especially excited for Foster to meet Davis as his boyfriend. It mattered what Davis thought of Foster and what Foster thought of Davis. Since his dad had passed, these were the two most important men in his life.

Which was a shocking development, Jeremy reflected, seeing Ryan and Emmy together in a corner, drinking beers with their hands interlaced. How quickly this former stranger turned colleague turned lover had turned into someone who mattered.

“Do they have something for me here?” Davis asked, breaking Jeremy out of his thought cycle.

“Yes,” Jeremy said, turning around and pulling his knuckles to his lips. “I asked Foster to make sure there was Diet Coke, seltzer, and NA beer.” He pronounced it “en ay,” the way he had heard it said in the YouTube videos he had watched about the brewing process to make sure that there actually wasn’t alcohol.

“Thanks, Jeremy,” Davis said quietly. “People usually don’t check.”

“People should,” he replied simply. “Anyway, you met a lot of these folks at Foster’s party, but, uh.” He swallowed, wishing he had a glass of wine to help assuage his nerves and lubricate his voice. “If it’s okay, I’d like to introduce you as my boyfriend?”