Conflict of Interest

by J. M. Snyder

  Alex grinned at that. “So did I,” he admitted, turning back to the game. Jamie had the ball again and he made sure Alex was looking when he tried for an impossible shot. Alex held his breath as the ball flew through the air, bounced off the rim, and sank into the hoop. “He’s good,” he said, almost forgetting to breathe again when Jamie winked at him.

  “Very good,” the priest agreed. “If only he took school as seriously as he does his balls.” Alex looked at Father Nate, surprised, but laughed when he saw the smile on the priest’s face. “I’m glad you came back.”

  “Me too.” Had Alex honestly believed he could forget Jamie so easily? That smile, those eyes, those curls?

  He turned back to the game in time to see Jamie throw the basketball at another kid his own age. The ball struck the other kid in the chest and bounced away as Jamie closed the distance between them. “Take that back,” he commanded, anger twisting his face. When the other kid didn’t reply, Jamie grabbed his arms and shook him roughly. Father Nate was already starting across the court, Alex right behind him. “Say it to my face, Mike. Say it again.”

  “Leave me alone,” Mike growled, shrugging out of Jamie’s grip. “You heard what I said.”

  Father Nate stepped between them. “What’s—”

  Suddenly Jamie ducked around the priest and punched Mike hard, his fist connecting with the other kid’s nose. Blood poured from one nostril as Mike grabbed a handful of Jamie’s curls, tugging on them hard enough to bring tears to Jamie’s eyes. “You fucker!” Jamie swore, pummeling Mike’s chest with his fists until Mike’s hands fell away, tufts of reddish gold hair still in his fingers.

  Jamie struck him again, hard, knocking the guy down to the ground, but before he could hit him a second time, Alex pulled him back. “Jamie!” He tried to ignore the fact that his hands were on Jamie’s stomach, slipping under the torn shirt to catch on sweaty flesh, hot skin, firm muscles that bunched beneath his fingers. Jamie heaved in his grip, breathless from the fight, shaking.

  This wasn’t turning him on; Alex refused to believe it was turning him on. He pulled Jamie back as Father Nate helped the other kid to his feet. “Just stop it right now,” Alex pleaded.

  “You’re dead,” Jamie promised, pointing at Mike. The other kid held both hands to his nose, bright blood pouring through his fingers, and when Jamie lunged at him, he cowered back. “You’re so fucking dead, do you hear me?”

  Alex held onto Jamie tightly. “Take him inside,” Father Nate snapped as he tugged Mike’s hands away from his nose to assess the damage.

  “I ain’t going inside,” Jamie growled, shrugging off Alex’s hands as he stalked away. “Fuck this place. Fuck all of you.”

  Helplessly Alex stood on the court, watching Jamie walk to the edge of the fence, where he stopped to kick at a few stones. “God,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. What a way to start their second day together…fuck all of you. How do you respond to that?

  Father Nate dabbed Mike’s nose with the hem of the kid’s T-shirt. “Go after him,” he whispered, nodding at Jamie. “Take him for a ride or something. Just get him away from here for a little while, let him calm down. Please?”

  Alex sighed as Jamie crossed his arms and threw himself back against the fence, a sullen pout on his lips. “You sure?” The thought of driving around town with Jamie in his car, so close and with nothing between them, no one else around…Alex swallowed against the thought. “I mean—”

  “Please?” Father Nate asked again.

  Alex nodded. He didn’t have to be told twice. Crossing the court, he dug his keys from his pocket and shook out the car key. Jamie watched him carefully, looking from the keys in his hand to his face and back again, his frown deepening. He thinks I’m leaving.

  As he stopped in front of the kid, he smiled but Jamie’s wary expression didn’t change. Daring to take Jamie’s arm, Alex murmured, “Come on.”

  This time Jamie didn’t shrug his hand away. “Where are we going?” he wanted to know, but he let Alex lead him to his car.

  “Just for a ride.” Alex unlocked the passenger side door and held it open for Jamie. “You need to cool off a bit.”

  Jamie slid into the seat. “Can I drive?”

  Alex laughed. “Maybe next time.” Slamming the door shut, he hurried around the car and unlocked the driver’s side door. As he eased into the seat, he glanced over at Jamie only to find the kid staring out the window at the basketball court, anger still radiating from him in waves. Starting the car, Alex asked softly, “What was that all about?”

  Jamie shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “Somehow I doubt that.” Alex turned the radio down and leaned back in the driver’s seat as he pulled away from the curb into the flow of traffic. He wasn’t sure where they were going—maybe they’d just drive around until Jamie was in a better mood, stop someplace for lunch, let the whole scene back in the yard blow over. “You can tell me. We’re friends, right?” From the corner of his eye, he saw Jamie shrug again. “Aren’t we?”

  With a lusty sigh, Jamie admitted, “He called me a faggot, okay? Asshole.”

  Alex knew that wasn’t directed at him. Gently he said, “And so you hit him.” Jamie nodded. “You think you can change his mind if you hit him? It doesn’t take the words back.”

  “I can’t just let him get away with shit like that.” Jamie faced the window and didn’t look at Alex. “He calls me a fag and I don’t do anything, they’ll all start in, you know? I can’t let it slide.”

  “You can’t fight everyone,” Alex pointed out.

  With a short laugh Jamie asked, “What the fuck do you know about it? When’s the last time someone called you a fag?” When Alex didn’t reply immediately, Jamie laughed again. “That’s what I thought. You don’t get it. You don’t have to deal with shit like this and you’re going to tell me what to do? Fuck that.”

  Around them the traffic grew heavy, the city bus in front of their car forcing Alex to drive with one foot on the brake. He slowed down as the bus turned off, and then hit the brakes before he could run a red light. Relaxing his grip on the steering wheel, he looked over at Jamie and found his gaze wandering to the hard, flat muscles in the guy’s stomach, exposed through the torn shirt. Alex remembered the way they felt beneath his palms when he pulled Jamie back from the fight. “Last week,” he whispered.

  Finally Jamie turned to him, confusion written across his young face. “I was at my parents’ house,” Alex explained, “and my dad asked my mom why he had a faggot for a son. He didn’t know I overheard him but I did.” See? he wanted to add. I know how it feels.

  “What did your mom say?” Jamie wanted to know.

  The light turned green and Alex eased off the brake, trying to forget the way his father’s words had haunted him throughout the week. He’d remember them at odd times—when he was washing dishes, or buying a sandwich for lunch, or listening to music in his booth at the station. He’d hear them again as if his father were in the same room and speaking them, asking him why he was a faggot, why he liked guys and why he was his son, why it had to be him. And they stung like a thorn, twisting into him until he sighed and pinched his nose sharply to keep the tears from falling, because he didn’t want to admit just how much it hurt.

  You’re not the only one, Jamie, he thought, forcing a tight smile at Jamie. You’re not alone; you’re not. “She said ‘not when he’s in the house,’” he replied. “Not ‘don’t say that.’ Not ‘he’s not a faggot; he’s your son.’ Just ‘not when he’s here.’ Like they’d talk about it once I left.”

  For a while they drove in silence, Alex watching Jamie from the corner of his eye, Jamie picking at the torn edges of his shirt. Finally Jamie reached over and placed a hand on Alex’s knee, warm through the thin knit of Alex’s pants. Alex smiled at him, but when the hand moved up slightly, Jamie’s fingers curving along Alex’s inner thigh, Alex brushed it away. “I didn’t tell you that so you can hit on me,” he said, ignoring Jamie’s clouded br
ow and faint pout. “I’m not one of those guys you pick up in the clubs. I want to be your friend, and I just want you to know you’re not alone, Jamie. That’s it.”

  “I dreamed about you last night,” Jamie whispered.

  Alex looked over at him sharply. Don’t even tell me, he wanted to say, but suddenly he couldn’t form the words, and he stared at Jamie’s arms, remembering the strength in them from his own dreams.

  “They weren’t bad dreams,” Jamie said quickly, trailing his hand down the parking brake. Alex thought of that hand trailing down his length like that, those fingers curling around his hardness…who was the one thinking of sex here? He shook his head to clear the thoughts from his mind. “We were just talking, that was it. Just talking.”

  “What did we talk about?” Alex wanted to know.

  Jamie shrugged. “I don’t remember. But when I woke up I thought maybe you dreamed of me, too. Did you?”

  I’m not telling you my dreams, Alex thought. But the earnest look on Jamie’s face, the light shining in those deep eyes…he didn’t want to crush that. “Maybe,” he whispered. “I don’t remember my dreams much.” Jamie dropped his gaze, crestfallen, and Alex added, “But you were on my mind when I woke up, if that means anything.”

  Jamie grinned. “It does.”

  Chapter 5

  By two o’clock they’d been driving for awhile, but Jamie was finally starting to let go of his anger. He flipped through the radio stations in search of something other than commercials or DJ talk, turning the volume up when he found a song he liked only to have Alex turn it back down again. He tried to dance along with the songs while sitting in his seat, and at stop lights the car shook with his movements. With a slight smile on his face, Alex watched him from the corner of his eye and wondered what it felt to have someone like that beneath him in bed, those hips moving against him, those strong legs curled around his thighs.

  Stop it, he admonished himself, turning back to the traffic before Jamie could see his thoughts written on his face. You’re evil, thinking things like that. You told him yourself that you aren’t one of his boys from the clubs, so stop thinking about fucking him. In an effort to get his mind out of the gutter, he asked, “Are you hungry?”

  Jamie shrugged. “I ain’t got no money.”

  “I didn’t ask you that,” Alex said softly. “I asked if you were hungry.”

  “I don’t need your charity,” Jamie replied, a little miffed. He sat back and put his feet up on the dashboard; for the first time Alex noticed he wasn’t wearing a seat belt. “I’m fine.”

  Alex sighed. “It’s not charity. I want to buy you lunch. Can’t I do that?”

  Jamie shrugged again. “Like a date?”

  “As a friend,” Alex corrected. “It’s not a date—”

  “A lunch date,” Jamie said, nodding. “Friends go Dutch. You’re paying so it’s a date.”

  “It’s not—” Alex started, but Jamie turned the radio up loud, drowning out his protest.

  Fine, Alex thought wearily. A lunch date. But it’s not a real date because I’m not kissing you goodbye when it’s over… The thought made his stomach flutter nervously.

  You’re just hungry, he told himself, but it wasn’t that—it was the image of Jamie, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, his breath soft against Alex’s cheek as he covered that kissable mouth with his own. You’re definitely hungry, just not for food.

  Turning down the radio to a reasonable level, Alex asked, “What do you feel like eating?” Jamie gave him a wicked grin—so he wasn’t the only one with his mind in the gutter. Jesus. “For lunch. Food. I’m talking about food here, Jamie.”

  With a sigh, Jamie said, “I don’t know. I don’t eat out much. What about burgers?”

  When Alex pulled into the parking lot of a downtown deli, Jamie jumped out of the car before it came to a complete stop and stretched languidly like an animal just released from a cage. As he climbed out of the car, Alex noticed a few people nearby glaring at Jamie’s torn shirt. It may have fit in back at the shelter, but here it made Jamie look like a punk. Opening the trunk, Alex pulled out a heavy flannel shirt his roommate had left in there. “Here,” he said, holding the shirt out to Jamie. “Put this on.”

  Jamie frowned. “I don’t want to.”

  “Jamie,” Alex warned. In his mind he could already see the scene Jamie would make when they entered the deli, only to be turned away because of Jamie’s raggedy tank top.

  But Jamie shook his head. “It’s too hot for that. I’m not wearing it.” To prove his point, he crossed his arms and leaned against the car. “What’s wrong with my shirt?”

  “It’s torn,” Alex pointed out, as if Jamie didn’t know. “You look like a bum.”

  “I like the way I look,” Jamie glared at an older woman who edged by them on her way into the deli. “What’s your problem, bitch?”

  The woman turned away quickly and kept walking. “Jamie, stop it,” Alex hissed. “You can’t go in there wearing that shirt. They won’t serve you.”

  “Well I’m not wearing that,” he said, nodding at the flannel shirt in Alex’s hand. “Let’s just go to McDonald’s or something, okay? A drive-thru somewhere, eat in the car.” With a wink he added, “I’m a cheap date. I don’t mind fast food.”

  Try to do something nice, Alex thought with a sigh, tossing the shirt back into the trunk. He dug through blankets and empty plastic grocery bags until he found an old T-shirt of his. The cotton was faded and worn but in one piece at least, and he held it out to Jamie. “How about this?”

  After a long moment, Jamie took the shirt. “This yours?” he asked, holding it up. It was short sleeved and thin—Alex waited to hear his excuse for not wanting to put it on.

  “Yeah,” Alex said as he watched Jamie study the shirt. “It’s been in the trunk for a while, but it’s clean. Are you going to wear it or not?”

  “I’ll wear it,” Jamie said.

  Before Alex could say anything else he stripped off his tank top, pulling the torn fabric up over his head. Alex found himself staring at the muscles along Jamie’s chest, the golden skin so heavily freckled, he looked perpetually tanned. Alex shoved his hands deep into his pockets to keep from reaching out and touching him—he could imagine what those hard nipples would feel like beneath his fingers, the way the thick gold chain that hung around Jamie’s neck would look pooled into the hollow of his throat, the way the ridge of Jamie’s collarbone would feel between his teeth. God…

  Then Jamie pulled on the T-shirt, hiding the freckled muscles from view, and Alex managed to look away. “It’s kind of snug,” Jamie said, flexing his arms. Alex heard the tiny sound of a seam rip, and Jamie laughed. “I like it.”

  “You would,” Alex muttered. He pointed into the trunk and Jamie tossed his tank top inside before Alex slammed it shut. “You look much better.”

  “Do you think so?” Jamie asked.

  When Alex nodded, Jamie unzipped his jeans. “Jamie!” Alex cried, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. “What are you doing?”

  “Don’t worry,” he said with a wink, stuffing the T-shirt into the waistband of his jeans. “I ain’t taking it all off. Much as you’d like to see it, I’m sure.”

  “Jamie…” Alex closed his eyes as Jamie’s hand smoothed the shirt down flat over the bulge that poked through the open zipper, but not before catching a glimpse of light red hair that trailed into his briefs as if pointing the way. Why couldn’t this be easy? “Jesus.”

  He heard Jamie take a step closer, and then he felt hot breath along his neck as Jamie moaned softly into his ear, the sound accompanied by the quiet hiss of the zipper. Alex could feel the press of metal against that budding erection as Jamie zipped up his jeans, and in his pockets his hands clenched into fists, nails eating into his palms because he wasn’t going to touch him, he wasn’t going to let Jamie get under his skin. Too late, his mind whispered as Jamie sighed, and Alex could smell the sharp scent of his sweat when he drew in
a shaky breath. “You can look now,” Jamie breathed. “I’m decent.”

  Alex opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Opening his eyes, he cleared his throat and focused on the deli behind Jamie. He wouldn’t look at him, he wouldn’t. When he spoke, his voice cracked. “Come on.”

  Not waiting for an answer, Alex brushed past Jamie and headed for the deli. He didn’t look back, didn’t stop to see if the kid was coming or not. He told himself at this point, he didn’t care.

  But Jamie was right behind him, grinning when Alex held the door open, and he stepped into the deli with a swish of his hips that pulled the tight jeans even tighter across his thighs. Heaven help me, Alex thought as he followed Jamie inside.

  * * * *

  They sat at a booth near the window and Alex watched Jamie devour his burger. Not hungry, eh? he thought, smiling at Jamie’s appetite. Hoping to start a conversation, Alex said, “You play a good game of ball.”

  Jamie shrugged and took another bite of his burger. Between them sat a plate of French fries they shared, and Alex picked up two fries smothered in nacho cheese. Popping them into his mouth, he chewed thoughtfully as he studied Jamie, but the guy was too busy eating to pay him any attention. “Maybe good enough for a scholarship,” Alex prompted.

  Jamie shook his head. “I ain’t that good,” he said through a mouthful of food. “I’m too short. You gotta be a hell of a lot taller if you wanna play ball.”

  “Have you considered it, though?” Alex wanted to know. Hadn’t Father Nate said he couldn’t get Jamie to go to school? Maybe if there was something he liked doing, something like basketball, to motivate him to attend class…

  Jamie shrugged again, a defeated gesture that made Alex want to stop the world to see him smile again. “I have this dream,” he started, and then he looked up at Alex sharply. “You’re not going to laugh?”

  Alex shook his head. Jamie picked at the French fries and continued in a quiet voice. “I have this dream where I play ball and I’m the best player on the team. Everyone shouts my name. Owens! Every time I score. The crowd goes wild.”