The next morning Alex woke to find his sheets twisted around his legs, his body sheathed in sweat. Half-remembered dreams clouded his mind, tangled memories of red curls, deep eyes, full, pouting lips. He could still sense Jamie above him, the powerful muscles in his arms standing out like cords, cheeks flushed, that hint of a smile back on his face. Even as he shook himself awake, Alex felt himself drowning in those lapis eyes, falling and moving against Jamie, holding his breath as they clung desperately to each other.
Jesus, Alex thought, running an unsteady hand through his hair. He’s inside me.
When Alex kicked free of the covers, he felt the wetness at his crotch and grimaced as he stood. His boxers clung to him, damp, clammy. Fuck. When was the last time he had a wet dream? I mean, really.
Quickly he stepped out of the soiled boxers. Naked, he balled them into a tight wad that he threw on the bed. Next he stripped off the sheets, rolling them into a thick bundle that he dropped at the door to his room. That’s it, he swore silently. No more. I don’t need this shit. He met the guy less than twenty-four hours ago, yet those dark eyes had haunted his thoughts all evening, those barbed comments snagging into his mind as he made dinner. It was Jamie he saw when he stared at the TV screen, Jamie who looked back at him from the mirror, Jamie who was there when he closed his eyes to sleep.
Trudging to the bathroom, Alex turned the shower on full blast and stepped beneath the hot stream of water. Head down, he let the water beat against his hair and back, hoping it would wash away the memories of the young man at St. Catherine’s.
It didn’t work.
He’s in my dreams, Alex thought, rubbing shampoo through his thick hair. I should’ve just closed the folder and left without ever meeting him. I should never go back. Just thinking of that kid made his groin ache with a heaviness he tried to ignore. How could he face Jamie again? What could he say or do that wouldn’t lead somewhere he didn’t want to go?
Don’t you? a voice inside him whispered.
Alex ignored it.
After he washed the soap from his body, he turned off the hot water and stood beneath the icy spray until his cheeks cooled and his erection melted away. Stepping from the shower, he toweled off with rough strokes that he refused to let linger anywhere in particular. The towel was harsh against his skin. Without looking in the mirror he tugged on a pair of tight briefs. When the fabric pressed into him sweetly, he thought of Jamie again. “Stop it,” he breathed.
His body refused to listen, and his mind wouldn’t stop remembering those reddish curls, the curve of those full lips, the hint of smooth skin that flashed when Jamie had unbuttoned his shirt.
Pulling on his jeans, Alex grabbed the dirty bedding and trotted down the stairs into the kitchen. “Dave?” he called out.
No one answered. Thank God. The last thing he needed was to face his roommate with a fist full of come-stained sheets. Even alone, the bundle in his hand embarrassed him; angrily he shoved the bedding into the washing machine. With a violent twist of the knob he turned the machine on, pouring a liberal dose of detergent onto the blankets. It disgusted him he had even thought of Jamie like that, that his body betrayed him while he slept, getting hard and coming when he wasn’t even aware of it. He hated that he dreamed of Jamie, dreamed of having sex with him, because even if the kid was hot, even if he talked a good game and knew how to whore himself like Father Nate said he did, Alex wasn’t like that. Alex didn’t like guys like that, who were only interested in sex and not much else. He didn’t need someone that shallow at all.
You can teach him different.
He shoved the thought aside as he slammed the lid to the washer shut. Opening the refrigerator, he grabbed the carton of milk and listened to the washer kick in as he poured himself a glass. Fuck that. I don’t need to teach him shit. I don’t even need to see him again. And I sure as hell don’t need to think about him anymore. Alex gulped down the milk quickly.
Behind him the kitchen door opened and Dave stepped into the apartment, the morning newspaper in one hand and a steaming cup of 7-11 coffee in the other. By way of hello, he asked, “You doing laundry this early?”
Alex shrugged and poured another cup of milk so his roommate wouldn’t see the blush creep into his face. Tossing the paper on the kitchen table, Dave muttered, “Damn, man, you should’ve told me. I have some things I could’ve thrown in—”
“Just one load,” Alex muttered. He wasn’t going to say it was his bed sheets, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to mention that he was washing the come out of them. “What are you up to today?”
Plopping into one of the chairs at the table, Dave sipped at his hot coffee as he opened the paper. “Job hunting, what else?”
He’d been looking for a new job since Alex met him—Dave spent too many nights during the week partying and he hated to drag himself to work the next morning. Sort of like Jamie, Alex thought, but he chased that away with another swig of milk. He wasn’t thinking about that kid anymore, remember?
Glancing at Alex, Dave wanted to know, “How’d it go yesterday?”
Alex shrugged. “Okay.”
He didn’t want to talk about it, least of all with Dave, who couldn’t quite grasp the concept of his best friend being gay. He still asked how Alex’s last boyfriend was doing, even though they’d broken up a year earlier. Dave insisted that they’d just been friends, and he couldn’t seem to understand that Joel wasn’t coming around anymore because Alex had dumped his cheating ass. What would Dave possibly think if Alex told him about Jamie? Who you aren’t seeing again, he reminded himself, finishing off the milk, so why worry about it at all?
But Dave was thick when it came to picking up on what Alex didn’t say, and he didn’t realize Alex wasn’t interested in talking about the Youth Outreach program at all. “You get a kid to mentor or something?” he prodded. “How’s that work?”
“Or something,” Alex muttered.
“Boy?” Dave wanted to know. “Girl?”
“A boy.” Alex rinsed out the milk carton and hoped Dave wouldn’t ask any more questions.
But his roommate simply talked over the sound of the running water. “How old is he? What’s his name?”
“Jamie.” As he folded the milk carton up and threw it into the trash can, Alex added, “He’s eighteen.”
Dave whistled. “Damn. That ain’t a kid. That’s your age.”
“I know,” Alex agreed. “Look, I don’t really want to talk about this right now, okay?”
“Why not?” Dave looked up from the paper. “You guys get along okay?”
“I don’t know. I guess.”
Alex didn’t want to tell him how well they’d gotten on—he’d never get the whole crotch rubbing and shirt unbuttoning scene, even if Alex explained it to him.
But Dave wouldn’t let up. “You going back again today?”
“I don’t know,” Alex said again. He couldn’t quite bring himself to say no.
Before Dave could ask anything else, the phone rang. Alex lunged for it, relieved. Please, he prayed. Be my mom, be the president, be anybody, just as long as Dave shuts up about that damn program for two minutes. Snagging the receiver, he asked, “Hello?”
“Alex!” The voice on the line was overly cheerful, too bright this early in the morning, and unfortunately all too familiar. Father Nate. Fuck. “Good morning!”
Alex groaned. “I was just going to call you,” he muttered. Silently he added, To tell you to find someone else for Jamie. Let him tell the next friend that he drove two people to their deaths.
The priest laughed, the sound rich through the phone. “Jamie wanted me to call and see how you’re doing. He hasn’t stopped talking about you since you left.”
Alex caught his breath at the way his heart fluttered to think of Jamie talking about him, him. “What?” he asked, incredulous.
He could almost hear Father Nate’s shrug. “I don’t know what you did yesterday but you made quite an impression on him.”
“How?” Alex heard himself say, his voice distant. He couldn’t imagine Jamie thought much about him at all—he hadn’t even said goodbye.
Apparently he was wrong. “Ask him yourself.”
“No, wait—”
Too late. Alex heard the phone switch hands, then heard someone breathe into the receiver. Then, a little breathless, Jamie whispered, “Hey.”
Just the sound of his breath was enough to pique Alex’s libido; when he spoke, a sudden heaviness filled Alex’s groin, hardening him. Fuck. Turning his back to his roommate so Dave wouldn’t notice the growing bulge at his crotch, Alex shoved one hand into the pocket of his jeans and pressed against the start of an erection. A sweet ache blossomed through him, and he had to close his eyes to tamp it down.
Before Alex could speak, Jamie raised his voice. “Can I get some privacy here? Jesus Christ.”
“Watch it,” Father Nate warned in the background. Alex heard a door close somewhere far away.
“Thank you,” Jamie muttered. Then, turning his attention back to the phone, he sighed, “Hey Alex.”
“Hey Jamie.” Alex didn’t know what to say but he could see Jamie perfectly in his mind—leaning back in Nate’s chair, feet propped up on the cluttered desk, hand straying to his waist…don’t think that. But he’d already seen Jamie’s hand there, he didn’t have to imagine it, he knew what it looked like, the way it made Jamie’s lips part slightly, the faint moan that would escape his throat, the hooded expression in his eyes. Whatever resolve Alex thought he had crumbled beneath that image. He tried to swallow past the sudden dryness in his throat. “What’s up?”
“I thought of you last night,” Jamie purred, his voice low and husky. “Guess which hand I used.”
Alex closed his eyes. He didn’t need this. “Jamie,” he warned.
That earned him a laugh. “Are you coming by today? I want to see you again.”
Taking a deep breath, Alex admitted, “I don’t know. I’ve got some things I have to do—”
“Like what?” Jamie asked.
Alex shrugged again. “I’m doing laundry right now.” Washing wet dreams from his sheets, now wouldn’t that make Jamie’s day? “I’ve got a few errands to run, some grocery shopping to do, nothing much.”
He could hear the pout in Jamie’s voice when he said, “I hoped you’d come by to see me. I don’t mean anything by that, either. I just wanted to see you again, that’s all.”
For a moment Alex considered telling him he wasn’t coming back. He didn’t need the desire and lust and want tearing at him—Jamie could find someone else to play his games.
But there was something innocent in the way Jamie admitted he wanted to see him again, something that made Alex wonder if maybe this was the real guy he was talking to now, not the punk with the attitude problem or the teen with the sex fixation, but the real Jamie Owens. And he sounded so lost, so alone, so needy, that Alex didn’t have the heart to let him down.
So he sighed and whispered, “I’ll be there a little after noon, okay?”
Jamie whooped loudly in his ear, bringing a smile to Alex’s face. Maybe he’s not such a bad kid after all. He’d just have to deal with the way Jamie made him feel—he’d wanted guys he couldn’t have before, hadn’t he? He just hoped he could look Jamie in the eye and not think of the sweaty dreams that had haunted his night.