It looked as if Jamie was into narrow-fucking punk-ass losers who wore black nail polish, didn't know their ass from their iPod, and sucked like a Hoover.
It wasn't like the kid had ever tried to come onto him. So what if the kid was gay? He'd never thought about it, but he didn't think he had any beef with gay guys. What it did not explain was why Sam was still standing in the hallway two minutes later, grinding his teeth, clenching and releasing his fists when he should have been heading down to get his own lunch. Trey laughed, slung his arm around Jamie's neck, and led him down the hallway toward the lunchroom. The kid whirled around, blushing furiously and stammering. Sam felt his lips tighten when Trey reached down, flicked his finger over the hickey, then leaned down to whisper in Jamie's ear. Jamie looked back over his shoulder and smiled hesitantly before turning back to close his locker.
He looked down the hall to where Jamie was pulling his lunch out of his own locker and saw Trey, the tall, lanky, goth freak, coming up behind Jamie. At his locker, he stopped to switch out his books and heard someone call Jamie's name. Whoa! Why was he looking at the boy's ass? He jerked his eyes back up and fuck it all if his gaze didn't land right back on that goddamned hickey again. Sam followed him down the hall, noticing how the kid's angry stride made his little ass all twitchy. Jamie looked at him suspiciously as he left the classroom. He even gave him a sheepish grin to make up for messing with him earlier. Then he stopped and indicated Jamie should go first. Years of running track made it easy for him to readjust his stride and not fall. Luckily the bell rang before she could say anything, so he quickly gathered his books to head for the door, and damn if the little brat didn't slip his foot out into the aisle and try to trip him. Hollingsworth, the old bat, immediately looked hard at Sam who raised his hands in a gesture of innocent appeal. He dropped the desk down abruptly and made a loud shushing noise at Jamie when their classmates looked their way. Jamie leaned even further over his scribbling, obviously having no intention of acknowledging that Sam was fucking with him. He started gently rocking the desk from side to side, careful not to make any noise.
Jamie never budged from his position bent over his notebook taking notes or whatever the fuck he was so intent on, but Sam watched a dark red flush slowly crawl up the pale skin of his neck. He slid his feet under the kid's desk, and oh-so-slowly started to raise the back of it up. H writing on the chalk board, droning on about what was going to be on their Spanish test Friday, so he leaned back in his desk and straightened his legs out. If there was no girlfriend, how the hell did he get the hickey? Sam glanced up at the front of the class and saw Mrs.
Maybe that's why he kept obsessing about the fucking hickey. Not the thick glasses, pocket protector, and high-waist-pants nerd, but more of a head-always-in-a-book, super-polite, and no-sign-of-a-girlfriend sort of nerd. Hollingsworth assigned Jamie Bayer the chair in front of him, Sam felt, well. This was strange in itself because he doubted the boy had ever said more than a handful of words to him so far, and they were well past the middle of the school year. The little fucker with his white-blond, baby hair and those enormous chocolate brown Bambi eyes always got on his last damn nerve. Purple and angry looking, the bruise had to be a hickey. The damn thing kept teasing him, playing peek-a-boo from right under the edge of Jamie's shirt collar. Final Edited Version of One Little Bruise ©