The Hit List

...After lunch, Jamie loaded the dishwasher, and Robert helped Jamie’s father into the living room. There the older man sat down, reading and discarding the Sunday papers, as they’d done in the morning, and commenting on the interesting sections. Robert was sitting opposite Jamie’s father and at an angle from Jamie. Every time Jamie glanced up, his eyes would rest for a few moments on Robert and then he would look away. He could no longer tell what he was thinking, but he was aware more than anything of Robert’s profile. His long nose gave him an almost patrician look and his lips were full. Jamie knew what he could do with…

God, stop it, he thought. This was crazy. He needed to find something else to think about. Lucy, for instance. Right now, he couldn’t even remember what she looked like. All he could think about was what would happen if Robert…

“Jamie? Are you all right?”

He came back to where he was with a start and realized he was once more staring at Robert, who was looking back at him with a quizzical expression. At the same time, Jamie realized how excited he was and crossed his legs to try to hide the evidence. Bloody hell. How long had he been gazing at Robert and what could the other man see in his face?

“Sure, I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“So I see,” said Robert.

Jamie colored up, and his father laughed. “I think he’s worrying about the fete. He’s been very quiet all week.”

Hey, he thought, if my father had had the sort of experiences I’ve been having lately, he’d probably not be shouting about it afterwards either. Next to this, the fete would be nothing.

“I’m sure Jamie’s got other things on his mind.”

His father sighed. “Yes, he always has. My younger son is a dreamer, you know. Jamie, please could you get some tea? My throat’s very dry and I don’t want to have another coughing fit. It’s so upsetting, you know.”

He scrambled to his feet. “Okay, I’ll get it. Robert?”

Robert misunderstood and got up. “Of course, I’ll give you a hand. I’ll bring the cups in.”

Jamie froze and his head filled with noise. Without another word, he left the room and headed off down the hall, aware of Robert behind him. In fact, he was more aware of that than he’d ever been of anything in his entire life. God help him, what was going to happen now?

Once in the kitchen, Jamie continued to keep silent. He didn’t even look at Robert. After putting the kettle on, he reached out to open the fridge for the milk, but Robert was there before him. He had no idea which one of them grabbed the other first, but the next thing Jamie knew he was struggling against Robert, mouth pressed hard to his, hands tugging at Robert’s hair. Almost as if they were fighting, though they weren’t.

It couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds. Jamie heard the other man groan and, as if he’d been struck, he shoved Robert away from him. Hard enough so his back slammed against the fridge door and he put out his hands to steady himself.

“Please. Keep away from me,” Jamie panted. “Don’t touch me again.”

Robert’s lip was bleeding from where Jamie must have bitten it. He could taste Robert’s blood in his own mouth, the savor of it heavy on his tongue. Robert looked at Jamie and wiped his lips, the back of his hand drawing a thin smear of blood across his fingers.

“Then don’t look at me like that again,” he said, “if you don’t want to be touched.”

With that, he turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Jamie to the company of his own thoughts.

All the rest of that day and long into the night, Jamie could feel the shape and the warmth of Robert in his arms. And the Limewater fete and all the troubles with Dad seemed a thousand lifetimes away...