Not His Kiss to Take (8 page)

“
Yes. I went with my parents when I finished high school. Grad present for finishing early.”

Lucky bastard.
“Got any pictures?”

Like he’d just said magic words, Evan’s eyes lit right up. “Many.”

Most people would probably be rolling their eyes about now, but not Jamie. Checking out pictures of faraway places with the person who took them was a rare treat. “Let’s watch the show first; then you can show me your secret stash of vacation pics.” Would be interesting to see where he’d been, plus he secretly hoped to find out what Evan looked like as a teenager. “Please tell me you were tall and geeky and had zits and braces in school, just like everyone else.”

“
Well, I was tall.”

“
I hate you, Evan.”

“
Come on, angel. I have boxes of pictures to show you. Plus
digital.”

“
Cool.”

“
I wrote notes on the back of all of them too.”

Realizing what he’d gotten himself into, Jamie groaned. “You’re a nerd, Evan. You don’t look it, but you’re just a closet nerd without the thick glasses. I bet you have a pocket protector and everything.”

Not arguing his accusation at all, Evan grinned. “Yup. But even nerds can do stupid things. If you do go there one day, remember this: no matter what anyone tells you, no matter how curious you are, do not get it in your head to try eating dog meat.” Evan shuddered visibly. “I have never been so ill in my life.”

Dog?
“You ate a dog?”
Revolting.
“Who the fuck eats dogs? Serves you right.”

“
That’s what my dad said. Dog meat on a stick—don’t do it. I haven’t been able to eat souvlaki ever since. Anytime I see lamb on a stick, I get these horrible flashbacks of me projectile vomiting. Ugh. But that could have been from the vile stuff the Chinese naturopath poured down my throat in between the bouts of violent puking and the burning diarrhea. My memory’s kinda hazy on the subject. And if you get sick, don’t trust village doctors over there either.” Evan cocked his head. “Come to think of it, I’m not even sure he
was
a doctor.”

Déjà vu.
Jamie’d harbored the same suspicions about Evan at first.
Don’t say it. Don’t.
But it was so very tempting to tease Dr. Perv-a-Lot.
Easy pickings.
Jamie refrained. Over the past couple of days, he’d gotten the sneaking suspicion that not being able to practice medicine ate away at Evan’s soul, that he’d lost something that meant a great deal to him. Maybe everything. “Come on then, Doc. I can’t wait to see the pictures of whatever back-alley dive served you someone’s pet Fido on a stick. Or did you buy your barbecued puppy from some doggy—
pardon me
, I meant dodgy—street vendor? Off the back of a truck? Or was it one of those carriage things? What do they call ’em, rickshaws?”

Evan managed to swat him on the ass before he leapt out of the way. “You’ve got a smart mouth, boy. And you swear too much. I should do what your mama failed to do and soap out your filthy mouth.”

Unwilling to hide the smirk, Jamie flashed it unrepentantly. “Shit, your organic-oatmeal-and-mint soap probably tastes better than your cookies. Bring it on.”

Fortunately, Jamie was quicker, and, after a few sock-slippery spins around the kitchen, Evan gave up trying to wash his mouth out with his minty-good, fair-trade organic soap. But it was close. Could’ve been dessert.

Notes on the back or not, Jamie enjoyed thumbing through all of Evan’s photos and watching the videos. They were filed in order, by date. Catalogued and in pristine condition. Saved in folders by date and location. Yup. A total nerd. Nice looking, but still a nerd. Jamie wasn’t sure he’d outgrown that gangly stage yet and felt self-conscious about his body compared to Evan’s Pilates-toned bod.
I hate being small and skinny. And…pretty. I should probably ask Evan what a twink is.

From the photos it was obvious Evan had gotten his looks from his dad, especially that stern expression Jamie loathed. His parents didn’t look like very warm people. No wonder Evan had rebelled, scaring the crap out of them doing every wild thing he could conceive of on their lengthy trip: whitewater rafting (he fell out and almost drowned); climbing up a cliff face strapped in a flimsy-looking rope harness (goaded by the locals, he admitted); and eating roasted puppies on a skewer (and no stinking picture of that, damn it).

By the time they’d gone through all the photos and watched the show, Jamie’s belly was doing quite a bit of rebelling of its own.
If you’d just quit thinking about Evan’s disgusting dog souvlaki, you wouldn’t feel so sick. And no more quinoa either. Maybe you’re fucking allergic?

“
Jamie.”

Uh-oh. The psych orderly voice again. Doc must’ve spotted him rubbing that knot in his belly. “Yeah?”

“
Take a pill, for Christ’s sake. Quit being so stubborn.”

More medicine.
Laxatives. Yuck
. Those were for old people. “No thanks.”

Wearing his stern-doctor mask, Evan slid next to him and trapped him against the arm of the couch.

“
Hey!” Jamie yelped as Evan expertly snuck his hand under his shirt and prodded his sore stomach. “Fuck off! Go grope someone else!” Evan proceeded to find every sore spot with uncanny accuracy.

Ignoring his jibe, as well as his opinion, Evan poked at him some more. At least he kept his hands off his dick. This time. “You’re going to take something right now before this gets any worse. Your abdomen’s hard as a rock. Or I’m gonna end up giving you an enema.”

Whoa.
Twisting away, Jamie elbowed Evan in the ribs, yanked the man’s hand out of his pants, and hastily shoved his shirt back down.
Enema?
Weren’t enemas…?
Oh no. Never happen. No, no, no
. “Be a cold day in hell before I let you give me an enema!” Jamie snarled. His asshole clenched in self-defense. He drew up his knees.

“
You’ll feel better—”

“
No!”

“
It’s not as bad as you think.”

No, it was
worse
. Ew. Evan had to be crazy if he thought—no, wait. A disgusting and unwanted thought popped into his head. He’d heard about this…
Oh my fucking God.
“Don’t tell me,” he breathed in horror, “let me guess. You do that for fun too? When you’re playing
doctor
?”

For a second, Evan seemed utterly confused. Then his eyes sparkled mischievously. Glinted with unholy delight. “Sometimes. It can be a very arousing, sensuous experience, if done right.”

“
Ugh!” Resisting the impulse, Jamie didn’t stick his fingers in his ears. But only because that would mean opening himself up for another belly-poking ambush. “You are so fucking perverted. I’m just an innocent straight boy here, Doc. Do
not
put nasty images like that in my head. Just don’t.” Curled in his corner, Jamie shuddered. “Leave me alone.”

The evil glint in his eye remained as Evan said, “By morning, you’ll be begging me to do it.”

“
Only in your dreams, Kinkmeister.”

An arch one of those elegant brows accentuated the evil-glint thing he had going on. Evan smirked. His smirks were not to be trusted. “We’ll see, angel.”

“
Fuck you.”

“
I’m really going to enjoy giving it to you.”

“
Ain’t happening! You’re just gonna have to keep your kinks to yourself and deal with your own boners!”

Smiling slyly, Evan said, “Wanna make a bet?”

Fucker.
“What’s the wager?”

“
I win—as in you come crawling to me begging for relief—then you have to see that specialist I told you about. With no whining before, during, or after. Not one word.”

Wow, for a dog-eating fairy, Ev sure knows how to pick ’em. But ha! That’s a loser’s bet, ’cause I’ll be fine by tomorrow, sucker.
“And when I win?”

“
You get to give me the enema.”

“
What! Fuck that, you homo! That’s not winning anything I want.” What, exactly, would be a good bet?
What should I pick? And it has to be something I want but that Evan hates. Something that will drive him bonkers.
The possibilities were endless. A mountain of junk food?
Maybe.
Trip to Hawaii?
Nah—Evan would be happy to ship you off in a heartbeat. Hell, he’d probably throw you off the plane personally.
Tying him to a chair and then folding a bunch of maps wrong in front of his face?
That’d be so funny, but I can do that anytime.
Then it came to him.
Too easy.
“I win,” he said, giving back an equally wicked smile, “and you have to let me drive your car for an entire week.” Evan owned a Porsche.

“
Oh, no way, you little shit!”

“
Scared?” he taunted.

“
Damn right I’m scared.
I
don’t even drive it in the snow.”

“
I won’t claim my week of joyriding until it all melts. Fair enough?”

Oh yeah, watching Evan squirm for a change was fucking awesome. But then Evan got to thinking—his eyes twinkled.
Damn
. “Sure you wouldn’t rather have a brand-new Playstation? Xbox?”

Fucker!
Now that wasn’t fucking fair. Porsche vs. Playstation.
Goddamn him.
The odds of Jamie getting to so much as touch, let alone drive, another Porsche in his lifetime were slim to none. But the thrill would last for only one measly week, whereas a gaming system lasted a helluva lot longer.

But it’s a Porsche! Or…you could win yourself the Playstation and have something to do with Evan besides watching lame-ass movies. ’Cause he’s really lonely. And he’s been so nice to you, dick groping and butt fingering aside. He needs some company more than you need to drive his baby.
“Okay, then. Here’s the deal. Game system of my choice—and it’s mine forever—with an extra controller, two games, and
you
have to play them with me.”

For a second, Evan glared at him, probably more horrified at the idea of having to play a video game than at the prospect of giving up the keys to his precious car. Jamie saw the instant he caved—his eyes flashed with a different twinkle. “Deal.” They shook on it, all formal and shit. “Not like I’m gonna lose anyway.”

“
Yeah, yeah, Pervy-Pants, you’re gonna lose big-time. And I’m gonna pick a game with lots of zombies attacking screechy women with big tits falling out of their dresses all over the place. There’ll be lots of screaming and chewing and flesh ripping. They probably taste better than that greasy dog meat you remember so fondly.”

Evan was
so
competitive. “And I’m going to enjoy giving
you
that enema. Just imagine the feel of me lubing you up and sliding that big nozzle right up your ass. You have a cute ass. I’m gonna love it. Then I’m going to enjoy watching Dr. Sharpe fondle your balls while he bends you over and ever-so-politely asks you to turn your head and cough. He’s like, eighty, practically blind, and has very long, very cold, bony fingers. And he smells. Like antacids and mummified cats.”