Conflict of Interest Read online

  Conflict of Interest

  By J.M. Snyder

  Published by JMS Books LLC at Smashwords

  This book is available in print.

  Visit http://jmsnyder.net for more information.

  Copyright 2010 J.M. Snyder

  ISBN 978-1-93575-332-2

  For more titles by J.M. Snyder at Smashwords visit https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/jmsnyder

  Cover Photo Credit: Christina Ehlinger, Solarseven

  Used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  Cover Design: J.M. Snyder

  All Rights Reserved

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  NOTE: “Conflict of Interest” was originally published by Torquere Press.

  * * * *

  Conflict of Interest

  By J.M. Snyder

  Chapter 1

  St. Catherine’s Youth Club. Bolted to a chain-link fence that hemmed in the corner lot, the battered metal sign was pocked from thrown stones and riddled with what might’ve been bullet holes. Tall weeds strangled the grass inside the fence and broke up asphalt that had once covered a large parking lot. As Alex Hitchner eased his car around the curb, he frowned past the fence at the squat brick building hunched at the far end of the lot. A clothing warehouse back in the day, the building with its discolored façade and crumbling edgework now housed a live-in shelter for runaway teens. Near the double entrance doors, a group of boys played a heated game of keep-away on a makeshift basketball court. Glancing at the envelope in his passenger side seat, Alex checked the directions he’d received from Father Taylor one last time. Fourth and Main, they read. This must be the place.

  He avoided the empty spots near the building’s doors, unwilling to park too close to the kids and their dribbling basketball. As he got out, he slammed the car door behind him, then tugged on the handle to make sure it was locked. Hot stares burned into him, baleful eyes assessing him, his clothing, his car. Judging him.

  You’re here as a volunteer, Alex reminded himself. To help these boys. Nevertheless he avoided meeting those hungry eyes, and he kept one hand on his wallet as he trotted up the few steps to the shelter. A small voice inside him prayed his hubcaps were still on his car when he came back.

  Inside the shelter, a few teenagers sat around the wide-screen TV in one corner, playing video games. A group of girls congregated by the large open windows, giggling over pictures in a teen magazine, and some older boys worked behind tables laden with soup and bread and food, set up for lunch. The place was filled with kids—older than Alex had imagined, to be sure, but none looked old enough to be in charge, and no one wore the Roman collar Alex had expected this Father Taylor to wear. For a moment he just stood in the doorway, looking like another one of the lost kids in off the streets for a hot meal and a place to sleep.

  Then a guy broke away from a game of tabletop tennis, already smiling as he walked toward Alex. With his dark spiked hair and trim goatee, he was definitely older than the rest of the kids, and as he approached, Alex noticed diamond studs in each ear. “Alex Hitchner?” the man asked, extending his hand.

  Alex shook it quickly. “Father Taylor?” he ventured, taking in the dingy t-shirt and baggy jeans. You’ve got to be kidding.

  But the man laughed. “Just call me Nate,” he said. “All the kids do. Or Father Nate if you insist on the title. I see you found us all right?”

  Alex nodded, more at ease with the thought of this man as Nate than Father. “Your letter said you had someone you wanted me to meet.”

  It had been weeks since Alex had signed up for the Outreach Youth program at St. Catherine’s. The whole thing started as his roommate’s idea, but Dave lost interest when he hadn’t gotten an immediate call back and to be honest, Alex hadn’t expected to hear anything either. Then he received Father Nate’s letter. His first thought was to throw it away, or call the shelter and say he was no longer interested.

  But the more he thought about the program, the more he talked himself into it. He had a few months before classes started again at the community college where he studied music, and his job at the radio station was flexible enough that he could afford to spend some time helping out the shelter. “It’s like a big brother program, right?” he asked as he followed Father Nate down a narrow hall. The walls were yellow cinder blocks painted with bright grass and a picket fence in the hopes of livening them up. “I’m not sure I understand what it’s all about.”

  “There’s not much to it, really,” the priest said with a shrug. At the end of the hall, he stopped and opened a door to reveal a tiny office overflowing with two chairs, a cluttered desk, and too many filing cabinets.

  Taking a seat behind the desk, he motioned Alex to sit down. “We take the survey you filled out and match you up with a youth we think you’ll have a lot in common with,” he explained. “In your case we picked someone roughly your own age. These kids need someone strong in their lives, Alex. Someone to show them that there’s a life beyond the streets. They come from broken homes—runaways mostly, but some have been tossed out by their parents. Most of them have been in gangs, into drugs and prostitution and things you and I don’t like to think about. Things we like to pretend don’t exist except on TV and in the movies.”

  From the papers on his desk, he extracted a thin folder and handed it to Alex. “His name is Jamie. It’s all in there—everything we know about him. Take a look. If you think it’ll be too much, just tell me and I’ll understand. You can leave without ever seeing him. But if you think it might be worth it to take the time and be a friend…well, he’s in a room down the hall, waiting.”

  “It’s that easy?” Alex opened the folder and found a picture of a sullen kid staring back at him, a shock of orange-red curls hugging his scalp tightly. A spray of freckles tanned his nose and cheeks, his mouth was curved into a full-lipped pout, and his eyes…

  Jesus. Alex caught his breath. He had never seen eyes as blue or as deep before, not in a photograph, not ever. There was no way he could close this folder and walk out now. Those eyes would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. “He’s my age?” he asked softly.

  “Eighteen last March,” Father Nate replied. “Older than the others here but I just can’t kick him out. Where would he go? You’re just out of high school yourself, right?”

  “Graduated two years ago,” Alex said. Almost reluctantly he turned the photograph over, trying to ignore those eyes, those curls, that stare. He started to read the survey Jamie had filled out in a thick, tiny block print. Owens, Jamie David. Eyes: Blue. Hair: Blonde. Sex: If you’re cute, why not? Alex suppressed a grin. “I’m twenty.”

  Father Nate smiled. “You’re in college, right?” When Alex nodded, he said, “That’s the kind of thing Jamie needs to see. Most days I can’t get him to show up
at school. He’s not graduating this year, that’s for certain, and I don’t even think he really cares. He needs guidance. Someone to show him what he’s missing. Someone who’s been there before—someone he can look up to.” Someone like you, he implied, but he didn’t say the words out loud.

  Alex scanned the rest of the survey. Hobbies: Sex, music, sex, basketball, video games, clubbing. Did I mention sex? “He’s…” He searched for the word he wanted. “An average teenager, eh? Likes sex.”

  “Don’t let him scare you,” Father Nate replied. “He talks a good game but it’s just a front. I think he’s lonely. He just needs a friend.”

  Or someone to fuck, Alex mused, but he kept the thought to himself. “I’ll meet him.”

  What did he have to lose?

  * * * *

  Father Nate led Alex down the hall. He stopped at another closed door, and through the thin wood Alex could hear the steady rhythm of a radio, cranked to a rap beat that shook the door in its frame. “He likes to be the center of attention,” Father Nate whispered as he opened the door. “So he keeps his music loud. Everything’s loud with him.”

  Inside, a long table took up most of the room. Two chairs flanked the table on either side, and a beat up boom box sat on the scratched tabletop. A bare window let the sun slant in across the table to wink off the radio’s chrome buttons. In one of the chairs Jamie lounged, wearing jeans tight enough to cut off his circulation and a baggy button-down shirt, his legs propped up insolently on the table. Beneath him the chair leaned back on two legs, and he slapped his knees in time with the music, bopping along to the rap under his breath. He didn’t look up as they entered. “Jamie?” Father Nate prompted.

  Jamie ignored him.

  Father Nate reached across the table and clicked off the radio, plunging the room into a sudden silence.

  “Hey!” Jamie cried. Now he looked up, anger clouding his face. He frowned when he noticed Alex. With a surly nod he asked, “You my new friend?”

  “This is Alex,” Father Nate explained.

  Alex wondered where his patience with this kid came from. It was obvious Jamie didn’t want to be here, in this room, with the two of them… Maybe this had been a bad idea after all. Maybe this was too much for Alex to handle. “He just wants to talk to you a bit,” Father Nate continued. “Just get to know you, is that so bad?”

  Under the weight of Jamie’s gaze, Alex cleared his throat. Those dark eyes were an impossible shade of blue—the photograph didn’t do them justice, and once Alex looked into them, he couldn’t seem to look away. He felt that gaze boring into him, deep into his soul; he felt as if this young man could see every part of him, could hear his innermost thoughts as if he shouted them out loud. He’s only eighteen, Alex thought. Two years younger than me. He’s not all that.

  Then Jamie smiled, those pouty lips curving into a sunshine grin that Alex couldn’t help but return. “I like you,” Jamie declared, and Father Nate laughed. “You can stay. Talk to me. What do you want to know?”

  Alex glanced at Father Nate, who motioned at the other chair in the room. “I’ll check on you guys in a little while,” he said as Alex sat down. With a wink he left the room, closing the door behind him and leaving the two of them alone.

  Alone.

  Alex stared at Jamie across the expanse of the table and wondered what he could possibly say to start things off. He was never good at introductions…what made him think he could do this Youth Outreach program anyway? Why did he think he’d be a good influence on someone’s life? Jamie watched him closely, and Alex wanted to say something witty to make this sullen guy smile at him, but he couldn’t think of anything at all. “So you’re Jamie,” he said, hoping that would start something.

  Jamie shrugged and moved his feet to the edge of the table, knees bending as he rocked back and forth in the chair. “You’re going to fall,” Alex warned him. With that barely there grin, Jamie set the chair down on the floor with a loud thump.

  His feet were still on the table, his legs spread apart obscenely, and Alex couldn’t help but stare at the slight bulge at Jamie’s crotch where his pants bit into his groin and accented his hidden…

  Don’t think it, Alex thought, swallowing hard against the sudden lust that dried his throat. He sees you looking and loves this attention so don’t think about him like that. He’s younger than you—

  By only two years.

  Whose idea was it to team him up with a kid so close to his own age? A guy like this, who radiated sex and knew just how to pose to turn Alex on? “I’m not going to fall,” Jamie said, grinning when Alex swallowed again.

  At least you made him smile, Alex thought, tearing his gaze from Jamie’s crotch. God, when was Nate coming back? He looked at those curls, those eyes, and thought maybe this would be harder than he first imagined.

  Chapter 2

  “What’s in there?” Jamie asked, nodding at the folder Alex set between them on the table. It was the folder Father Nate gave him, containing Jamie’s photograph and survey. Alex thought of the cramped print pressed onto the papers, Jamie’s block handwriting, and wondered if he was able to show it to him.

  Somehow he didn’t think so. Folding his hands, Alex shrugged and tried not to stare at Jamie’s crotch as he said, “Just a few papers, nothing much.”

  “Stuff about me?” Jamie wanted to know. When Alex shrugged again, he laughed. “Does it say what happened to the last friend I had?”

  Alex shook his head. At least they were talking. “No,” he said gently. “What happened?”

  That hint of a smile was back. “Her name was Marie,” he said, gauging Alex’s reaction. “Father Nate thought we’d get along great. That Youth Outreach crap of his. Only she killed herself.”

  Alex tried not to look surprised, but he knew from Jamie’s grin that he failed miserably. He cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “Really?”

  “I drove her to it,” Jamie said, a hint of pride in his voice. “Does it say that in there?”

  Alex picked at the corner of the folder. “No,” he admitted. He wondered why Nate hadn’t mentioned that little tidbit to him. A look at Jamie’s grin and he thought maybe that was a lie. He likes attention, isn’t that what Nate said? Maybe he’s just trying to see how I react.

  Jamie nodded. “She hates me. Hated rather. She hated me.”

  “Why would someone hate you?” Alex asked. True, Jamie was a bit uncouth, a little loud and quite obnoxious, but he was cute. Alex thought if he smiled more often, he’d be the center of attention without even trying. His smile was like pure gold, that rare, that beautiful. “You seem nice enough to me.”

  Jamie laughed as he leaned the chair back on two legs again. “You just met me. You don’t know me well enough to hate me yet.”

  “I couldn’t hate you,” Alex said before he could stop himself.

  Jamie spread his legs further apart and, as Alex watched, rubbed one long finger over the tight bulge in his jeans, pressing against the strained fabric. His nail trailed along the zipper, creating a tiny plinking sound that made beads of sweat break out along Alex’s brow. “Jamie—”

  “Does it say I like boys in there?” Jamie asked suddenly.

  Alex felt his cheeks heat up as he watched that hand cup the erection confined in Jamie’s jeans. He knew Jamie was watching him but he couldn’t look away, he couldn’t stop staring—he knew how that felt, a hand on his body like that, squeezing gently, rubbing along swollen flesh, the tightness of pants when he had a hard-on, and the thought of Jamie’s hand doing that, the slight part of Jamie’s lips, the bold way he touched himself in front of Alex, watching what it did to him…

  Alex shifted uncomfortably in his seat and hoped his shirt would be long enough to cover his own budding erection when he finally stood up. “Does it say I like blonde boys?” Jamie wanted to know, his voice so damnably soft. “Preppy boys? Like you?”

  “No,” Alex whispered, picking at the corner of the folder again. Nate, are you coming back so
metime today? He forced himself to turn away from Jamie and stare at the radio because it was safe, there was nothing sexual about it at all; it was just a boom box… And you can see his reflection in the chrome facing. You had to meet this guy. You had to look at his picture and see his eyes and you couldn’t just walk away. Trying to lighten the mood, he laughed. “It does says you like sex.”

  “Are you asking?” Jamie asked. He pressed his hand against the button on his jeans and moaned softly, a sound that made Alex’s hands clench. “Because if you’re looking for some action—”

  “No.” His mind whirled out, trying to remember what he had read about Jamie. “You like music?”

  At the edge of his vision he saw Jamie’s hand make its way up the front of his shirt, fingers picking at the buttons, causing the fabric to gap open and reveal dusky skin underneath. “Yeah,” Jamie said, shrugging as he popped one button open playfully. The sudden glimpse of skin caused Alex’s fingers to tremble with want. “Music’s cool. You like music, too?” He popped open another button, revealing more of his smooth, muscled chest.

  Not trusting himself to speak, Alex nodded. Somehow he thought they had different tastes—he didn’t think the country he listened to in the car on the way over here would suit Jamie well. But still, it was some common ground at least. That and the fact that we both like guys, he thought, but he wasn’t going to tell Jamie that. “I work at Y95 downtown,” he offered, watching as Jamie’s hand slipped into his shirt to tweak a pink nipple.

  Jamie grinned. “Really? You one of the shock jocks on in the morning?” When Alex shook his head, Jamie added, “Maybe one day you can take me there, show me around. What do you say?”

  I’d like to take you home, Alex thought, but he crushed that thought before it went much farther. Shit, this isn’t going to work out. I’m trying to be nice here and all he’s trying to do is turn me on. He knows he’s doing it. I don’t need this. I don’t need to want him like this, not when I’m here to help him, not when I can’t have him. He’s not even my type, comes from a completely different world, someplace I don’t need to be. I should just tell him I’ll see him later and never come back again.