Later, after dinner, Jamie sits in the hall lounge and stares at the television, lost in thought. I didn’t mean to, he told Thad, but who’s he kidding? He did mean it—he meant to do exactly what he’d done earlier, the touch, the kiss, everything. Hell, he practically had his arms around Thad and would’ve pulled his friend down beside him in bed if Mark hadn’t interrupted them.
Fuck Mark.
Next year will be different. Jamie’s already thought it out, and even though he doesn’t really want to wait, he doesn’t want to rush things, either. He wants Thad, as a friend, as a lover, and the fact Thad didn’t pull away from him earlier tells him he’s right—Thad wants him, too. He just doesn’t know how to admit it, either to Jamie or to himself.
So they’ll take it slow. Jamie can be patient if it me
