He Got That Hickey From A Boy

Fuck!
Sam couldn’t stop staring at it. The damn thing kept teasing him, playing peek-a-boo from right under the edge of Jamie’s shirt collar. Purple and angry looking, the bruise had to be a hickey. The little fucker with his white-blond, baby hair and those enormous chocolate brown Bambi eyes always got on his last damn nerve. 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. But ever since Mrs. Hollingsworth assigned Jamie Bayer the chair in front of him, Sam felt, well… antsy. The kid was a tiny, quiet nerd. 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.
Maybe that’s why he kept obsessing about the fucking hickey. 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. 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. He slid his feet under the kid’s desk, and oh-so-slowly started to raise the back of it up. 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 started gently rocking the desk from side to side, careful not to make any noise. Jamie leaned even further over his scribbling, obviously having no intention of acknowledging that Sam was fucking with him.
He dropped the desk down abruptly and made a loud shushing...