Chapter One – Jamie Whatever

Tall, dark, mean, sleeve tattoos… does this description ring any bells, boys of Sunny Hill? And yes, I’m talking to all of you because you’ve either wanted to be under him, on top of him, or kick him where it would hurt him the most. His Ego! Pull your minds out of the gutter already. Gay boys melt, girls swoon, everywhere this man goes, the floor gets wet.

But should we call this… Jamie Whatever, a real man? Someone who gets off – pun intended – on breaking hearts and dealing low blows? He’s in our crosshairs, and we’re on a mission to teach him a lesson!

“Oh, really, and how do you intend to do that?” Jamie mumbled with an amused look after checking the link attached to the message he’d just gotten from one of his many campus connections.

He smiled at the cutie leaning over the counter. That preppy look was perfectly seasoned with equal parts candor and wickedness. It really worked for him.

“What can I get you today, sweetheart?”

“Your number would make me happy.”

“Sure. With coffee to go?” His smile turned dazzling. He’d been told that about it at least a hundred times, so he had no reason to think otherwise. “Are you a Sunny Hill student?” he asked as he placed the order in front of his customer.

“Yes. I heard you have it bad for guys who go there.” The cutie cocked his head to one side and gave him a long look.

“You heard correctly. By the way, do you happen to know who the asshole who runs your local gossip rag is?” He showed the guy his phone screen and waited for a reaction.

The cutie only shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t take it to heart. Anyone with half a brain wouldn’t bother with it. But I suppose that’s a privilege reserved only for college students.” He gave Jamie an arrogant yet still somewhat cute smile.

“You cheeky ass,” Jamie grinned. “What? You think yourself better because I’m behind this counter and you’re on the other side?”

The guy shrugged again. “Hmm, I don’t know, maybe.”

“I’ll have you know this is a side hustle, nothing more.” Jamie gestured around at the half-empty coffee shop. “I’m actually a musician.”

“You don’t say,” the cutie drawled. “How big are you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to find out?”

“Jamie, stop flirting with the customers already,” his boss’s shrill voice made him jump. 

Janet was a great girl, but she had the kind of voice that recommended her for mid-management positions, even if what she said during an interview was pure gibberish. 

The cute guy grabbed his coffee and made himself scarce. It only hit Jamie one minute too late that he’d forgotten to give the college boy his number.

“Great,” he said, throwing his arms out. “You scared him off.”

Janet hit him with her towel as she skirted around him. “Don’t worry, he’ll come back. They always do. By the way, do you have a magic stick in your pants? Why do they all drool over you?”

“Are you a hardcore lesbian? Because I think that could be the only reason why you’d ask something like that. I mean, just take a good look.” He did a slow three-sixty and came back to face her.

“Yeah, yeah,” Janet said and rolled her eyes. “So, you’re good-looking. Big deal.”

Jamie wasn’t the kind to give up that quickly. “It must be my hip move.” He stole a glance to see if his exchange with his boss had an audience – something he didn’t usually mind having except now he did – and pushed his crotch forward.

“Okay, Elvis the Pelvis, stop that already,” Janet admonished him and, this time got him good in the face with her towel.

“Ouch, grandma.” Janet was in her forties, and running a coffee shop was half her life – the other being her family. However, she knew her music better than most people who pretended to be experts. That was one of the reasons why Jamie got along with her as well as he did. 

“So, when will you be out of town again?”

Another reason why he loved his boss to pieces was that he could make his own schedule, depending on what gigs his band happened to score. 

“Not sure. Mitch said something might come up next month. Until then, I’m all yours, honey.”

“Mine and half the block’s,” Janet commented, pursing her lips to keep herself from laughing. “Which Mitch was that?”

“Mitch the voice,” Jamie replied promptly. His band was called The Wicked Mitches of the West, and he was the only one not sharing a name with the rest.

“Just curious, don’t they ever get confused?” Janet asked. “How do they talk to each other? Mitch this, Mitch that?”

“No, they call each other Voice, Lead G, Bass, and Fiddle.”

“Are you pulling my leg?”

Jamie shrugged and shook his head. “I wish I was.”

“And what do they call you? Drums?”

“No, what the hell? They just call me Jamie.”

Yep, he was an outcast in their little merry band. Even the violin Mitch, or so-called Fiddle, with his classical music background, had received a warmer welcome in their midst than he had. Sometimes, Jamie wondered whether they were all just waiting for a drummer Mitch to come along so they could fully embrace their band’s name.

No, who was he kidding? They knew value when they saw it. And Jamie knew he was one hell of a drummer. 

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