around when his great-great-great-grandparents were setting down roots in Texas, and found the door to his shared room.
His metal key was like a Hollywood prop, something he’d only ever seen in old movies. But it fit in the lock and turned, and he shoved open the warped door with his shoulder before walking in.
Whatever the quaint little hotel lacked with its staircase and boring lobby, it more than made up for with the view. His first glimpse was through the south-facing windows, and he saw the Arc de Triomphe and the tip of the Eiffel Tower. Gauzy curtains blew on the hot summer breeze, ruffling into and out of his view. Spread before him were what seemed like all the rooftops of Paris, ceramic tiles and antique chimneys, delicate wrought iron scrollwork and Juliet balconies mingling as the city rolled on and on.
“Hello?”
Wes heard him before he saw him. His roommate, a guy he only knew as Justin S. from the paperwork he’d been emailed. There were no other details. “Hello?” he called back. His drawl, which always came in strong when he was tired, was thick as whiskey. He cleared his throat. A head popped around the corner. He lifted his hat from his head, held it over his chest. “You must be Justin.”
Wide eyes set in an angular face stared. Justin looked him up and down, a long, slow rake that took in every inch of Wes’s frame. He felt the burn of those eyes, felt them stutter and take a second look.
“Uhh, yeah.” Justin appeared in full view, then, his body following his head until he was fully facing Wes. He was slender. A runner, a swimmer, maybe even a dancer. Wes had an eye for bodies, for musculature. Justin was as tall as he was, and his strength wasn’t accidental. He worked at himself. Taut, wide shoulders—butterfly shoulders—and a trim waist, defined hipbones. Carved thighs, the muscles playing peekaboo with skintight denim. “You’re the late guy?”
He held out his hand and nodded. “Wes.”
Justin's touch was firm, his skin cool. “Justin. Sorry. You surprised me.”
Wes didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. He waited, trapped in the entranceway, the rest of their room barricaded by Justin. They were in a staredown, it seemed, Justin’s saddle-leather eyes locked on his own. Searching for something.
“Oh!” Justin finally peeled his eyes from Wes’s and backed up. “Sorry. Again.” He shook his head, rubbed his fingers over his temples. “It was a long night. I think I had too much wine.” He gestured to the room, fluttering his wrist across the divide to the other single bed. The bed frames were pushed against the wall on either side of the hallway, set up so they could gaze out the windows over Paris at night. A tiny kitchenette, smaller than the one in Wes’s freshman dorm, and a skinny door squatted in the far corner. “Bathroom, kitchen.” Justin gave the grand tour with one point of his finger.
Justin checked his watch as Wes set his duffel on his bed next to his hat, crown down on the mattress. “Everyone is meeting up downstairs to take the shuttle to campus in twenty minutes. You got here just in time.”
He’d taken the red-eye, planned his arrival for this morning, right before classes started. Time to change out of his T-shirt, maybe wash his face. Brush his teeth.
“There’s coffee.” Justin’s voice came over his other shoulder, and from the corner of Wes’s eye, he saw Justin leaning against the window frame with his arms folded, staring over the city. “And I picked up a baguette this morning, but I didn’t finish it. Help yourself.”
“Thanks.” He shucked his shirt and dropped it on his bed, fished out his favorite Ariat tee, grabbed his toothbrush, and headed for the bathroom. He had to turn sideways to slide through the door, and there was no room at all to bend over. Clearly, indoor plumbing was a modern addition to the hotel, done sometime in the early 1900s and never updated.
Wes hesitated before he slid back into the room, his gaze sliding to Justin and stilling. Justin was still at the window, still staring over the Paris skyline, his head tilted against the frame. He wore skinny jeans, the ends tucked into untied boots. Fashion combat boots, not the working Ropers Wes wore. Justin wore a T-shirt and an unbuttoned plaid shirt, and his hair was somewhere between brown and blond, like honey left out in the