the street from you.” Justin said, right as the pen finally snapped in two. The ink cartridge and a spring went flying in opposite directions, plink-plinking across the tile floor. Justin slammed the broken pen down and scooted his chair back, grabbing his notebook and textbook. “In fact, I’d rather be anywhere than near you. So why don’t you tell the class all about Paris on your own? Being on your own is what you’re best at anyway, isn’t it?”
Justin shoved his chair against the table and strode out of the classroom.
Wes stared at his empty chair, at the negative space Justin had left behind. He lives across the street. He lives across the damn street.
“Problème, monsieur?” The professor’s hand landed on the back of Wes’s chair. “Where is your partner?”
“He had an emergency,” Wes choked out. “He had to go. But, uh, I can present.”
“Merveilleux.” His professor beamed. “And, can I say, Monsieur Van de Hoek, how excited I am for this season, and to watch you play. You will have a fabulous NFL career.” He patted Wes on the shoulder twice and returned to his perch behind the podium.
Wes hunched his shoulders and stared at the tabletop.
Chapter Eleven
Wes’s fingers brushed the grass as he bit down on his mouth guard.
Breathe in. Listen for Colton’s count.
His heart hammered. Blood thundered through his veins. He felt sweat drip down his forehead, bead on the tip of his nose.
Colton called the snap, and stillness instantly transformed into action, into sound and fury, a violent, vicious rush. He was on a pass route for this play, and he stutter-stepped, juked left, then ran right. The receivers hauled ass on their deep routes, and Wes ran his slant route into the gap behind the defensive line, in front of middle linebacker. He hit his mark and looked back at the line. Colton was in the pocket, eyeing the downfield, looking left, looking right. Wes had no idea how everyone else was doing, what kind of coverage each of the receivers had on them. All he knew was his piece of the action.
Colton’s gaze landed on him.
He saw Colton’s eyes harden, tighten. Saw the fractional hitch in his throwing shoulder, the little tell Colton couldn’t quite get rid of. Wes had never pointed it out because he might be the only person on the planet who knew about that tell. Who else watched Colton as intently, as intensely, as Wes did during the game?
For the tenth time that practice, Colton launched a missile for Wes, and he caught the ball in the basket of his arms, never breaking stride as he started downfield. The linebacker was on him in a hot second, but he spun again and managed another fifteen yards before Coach blew the whistle.
He let his run slow, then peter to a stop. They were at full-speed practice, but it wasn’t supposed to be full contact. Plays were blown dead rather than ending in tackles. He and Colton and the starting line were facing off against their own defense, and both sides were kicking each other’s ass.
“Take ten!” Coach shouted. “Hydrate! Take a knee and catch your breath!” He moved off to huddle with the offensive and defensive coordinators and the assistants as they made adjustments, formulated their next set of plays and counterplays.
Wes squirted a bottle of water in his face and managed to get half down his throat. Colton appeared next to him, his helmet pushed up. Sweat ran in waterfalls down his ruddy face.
“You finally shaved, huh?” Colton grinned, gnawing on his mouth guard as he tossed the ball one-handed. Colton was never fully himself without a football in his hands.
Wes rubbed his palm over his jaw. He hadn’t even realized how scraggly he’d let himself get. But, after French, he’d looked at himself in the mirror and tried to see what Justin had seen. A bruiser, a hollowed-out Goliath, an unkempt monster. He had no right to want to look good for Justin, no business thinking about Justin’s eyes on him as he walked up his porch steps.
When he slept, he could still feel Justin’s hand on his face. Sometimes he woke up reaching for Justin—in his arms or by his side—or trying to lay his palm over Justin’s hand where it cradled his cheek.
“Yeah. I was looking pretty bad.”
Colton said nothing. Let the moment pass. “You’re on fire out there, Cap,” Colton said. “Maybe all that shit you did over the summer was good for you.”