few lines about Wes that he already knew, and Wes, when he tried to ask Justin questions about his life—his dance practice, what he did for fun, what kind of friends he had—was met with an icy silence. Justin stayed at his table, though, for the entire class, and that was something. It was tiny, and it was a sucker’s prize, but Wes would take it. He got to see Justin out of the corner of his eye, rake his gaze over the long lines of his legs. Listen to him breathe. Smell him, even, when the air conditioning turned on. His soap, his deodorant, the sweet scent of his sweat.
When class was over, Wes waited for everyone else to file out before standing. His ice packs were all melted, and the brace wasn’t supporting him anymore. His knee had started to ache an hour ago, but he’d ignored it so he could stay close to Justin a little while longer.
The only people who were there to see his knee buckle, see him nearly fall, were the professor and Justin, who was gathering his things from the front table after ditching Wes at the end of class without a second glance.
The professor raced to his side, trying to get under Wes’s arm and hold him up, but if Wes leaned his weight on that beanpole, he’d snap him in half. Wes politely edged away and leaned against the table as he bent and straightened his knee, trying to work out the stiffness and the pain.
“Where is your car? You said it was a long walk. Shall I call the campus police to escort you back to your dorm? Or should I call for a wheelchair? I can call the campus health office.” The professor was babbling, pulling out his cell phone.
“No, no, please. I’m fine. Don’t call anyone. I just need a minute.”
“Nonsense! We cannot let our star player limp across the school!”
Jesus, no. Him limping into class that morning was bad enough, but being escorted by campus security or taken out of the building in a wheelchair? That would make ESPN, for sure. How many replays would that have on SportsCenter? He waved his hand, tried to stop the professor from calling.
“I’ll help him.”
The professor started, then turned to Justin like he thought Justin was a piece of the furniture that had just spoken. He blinked. His fingers hovered over his cell phone.
“Thanks.” Wes smiled. “I’ll be fine, professor. I promise.”
The professor eyed Justin and then Wes. “Are you certain?”
“Yes,” Wes said. “Very.”
The professor pocketed his cell phone, gathered his things, and then held the door for the two of them. Justin got under Wes’s arm on his weak side and supported his weight. Wes wrapped his arm around Justin and leaned into him, more than he needed to for his knee. He couldn’t help it. Having Justin in, well, one of his arms was like giving cocaine to an addict. He turned his face toward Justin, inhaling, and almost fell again, stumbling as the full force of Justin’s proximity slammed into his soul. He trembled, and his arm curled around Justin’s shoulders, trying to pull him closer, into his chest—
“I will leave you in this elevator,” Justin hissed, “if you don’t stop.”
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” He straightened and tried to take his weight back, but Justin didn’t let him go all the way. They ended up in an awkward half limp, half wrestle, daylight between their bodies and only their arms touching, all the way to the parking lot.
“Which one is yours?”
“The truck.” Wes pointed. There were about fifty trucks in the parking lot. “I mean, the rusted one.”
“That?” Justin stared. “That’s your truck?”
Wes bristled. “I’d buy a better one, but the last big purchase I made was ballet tickets, and it looks like I’ll be paying those off for the next two years. I don’t have a lot of spare change right now.”
He saw Justin’s skin flush, felt the heat rising from his neck and his chest. Felt his shoulders rise and fall with a quick inhale-exhale. “I recognize it, that’s all,” he ground out. “From West Campus. We do live on the same street.”
Justin held out his hand for Wes’s keys, and when Wes handed them over, he unlocked the driver-side door and then led Wes around to the passenger side. “Shut up,” he said, when Wes raised his eyebrows. “We’re going to the same place, so it’s nothing to drive you there. I get a free