at least for now. But Justin was willing to let Wes back into his life, and he wasn’t going to screw this up again. No matter what.
“Nice of you to join us today, Van de Hoek!” Coach bellowed as Wes jogged onto the field. “Did you have something better to do this morning?”
“Sorry, Coach.” He squinted. “Won’t happen again.”
Coach glared. “Start running laps, Van de Hoek. Run until I get tired of seeing you circle me.”
Wes grinned. “Yes, Coach.” He jogged to the edge of the field as Coach turned to where the rest of the team was still doing warm-up drills. Colton caught his gaze and gave a “What gives?” toss of his hands when the offensive coordinator’s back was turned. Wes grinned and shook his head, shoving his helmet down over his smile.
He tipped his head to the sun as he started his first lap.
I’m done with practice.
Wes’s leg bounced as he texted Justin from his truck. He’d run what felt like a hundred laps, then joined in on offensive drills, and then shadowed Coach as they evaluated scrimmage plays on the offensive and defensive lines. The whole time, he’d been grinning like an idiot, to the point that Coach asked him what fairy had shit glitter in his cereal that morning. He’d laughed but said nothing. Coach had grumbled and told him, “She’d better be worth it,” and, “Don’t get distracted. I told you you’d be flooded with tits and pussy. Eyes on the ball, Wes.”
He had his eyes on what was most important: Justin.
But he’d nodded, said, “Yes, Coach,” and tried to keep his joy a little less obvious for the rest of practice.
He’d failed.
He didn’t even mind being told to run more laps after practice before joining Coach and the rest of the coaching staff to go over the final roster ahead of the first game next week. The first string was set, but there were a handful of recruits and walk-ons who had shown guts and grit during training camp and the preseason, and they’d earned positions on the second string and the relief. Special teams was still their weakest link, but Coach said he only planned on having special teams on the field for point afters and kickoffs. “We don’t punt,” he growled. “Your job,” he said, pointing his finger at Wes, “is to make sure we never have to.”
By the time he was done with all that, the locker room had cleared out and he was able to dump his gear, shower, and change into his shorts and a fairly clean T-shirt scavenged from his duffel. He grabbed his practice jersey before he left, though, and shoved it in his duffel bag. It was still damp with sweat, even after he’d sat in Coach’s office for over an hour.
He chewed on his thumbnail as he waited for Justin to text him back. It was midafternoon, and his stomach roared. He’d already digested all three protein bars and the shake he’d thrown down his gullet. The rest of the team spread out and hit the restaurants around the stadium after practice, but he’d munched the bars Coach had thrown at him instead, and now he regretted not taking another three.
The last time he’d felt full had been in Paris. When Justin started cooking for them, and he had all the carbs and protein and dairy he could stuff his face with. And all the extra protein he could swallow, too.
He grinned again, staring out the open window as memories replayed in his mind. Now they were framed in golden sunlight. He could remember Paris and not feel like he was dying.
His cell phone buzzed. I’m in my room. Took a nap. Someone kept me up all night.
Wes squirmed, his cheeks going warm, his fingers dancing over the back of his phone case. He pictured Justin lying in bed, sleep-soft and tangled in the sheets. They’d slept naked after that first night in Paris. What did Justin wear when he was on his own? Those tiny briefs? The ones that cradled his ass perfectly?
He texted back. I should sleep. But I’m too excited to. Too happy.
Oh yeah? Something happen?
Wes laughed. Yeah, you could say that. :)
Justin sent a smiley face back, and then those three dots danced across the screen for a solid minute. Wes waited.
So, what are you up to for the rest of the day? I need to hit the bookstore and pick up my supplies for my clinical rotations. You’re welcome