and the stench of locker room mushroomed through the truck. Justin coughed. Wes rolled down the window.
“Oh, Wes,” Justin said softly, like he couldn’t breathe. “You shouldn’t have.”
“It’s kind of dirty.”
“You really, really shouldn’t have.” Justin laughed and picked at a grass stain. “I don’t know what to say. You gave me your laundry.”
“You can wear it to the games if you want.”
“I’d clear the stadium out if I did.”
“I mean…” Wes felt heat rise in his face. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “I guess it’s been a while since I washed it. It didn’t really matter before.”
“This is an actual, authentic jersey?”
“As real as you can get, outside of a game.”
“That’s real grass, from a real tackle? You getting thrown down?”
“Oh, yeah, Anton flattened me like a freight train. I skidded about three yards on that one.”
Justin winced. “I think football is human bowling. The return of Roman gladiator death matches. How am I going to watch when you get tackled?”
“I guess I just have to be good enough not to get tackled.”
“And then you really will be the best player in the nation.”
Wes’s stomach twisted. He was caught between a shrug and a nod, and he turned away as Justin carefully folded his sweaty jersey, trying not to touch it too much. He passed Justin his plastic bag from the store, and Justin gratefully slid the jersey inside and tied the bag closed. He left it on the seat between them, his hand on top of the bag like he didn’t want to let go.
“Okay, where to for food?”
“Do you like burritos?”
“If they come in pairs.”
“These are pretty huge burritos.”
“I might need three. I’m pretty hungry.”
“Okay, big boy. Head over to Leigh Street, and we’ll see what you can fit in that mouth.”
Wes faced him, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “I don’t remember you having any complaints about what fit into my mouth before.”
Justin tipped his head back and laughed all the way to the restaurant.
Wes scarfed two and a half burritos and saved the last half. Justin shook his head as he watched Wes plow through the first, barely stopping to breathe. After, Wes dutifully input the two-point-five burritos and chips into his phone for the team nutritionist. He sighed at the note the nutritionist had left him. Eat more. Report for weigh-in before Monday’s practice.
After, they went to a park at the end of the block, meandering down the jogging path as kids breezed by on roller skates and bikes while groups of moms power walked and gabbed. More than a few of the women eyed Wes like he was a cold drink of sweet tea, but he kept his gaze averted, focused ahead of him, and eventually the feeling of being on display crawled off his skin.
There was a pond at the center of the park, and ducks floated lazily on the surface. Wes looked, but there weren’t any feed stations. “Sorry,” he said to the ducks. “I’ve got nothing for you.”
They stayed out until the sun set, then walked back to Wes’s truck in the dark. He sneaked a kiss, and then another, and another, against the passenger door, out of sight of the park and the other cars. He wanted more, but they couldn’t. Not there. He held the door for Justin and then got in the driver’s seat and fired up the truck.
Justin held his hand the whole way home.
They parked around the corner on Twenty-Ninth, Wes pulling in right behind Justin’s little white Honda. He carried Justin’s bag from the bookstore, along with his stinky jersey, as Justin stuck the dancer sticker to his rear windshield.
“You know, I think we did things backward,” Justin said, after Wes passed him his bags. “We met and lived together, fell in love, and now we live across the street from one another. And we’re dating.”
Wes felt the smile unfurl across his face, like a flag flapping in the breeze. He stared at the asphalt. Dug his tennis shoe into the crack in the road between their bumpers. “Yeah, I guess we did.”
There probably wasn’t an apartment they could rent that would fit their budget. Wes’s budget was pennies, and it wouldn’t be fair to Justin to ask him to foot the majority of the bill. Maybe if Wes got a job in spring, and he saved up. Maybe next year.
“It’s annoying that you’re across the street, too,” Justin said, oblivious to Wes’s thoughts. “You’re maddeningly close. Too close. It’s