He did the math. Eleven hours and twenty-three minutes.
But who’s counting. :)
I am. I can’t wait to see you again.
Same, cowboy. Same. Xoxox
I love you.
Love you too. Goodnight.
Chapter Fifteen
Wes was waiting for him on the street just after seven the next morning, dressed in his Wranglers and a T-shirt and his cowboy hat. It was like Paris all over again, and he fought the déjà vu that ran through him as he trotted down the steps of his front porch. “Haven’t seen you wear that yet this year.”
Wes smiled. “I haven’t. It reminded me too much of you.” He touched his fingers to the brim, tipped his head. “Mornin’.”
Justin’s heart went electric. “Good morning to you, too, cowboy. Shall we?”
They walked together across campus, Wes staying with him all the way to the nursing school, even though his first class was in the sciences hall, a ten-minute walk the other direction. Every other step, it seemed like someone else recognized Wes, called out his name, pointed, cheered, or yelled Go team or Go Van de Hoek. They could barely carry on a conversation what with how many times Wes had to stop and smile, wave, tip his hat, say thank you. By the end of their walk, Wes was wound tight, his shoulders hunched, his expression taut.
“Sorry about all that.” Wes waved behind him as he walked Justin up the steps of the nursing school.
He’d said that he was living under a microscope, but Justin hadn’t expected to feel it so clearly at seven-thirty on a Monday morning. “Is it always like this?”
“Some of the time it’s worse.” Wes looked away. “We have our first game on Saturday, so it will be a crazy week.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Wes turned his big smile back to Justin. “You already do. You’re you.”
That shouldn’t send his heart into paroxysms of joy, but it did, and he didn’t try to stop it. “When are you out of class?”
“Eleven forty-five. You?”
“Noon. Meet you at the dining hall?”
“It’s a date.”
He got to the dining hall a few minutes after noon, fighting the herds of students coming and going, the lines snaking out of Starbucks and Panera Bread and Panda Express. He made it to the open area and reached for his phone as he scoped out the tables.
It buzzed as he pulled it out of his pocket. Your two o’clock.
He looked, and there was Wes, hunched in a booth with his elbow on the table and his face half hidden by his hand, trying to be the world’s most inconspicuous giant. His hat was crown down on the table, and he had an open textbook in front of him, his notebook and another textbook strategically stacked so no one could join him uninvited.
Justin threaded his way through the other students and dropped into the booth seat across from Wes. “It’s crazy in here.”
“Yeah.” Wes smiled. His fingers scratched at the tabletop, like he was holding back from reaching for Justin. “But I get the meal plan with my scholarship, so I try to eat here as often as I can.”
“Makes sense. You hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Go get lunch.”
“Didn’t want to leave you stranded.”
He smiled. “Go. I’ll watch the table.”
“What do you want?”
“If they have a croissant sandwich, I’ll take one. Chicken salad.”
Wes went through the line and scanned his ID card to pay. While he was getting their food, seven different people stopped him, presumably wishing him good luck on Saturday, or tried to shake his hand, or clapped him on the back so hard it looked like it hurt. Justin frowned, watching as Wes tried to shrink inside himself.
He came back with three lunch trays loaded down with food. There was Justin’s chicken salad croissant sandwich, along with an apple, a bag of chips, and a bottle of water, and then there were two massive turkey sandwiches on French bread, a plate of spaghetti and meatballs, another plate piled high with steamed vegetables, four hard-boiled eggs, three oranges, and another bottle of water.
“I didn’t feed you enough in Paris.”
Wes chuckled. “You fed me perfectly. I gained sixteen pounds of muscle over the summer, though. I’ve got to keep that muscle fed. The team nutritionist keeps telling me to eat more, and I think I’ve lost some weight. I had to adjust my pads last week. Make ’em tighter.”
“Jesus, Wes.”
A group of girls passed their table, waving to Wes and wishing him good