and even some of the third string got time on the field. Florida was so tired, so off their rhythm, they could only put one more field goal on the scoreboard. The game ended 34–6.
The stands went wild as the clock ran out. Wes and Colton crossed the field, shaking the hands of the other team captains, and the coaches met in the middle for a handshake as well. Both teams drifted into their locker rooms, and the crowd finally started to make its way out of the stadium.
Out of the stadium and straight into West Campus. It was an eight-block walk to Daisy Lane, and ten thousand students meandered in that direction. Thirty minutes after the game ended, West Campus had turned into a multiblock street party, headquartered at the restaurant. The old houses were decked out in university colors, with banners and posters and flags in every window and on every porch. Windows were open, and stereos blasted music. Coolers of beer were on almost every front lawn, and students milled in the streets, sat on lawn chairs in their yards, lounged on front porches. It was wall-to-wall humanity, and Justin moved with the currents, eventually winding up on Opal Street.
Where, if at all possible, the party was even more intense, since that was where the starting line lived. Music pulsed, so loud he could feel the air quake. Laughter rang from every direction. He fought his way to his front porch and finally found space to breathe.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Told you I’d win the game for you. <3
You were amazing!!
Did you have a good time?
I loved it. I loved watching you.
He got a heart emoji, and then Wes went quiet for about twenty minutes. Justin people-watched, letting the party vibes flow through him. A frat boy passed him a beer, and he unscrewed the top and shared a cheers. The frat boy told him his jersey was sick, dude, and then he moved on, delivering beer to everyone he could, like a beer fairy on a mission.
We’re on the way. Where r u?
Back home. This is nuts. Is it always like this?
Yeah. :) It’s gonna be more crazy in a minute.
He felt the change when the team arrived. They walked from the stadium, cheered on by the crowds that lingered on the streets. University police cruisers shadowed the players, watching over the party and making sure everyone kept things on the fun side of the line.
When the team turned onto Opal Street, the entire block roared. It was as loud as the stadium had been, as energetic. People close to the players high-fived them and passed them beers. Somewhere, music was turned up. Half the street turned into a dance party.
Justin found Wes first, watching him take, but not open, a beer. He hung with Colton, both of them shaking people’s hands, high-fiving, accepting congrats from guys and girls alike. Colton welcomed the attention, basking in it. Especially from the girls. He let them sling their arms around him and wrapped his arms around their waists. He accepted kisses to his cheeks and to his biceps.
Wes was more restrained, shaking hands and tolerating the hugs, but not returning them. He searched the crowd, scanning faces, searching farther and farther down the street—
Until his eyes found Justin, leaning against his porch railing and sipping his beer.
He beamed at Wes. Raised his bottle in a silent toast.
Wes’s expression went from guarded happiness to unbridled joy in an instant. He tried to thread through the crowd, but at every step he was stopped. Congratulated. Fist-bumped. One girl wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. Every time, Wes’s gaze flicked to Justin, his impatience growing.
Justin smiled.
Wes finally stopped in the middle of the crowd and dug out his phone. He swiped a quick text, then looked up at Justin.
Justin’s phone buzzed. Meet me at my truck?
Sure.
It took ten minutes to get around the corner, but finally he was off Opal and walking down Twenty-Ninth. There were still people everywhere, but at least the street itself was mostly clear. He headed for Wes’s truck and waited, leaning against the rusted tailgate with his shoes up on the hood of his own Honda.
Wes appeared five minutes later, jogging down the street with his head down, ball cap forward, trying to shield his face. It didn’t work, and three different groups called out his name in the space of twenty yards. He waved back, then zigged into the