Page 57 of The Jock
“One of my favorite memories of Paris is watching you feed the ducks. There were probably five hundred people at that school, but no one fed them except you.”
“Probably because those ducks were jerks after they got fed. Remember when they chased us?”
“Yeah.” He smiled.
Wes rubbed his thumb across his forehead. “Always kind of thought I was a little bit of an idiot for doing that. Kind of country boy, hickish. I thought I looked dumb in front of you.”
“The opposite, cowboy.” He wanted to reach for Wes, cradle his face in his hands, kiss him slowly.
Instead, he stood next to Wes as Wes tossed feed to the ducks, and then they walked around the pond, to the back side and into the shade, where no one went. There, Wes pulled him behind an old oak tree and backed him against the trunk, then tipped his hat back and kissed Justin as softly, as sweetly, as Justin could have imagined. Kissed him so good Justin’s toes curled inside his shoes and he clung to Wes’s waist, dug his fingers into the skin between his waistband and his T-shirt.
They only stopped kissing when a bicyclist’s bell echoed across the pond, and they peeled away from each other, but they still nuzzled each other’s noses and cheeks as Wes laced their hands together and whispered his name.
* * *
Wednesday,they walked into French together, much to the professor’s bemusement, and sat side by side in the back of the class. The assignment for the day was to write an essay in French on their major and their career field, and they spent the class period helping each other look up the specialized vocabularies of nursing and public health, then read each other’s essays to double-check everything before they turned them in. The professor gave them both a raised eyebrow, but he spoke only to Wes, wishing him well at the game on Saturday.
Thursday, Justin talked himself into going to Wes’s afternoon practice. Some practices were open to the public and some were closed, but Thursday’s was open, and he went. He’d never been inside the stadium, and for a moment, he had no idea where to go. He followed the sounds, the whistles and the grunts and the shouts, and wove through the empty tunnels to the lower bowl seating. He ended up near the thirty-yard line, down almost at field level, watching the offense drill play after play.
There was Wes, bursting off the line of scrimmage. Rushing, running a slant route, his hands darting for the ball almost faster than Justin could see. Sprinting, launching into a breakaway. There wasn’t any defense set up, so this was all timing practice, working on routes and hitting marks and perfecting the plays.
Wes is pretty damn perfect.
He made the game look effortless. Justin’s dad always said that was the measure of greatness: when someone makes the challenging look easy.
If Justin didn’t know better—and he did—watching Wes, he’d think he himself could waltz out onto the field and run a route, turn, and catch the seventy-mile-per-hour football Colton launched at him. Pluck it out of the air like he was picking grapes. Dance on his toes as he landed, twirled, and took off at full speed.
For the past week, Justin had stayed up late watching YouTube videos about football.Football 101andFootball for Dummies.What Does This Mean in Football. He’d even texted his dad a few questions. He could feel the shock coming through the texts back, but so far, his dad hadn’t asked him why he wanted to know who the greatest tight ends of all time were, or why it was called the strong side when the tight end lined up there.
He could follow along at Wes’s practice now, follow what Wes was doing. More than that, he understood it, at least a little bit. Understood howgoodWes was. Him, and Colton, and the team.
When the coach called a break, Wes tore his helmet off and turned toward the stands. He didn’t jog over, but he stared at Justin as he squirted water onto his face and into his mouth. Justin smiled. Didn’t wave. He didn’t have to. Wes knew he was there.
After the break, Wes played like he’d activated beast mode. He was faster, stronger, moved with even more ferocity. The defense came to face off against the offense, and Wes shredded their plays, easily spun out of tackles, made linebackers and safeties whiff and fly face-first at the grass. He was untouchable, and after thirty minutes, the coach pulled him out and gave him a clipboard and a hearty pat on the back.
Again, Wes looked at the stands.
That was amazing,Justin texted. Wes’s phone was surely in his locker, and he wouldn’t get the message until way later, but he would get it.You’re amazing.
He left after another thirty minutes, heading back to his room to finish his homework and wait for Wes’s texts.
Around nine, Wes messaged.I was showing off for you.
Maybe you were, but you’re excellent all on your own.
I’m going to show off for you Saturday, too.
Yeah?
Yeah. I’m going to win this game for you. <3 I’m going to win every game for you, mon amour.
Chapter Sixteen
Beingin the stadium was different in a million ways from watching the game on TV. When Justin was a kid, he’d hang out, coloring on the floor as his dad watched the Texas game on Saturday or the NFL on Sunday. The TV tried but could never really capture the tens of thousands of roaring fans, the pounding music, the electric energy pulsing with every heartbeat.
He’d never understood people’s obsession with football or with going to games. In high school, he’d liked hanging with his friends in the stands more than watching the game. His suburban school had been serious about football, but not so serious they went all out on a bond measure to build a $50 million stadium, like some other towns did. And even the most energetic of away games he’d been to in high school didn’t hold a candle to this.
Now, wedged into the student section in the middle of the crowd, the stadium so raucous he felt the pulse and thrum rocking his bones, he got it. Justin was on his feet, shouting and cheering along with the rest of the student section. Three rows below him, five shirtless bros were banging on bucket drums. Another four rows down, four blondes in short shorts and university T-shirts had pom-poms and were leading cheers. The stadium was a sea of university logos and their school colors. Jerseys were everywhere, the ones he’d seen at the bookstore and almost bought.
