Page 47 of The Jock
Justin dropped a chaste kiss on Wes’s lips. “You can be ridiculously romantic, you know that, cowboy?”
“It’s the truth. I’m just saying it like it is.”
Another ten minutes passed before Wes could stop kissing Justin long enough to clamber out of the truck bed, and then another five while they kissed against the passenger door. Justin finally pushed him away, laughing when he came in for yet another tangle of their lips.
There was no way to make it back on time, but Wes didn’t care. He didn’t even speed. He kept the needle just under the limit, holding Justin’s hand as his back twanged and his eyes burned like he’d rubbed sandpaper right over the fronts of both. He was exhausted, worn out all the way to his bones. But he was also so weightless he could fly all the way to campus, spread his wings and soar, take Justin’s hand and skip along the tops of the corn they passed by. Swing from the puffy arm of a dewy cloud.
He pulled onto Opal Street twenty minutes after practice started. “I’m sorry you’re late,” Justin said.
“I’m not.” He parked at Justin’s doorstep and smiled, suddenly shy. “Can I text you after practice?”
“Yes. Please do.”
Wes pressed his lips together. “I’m sorry about Rafael. And interrupting your date.”
Justin shoved open Wes’s rusted truck door. The hinges squealed, and he slid out, landing on the concrete with a spring in his step. He grinned at Wes. “I’m not.”
Wes kept smiling, all huge and goofy, his cheeks flushing as he gripped the steering wheel. He chuckled and shook his head, rubbing his fingers against his temple.
“Go on,” Justin said softly through the open door. “Get out of here, cowboy. Before you spend all morning smiling at me, and then you’re really late for practice.”
“It’d be worth it,” he said, shifting back into drive.
Justin rolled his eyes. “Such a cowboy.” He slammed the truck door and stepped up to the curb.
Wes watched him in the rearview mirror as he drove away, all the way to the end of the block, and even looked over his shoulder when he made the right off Opal and turned toward the stadium. Justin was still outside, watching him. Wes waved, and Justin lifted his fingers and waved back.
He floated into the empty locker room and dressed in under a minute, humming as he strapped on his pads and laced up his cleats. Justin’s smile played on a loop in his mind. He could still taste Justin’s lips. Could still smell his hair and his skin.
Nothing could take this feeling from him. Nothing could take the joy from his heart. Justin, despite all Wes’s mistakes, still loved him. Justin had beaten some sense into Wes’s head, too, straightened out his broken thoughts. Unkinked his spiraling rationalizations.
It wasn’t perfect. They would still have to hide, 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.
