Page 5 of The Jock
The sun was over the horizon now, reflecting shards of light off every window and rooftop and into their room. Delivery vans were making their rounds, collecting wine bottles and dropping off milk bottles, and the smell of fresh-baked bread perfumed the city. Well, he wouldn’t be sleeping any more now. He flung his blanket back and stood, glaring down at his crotch before heading for the bathroom.
The water pressure wasn’t great enough to really enjoy, and the shower was smaller than the cubicles back in the dorms. But he showered, shaved, and brushed his teeth, ran his hands through his hair, wrapped his towel around his waist, and opened the door—
Wes, back from his run, looked up. He was in the kitchenette, pouring coffee into two mugs, and he froze when he saw Justin, the coffee continuing to pour and pour until it overran the top of the mug and spilled over his hand.
“Shit.” Wes backed away, searching for a dish towel, shaking his hand. Drops of coffee spattered the front of his sweat-soaked shirt.
“Here.” Justin whipped off the towel draped over his shoulders and handed it to Wes. Wes grabbed it, his eyes darting over Justin’s bare chest and down to the knot of his white towel wrapped low around his hips, then away. He wiped his hand, then squatted and wiped the counter, the cupboard, the floor.
“I didn’t know you were back. Sorry.” What Justin was apologizing for, he didn’t know, but it was reflex now to apologize to his straight roommates.I’m sorry I bother you. I’m sorry you’re so fucking fragile that my existence threatens your masculinity. I’m sorry I breathe in and out. Don’t worry, others have thought about changing that, too.
Wes grunted. “My fault.” He wiped again at the dried counter, not looking as Justin slipped on an undershirt and slid his boxers up under his towel. Finally decent, he turned back to Wes, pasting a smile on his face.
A smile that froze as Wes held out a cup of coffee and a chocolate-filled croissant. There was an open box of pastries behind Wes, half a dozen croissants: chocolate, plain, almond, raisin, and more. “Thank you for the sandwich,” Wes said. His voice was like gravel, something deep and rich and rumbling that reminded Justin of cabins and backwoods. He felt Wes’s voice in the center of his chest.
He took the coffee, careful not to brush Wes’s fingers, and the croissant. “You’re welcome. You didn’t have to.”
Wes smiled, and Justin nearly hit the floor, nearly sank to his knees and wept like his mom’s friends did on Sundays at their church. That smile, Christ almighty. That smile could melt his bones. It was anaw-shucksgrin, a grin that said,I’m trouble, with Wes’s head tilted forward, hiding his open-sky eyes. How many girls had he led to his bed with that little smile?
“Well, I was starving, and it’s rude to eat in front of others.”
Rude. Sure. His luck, again. He got the cowboy with the manners. “Your mother teach you that?” He took a bite of the croissant. It was still warm. The chocolate oozed out, coating his tongue. He almost groaned.
Wes was still grinning. “She did, in fact.”
“Well, thank you, Mom.” Justin toasted Wes’s imaginary mother with the croissant and took a sip of coffee. “Good run?”
Wes nodded, biting half of his croissant off and chewing before downing a gulp of coffee. “Ran to the Arc de Triomphe, then to the park. It was nice. You, uh. You run?”
“I do.”
“Thought so. You have runner’s legs.” Wes shoved the rest of his croissant in his mouth and turned away, crossing the room to the open window and parking himself in front of it, his back to Justin. Justin looked from Wes’s back to his own legs and then back to Wes’s shoulders.
The rest of the morning was quiet, Wes figuring out the shower and banging his knees and elbows into the old tile every time he tried to move, and Justin finishing another croissant and trying not to imagine how water looked running down Wes’s spine or around his corded biceps. Wes finished the rest of the pastries, chugged another coffee, and then they were off, down to the street to wait for the bus. By unspoken agreement, they settled into the same seats.
Justin eyed Wes as he brushed dust and lint from his cowboy hat. When Justin gazed out the window, watching Paris roll by, he caught Wes’s reflection gazing at him.
* * *
“What are you doing for dinner?”Justin asked after class. “You going out with the group?”
Wes shook his head. He spun his hat in his hands, stared down at the cream wool. “No. I won’t be going on any of the outings. My scholarship is paying for this trip, and they didn’t include any of those. I’ll grab something simple.”
Justin blinked. There were a few questions he wanted to ask, all at once. Simple was usually a euphemism for cheap, for one. “Scholarship?”
“Athletics.”
“Make sense.” He waved his hand at Wes’s body, his massive muscles. “Which sport?”
Wes finally looked up. They trotted down the stairs inside the school, strode across the glass-and-marble lobby. The rest of the class was already on the bus. “I play a little bit of football.”
The bus driver glared, waving at them to hurry up. Justin stopped, his boots skidding on the pavement. Wes halted with him, setting his hat on his head and turning to Justin, his face a question mark. “Forget them,” Justin said. “Want to walk back? We can grab something to eat on the way.”
“Oui.” Wes grinned. “Oui, s'il te plaît.”
* * *
They walkedthe banks of the Seine, past Notre Dame and the Tuileries, past the Place de la Concorde and toward the Arc de Triomphe. Along the way, Justin pulled them into a bar for beers and sandwiches, insisting that he pay because Wes had brought back half the bakery that morning. Wes ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, so Justin ordered double appetizers and ate slowly, pushing the rest toward Wes. Wes was a big boy. He needed a lot of calories.
