Wes shoved his hands in his pockets and waited at the curb, near the gaggle of other university students. They, too, stared, but he saw a few startled looks of recognition. Two of the girls took him in, starting at his feet and working their way up before turning sexy smiles loose when their eyes met his.
Justin cleared his throat as he waited beside Wes, his arms once again crossed, his back to the rest of the students. “Everyone else has partnered up, and they’ve been in this group chat for months, preparing for this trip.” He shrugged. “I didn’t really decide to go on this trip until a month ago, so, I guess we’re both the late ones.”
Wes nodded. “Okay.”
“Yeah.” Justin bounced on the balls of his feet, rocked back on his heels. “I mean, if you’d rather be alone, I can—”
“No, it’s fine.” Wes spoke quickly, cutting Justin off. “It’s good.”
The bus arrived, covering whatever Justin would have said in squealing brakes and natural gas exhaust. Everyone clambered on, most heading in gaggles to the back of the bus. Justin stayed near the front, sliding into the second row next to the window. His eyes flicked to Wes as he followed, then back out the window.
Wes slid in beside Justin and set his hat in his lap. He smiled, a crook of his lips that only worked on the left side.
Justin stared at him for three long seconds.
“Do I smell?” Wes sniffed at his underarm. Deodorant running a little thin, but nothing offensive, he thought. “Do you want me to move?”
“No!” Finally, Justin smiled again. It was quick, but it was there. “No, you’re fine. You don’t smell. You just surprised me is all.”
The bus doors shut with a hiss, and with a lurch and a rattle and a shake, they were off, merging into Parisian traffic and heading across the city.
Justin flicked the brim of his hat. “So, are you, like, a real cowboy? I know we’re all from Texas, but…”
Wes turned over his hands, revealing his worn and leathery palms, roughened from years of working the ranch and then, later, football. His knuckles were gnarled at twenty-one. Cracks split his skin already, canyons that had scarred over into ditches and furrows and white lines. He nodded.
“You don’t say much, do you?”
“Non, monsieur.”
Justin smiled again. “Your drawl with the accent… It’s unique.”
He ducked his head, tried to hide his own grin. “I’ve been trying to chisel that drawl out of me for years.”
“Don’t do that.” Justin’s fingers landed on his forearm. “It’s nice. I like it.”
He looked away, and Justin pulled back, and they spent the rest of the ride in silence, swaying into each other’s shoulders with every brake and turn. Wes gnawed on the inside of his lip, his entire body aware of those few inches of skin Justin had touched.
When they got to the university, he stood and blocked the rest of the group from stampeding down the bus’s aisle. “Après vous, monsieur.”
Justin’s cheeks and the tips of his ears pinked. He shoved his hands into his pants pockets when he leaped off the bus, but he waited for Wes, falling into step with him as they made their way to the classroom. Inside, they found tables already arranged in pairs: two seats at each table, two workbooks side by side, one textbook to share.
“So,” Justin asked. “Partners?”
Wes pulled out a chair for Justin. “Oui.”
All Wes wanted, after a red-eye flight and a full day of French class, was to pour himself into bed and sleep for three days. He barely kept his eyes open on the bus ride back to the hotel, and Justin had to flick his knee to pull him out of that woozy twilight space when they finally pulled up at the curb. He trudged up the stairs slowly, and this time, Justin pushed open the door for him when they got back to their cramped attic room.
He went face-first onto his bed, burying his head in the flat pillow and toeing off his Ropers. They dropped to the floor with two heavy thuds, and he dug his arms beneath the pillow, trying to merge himself with the old mattress. The ancient springs groaned beneath his weight. He hoped it held, at least long enough for him to catch a quick nap.
A presence hovered beside him. He rolled his head and peeled one eye open.
Justin ran his fingers through his hair, refreshing his thick pompadour in the mirror on the wall over his bed. He checked himself out, turning right and left and frowning before smoothing his hair again. The sides were cut short, but on top, he had enough hair for a man to lose his hands in. Wes blinked.
“Are you going out to dinner? The group has some kind of reservation at this restaurant.” Justin pulled a tube of ChapStick from his pocket and slicked it over his lips. Rubbed them together.
“No.” Wes blinked again. Swallowed. “I need sleep. I’m beat. You going?”
Justin snorted. He shook his head again. “Nah. I do my own thing.”
“Going out?” He recognized the signs.
Justin’s eyes darted to him and then away. “I might.” His voice had dropped a few dozen degrees, hovering just over frigid. “Problem?”
“Nope.” Wes buried his face in his pillow again, blanking his mind as he exhaled. He didn’t need those thoughts, those images. Justin, lit by club lights, the twinkle of a disco ball and the flashing strobes. Justin, leaning against a bar top, laughing with a beautiful woman, making her smile and touch his arm, like Justin had touched Wes’s arm earlier. He could still feel Justin’s cool skin, those four fingertips, delicate as a ladybug landing on him.
Justin made a lot of noise getting ready to leave. He stomped into and out of the bathroom, washed his hands, dropped coins on his nightstand. Went to the window and then back to his bed. There was quiet for a moment, save for the digital whoosh of messages passing back and forth on Justin’s cell phone.
“’Kay, I’m out,” Justin announced. “Have a good nap.”
“Thanks,” Wes grunted into his pillow. “Have a good time tonight.”
Justin’s footsteps hesitated by the door, but a moment later, it opened and closed, and the key slid into the lock.
Wes rolled to his side and stared at Justin’s empty bed, at the rumpled sheets and the discarded plaid button-down. He’d changed. What was he wearing? Wes’s eyes traveled over Justin’s bulging duffel, half shoved under the bed, and skittered to a halt, frozen on a corner pocket. Condoms spilled onto the floor, as if Justin had grabbed a few in a hurry on his way out. Wes blanked his mind. No, no thoughts about that.
He bunched his pillow into a knot, like he was wrestling with the stuffing rather than trying to sleep on it, and curled up, half on his belly and half on his side. Car horns and bike bells and the warm breeze drifted into the room, and minutes later, he was asleep.
When his eyes popped open, it was dark, save for the lights of the city, Victorian streetlamps and globe lights strung between the buildings casting a golden glow that rose into the room. The night was quiet, the shops closed, the traffic tucked away save for an occasional siren in the distance.
Wes groaned, flipping to his back on the squeaky mattress before scrubbing his face. He peeked over at Justin’s bed.
There was a body-shaped lump beneath the sheets, and a tumble of hair caught the light, like spun gold was spread out on Justin’s pillow. Justin faced Wes with his eyes closed, his shoulders rising and falling steadily, gentle snores whispering out of him.