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WTF? Is he injured?

Grace

No, more like sore from practice, maybe? IDK. Go easy on him. Looks like hell.

Since when do you message me about my roommate?

Grace

Since I saw him in the caf a little while ago and he helped me figure out my strategy for getting my profs to write rec letters.

Remember you said you were always nice to people who deserve it????

When I pushed open the door, Bett was on his hands and knees in the center of the room… which would have been a whole lot hotter if he didn’t also seem ready to pass the fuck out.

Grace was right. The guy looked like shit.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Of course you walked in right now.” There was a wobbly note of pain in his voice.

“What’s going on?” I managed, tossing my laptop on my bed and crouching beside him. “You hurt?”

“No. I’m fine.”

I wanted to huff out a laugh because he was obviously lying, but I was too worried about why he was in pain.

“If you’re fine, get up and walk.”

Bett tried moving past me, still on his hands and knees. “Not necessary. Just grabbing something from the fridge.”

A memory surfaced, one of him hobbling back from practice the first week we’d lived together, moaning while he’d slathered stinky muscle rub into his quads and calves. At the time, it had turned me on against my will, but knowing he was in pain wouldn’t be a turn-on anymore.

I moved to the mini-fridge and reached into the freezer compartment for the stack of soft-covered ice packs that lived there. “This what you’re looking for?”

He glanced at me, almost as if afraid I’d withhold them from him. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

I stepped past him and set them on his bedside table before moving back to pull him up by his armpits.

Bett squawked and grabbed for my shoulders as I manhandled him over to his bed. “Vaughn, what the fuck! You gotta stop fucking… moving me around.”

I pushed him gently onto his bed and propped him up against his pillows. A muscle in his right quad twitched, making the muscle jump under the edge of his shorts. “Did you pull something? What happened?”

“No, I just… it was just practice.” He was blushing wildly and couldn’t quite meet my eyes.

He liked me manhandling him. Good to know.

“Bullshit. Practice doesn’t usually cripple you. Start talking.” I reached for the ice packs, but he yanked them out of my hands and placed them around his right hip as he settled back against his pillows. I grabbed one of my pillows to add to his stack and then used one of my discarded hoodies to make a little mountain under his right knee.

“It’s fine. Just a fatigue kick drill. I’m used to it.” He let out a breath and tilted his head from side to side as if stretching the tension out of his neck. “Sovereign has a tough defensive line. I guess the coaches are anticipating a rough kicking game on Saturday.”

I sat on the edge of the bed next to him and fussed with his pillows, trying to make him more comfortable. “Seems counterintuitive to wear out your best kicker before a big kicking game,” I pointed out.

“It’s an exercise in learning how to kick when you’re past your limit and your muscles are already gassed.”

I shot him a look. “I get that. I just think it’s bullshit. Keep it to the preseason or offseason when you don’t have to recover quickly enough to perform at the top of your game.”

He looked down at where his fingers were fiddling with the blue fabric cover of his ice pack. “Yeah, it’s a little strange. Usually, they do fewer reps or just have me nail five in a row after a long practice when I’m already beat.”

Bett’s entire body was coiled tight. I could tell he was upset about more than the body discomfort.