“I think Coach should just let me sit on the sidelines,” he suggested as we ate dinner.
“Maybe I could just hang out in the locker roombeforethe game,” he suggested while we watched highlights from our last game against the Tigers on the couch. Jonesy had sent a file over with a few things for me to watch, and I thought it might make Milo feel included in game prep. Instead, it just amped up his complaints that he wasn’t going to be with the team the next day and suggestions on how he could be there.
“Coach Cal isn’t going to sign off on any of that,” I pointed out after what felt like the fiftieth suggestion. “If you want to come, you’re just going to have to sit in the stands like everyone else.”
“I don’t think my scooter and those stairs are a match made in heaven,” he pointed out.
“The other option is to stay home. Watch with Ethel.”
He heaved a heavy sigh and threw himself back on the couch with his arms crossed over his chest.
Two hours later, we were laying in his bed. The lights were off, and I thought we were about to go to sleep when he started talking again. “Okay, so I know staying home with Aunt Ethel is probably thesafestidea for my knee, but do we really think Coach Cal would send me home if I just showed up? I could siton the sidelines and cheer everyone on. I could get them snacks and—”
“You could get them snacks? Your scooter would be shit on the turf.”
“I could walk to the snacks.”
“Oh, did your physical therapist say you could do that now? Because I’m pretty sure you were bitching yesterday about the fact that you were still on the scooter.”
I wished I could say that his answering grumbles meant that I’d won the argument, but I knew better. I didn’t need the lamp to be on to know he had that glint in his eyes. I could feel the stubborn set of his jaw against my bare chest.
“No, but I can—”
“You can rest before you fuck up your knee even worse, and you’re out longer,” I cut him off. “Tomorrow’s game is easy, but Vegas? DC? Roswell? We’re going to need you.”
I felt the hot breath of his heavy sigh against my chest. “Fine.” His head shifted, and I felt the press of his lips against my neck. “Guess there’s only one thing I can do to help the team.” Each word was punctuated with a soft kiss on my skin.
“Knee,” I reminded him. I lightly pushed his shoulder, nudging him back onto the bed. I draped my body carefully over his, making sure not to nudge his knee, and captured his lips with mine.
“Told you. We have magic dick powers!” Milo exclaimed from the couch when I came into the condo after our game against the Tigers.
The Scorpions had beat them so solidly that our second-string players had played the entire final quarter. It had been a shut out until the final minutes of the third quarter when they got into field goal range to get three points on the board. Even against our second string, they’d only managed to score one touchdown. It had been a blowout.
“Or maybe our team was just the better team today. Especially given how many injuries the Tigers have had this season.”
“Magic dick powers,” Milo insisted as he stood up. I glared at him, and he sat back down on the couch with a petulant pout. “My knee isalmostbetter.”
“The doctor said use the scooter until your next appointment,” I reminded him. Hadn’t we just had this conversation last night? And multiple other times over the last week?
I walked to the bedroom to change out of my post-game outfit and back into the comfortable clothing I’d started keeping at his place. A few minutes later, I was cuddled up on the couch with Milo in a pair of sweats and an old Foxes shirt watching SEN.
The next day was spent relaxing and getting ready for the rest of the week. I had practice and a trip to Vegas. He had… complaints. He had many complaints about boredom and the fact that he missed playing football. He had complaints about missing the gym. He had complaints about the stiffness in his knee. He even complained about muscular atrophy, though we both knew he hadn’t been down for nearly long enough for that to be an issue.
I was happy to get back to practice.
Unfortunately, coming back from practice came with a new line of complaints: Vegas.
It started that night at dinner.
“Do you think Coach Cal would let me fly out to Vegas with everyone?” he asked as he watched me wash the dishes. “I’ve been looking forward to the Gladiators game all season.”
“Why?”
“I used to play with one of their wide receivers,” he answered. “We played in college together, and we were both first round picks. I got drafted before him, obviously.”
Obviously. Unless they traded draft picks, the Gladiators were always near the end of the first round. They had consistently been one of the better teams in the league. The Scorpions were not, and they usually had early draft picks. “And have you kept in touch with him?”
“I have. We send each other Christmas cards, and he sent me a list of the best casinos to check out after the game.”
