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He dipped his finger into it and tasted it. Then he grabbed a fresh roll and started eating. “This is so good,” he said after he’d downed his first one, dipping it many times in the sauce.
“It turned out better than I thought. The shrimp were fresh. I think that makes all the difference,” I said, and kept eating.
“Are you going home for Thanksgiving?” he asked, and that actually hit me pretty hard. Mom had offered to pay for my ticket, but there was no sense in it. My coach had already told the team that we’d get Thanksgiving Monday off—a courtesy to the Canadian players who were on the team.
Over half of us were from various parts of Canada, so this was a nice thing for them to offer. By the time I got home, drove out to the ranch and settled—it would practically be time to turn around again. Not a great use of Mom’s money.
“Not this year. You?” I asked, avoiding his stare.
“Why aren’t you going home? You’re tight with your mom, aren’t you?”
“Very. I’ve got to study. Midterms. A stupid time to have Thanksgiving,” I said, hoping he’d drop it. Canadian Thanksgiving was always much earlier than in the U.S. Usually in earlyish October compared to in the U.S. which was the end of November.
“You should go. The regular season starts right after. There won’t be another break until American Thanksgiving,” he said, polishing off another fresh roll. “Fuck, this dip is good,” he muttered, really soaking his fresh roll in it.
“You’ve never tried Thai sauce before? A modified one, I mean. Without nuts?”
He shook his head, then scooped another roll off the plate. My heart grew a few sizes. Obviously, Beau would never be able to eat a regular Thai peanut sauce. It gave me more than a little satisfaction to know I was the first to make it for him.
“Really, though, G. Go home. Visit with your people.”
I shrugged but avoided his gaze. “We’ll see. I really do have a lot I need to catch up on.”
That night, the guys had invited him out. Surprisingly, he’d turned them down. A few of them had come into our apartment and hassled him, trying to convince him to go out clubbing.
Beau told them all, “Not tonight.”
After they left, he locked the door and headed to the freezer. I kept a curious eye on what he was doing. He’d grabbed a dish towel and was sticking ice cubes in it. Then he twisted the material together and went to sprawl out on the couch, feet up.
Next, he proceeded to plunk the ice on his knee and moan. He’d done the same thing last night. I hadn’t said anything—just observed. Obviously, the knee wasn’t getting any better.
At lunch, after I’d eaten, I’d run across the street to a pharmacy and picked up a couple of ice packs that would work better than cubes in a cloth.
Without saying a word, I got up and grabbed what I needed. When I walked over to Beau, I set the two ice packs on his leg and handed him an ACE bandage. “Use these and wrap it with the ACE bandage. Keep it on for twenty minutes, then put it back on.”
I didn’t wait for a response. We’d had a good evening so far—neither of us had picked at the other one, which was a minor miracle to say the least.
The last of the dishes were stuck into the dishwasher, and I was ready to open my laptop and get to work. Glancing over at Beau, I noticed he still hadn’t wrapped his knee with the new ice packs.
“Why are you so stubborn?” I said, marching over to him, staring at the soggy mess of ice on his knee. Without asking, I pulled it off and walked to the kitchen sink where I dumped the half-melted mess. “I give him brand new ice packs and a bandage to use. But does he use them? No, he does not. But why not? Oh, because he’s incredibly, intolerably stubborn,” I said to myself, but loud enough for Beau to hear me.
“You just ruined our two hour streak without a fight.” Beau stared up at me with his beautiful eyes that were currently full of hostility.
“Nope, you ruined it. Why can’t you do what I ask you to do?” I plopped my ass down by his legs. “Where does it hurt?” I asked him, placing my fingers on his chilled skin. “I took a massage course a few years ago, so I know a thing or two.”
He groaned and sunk his head back into the pillow. That was my answer as to where he was hurting. “Have you had physio look at it?” I asked while I continued to rub around his kneecap, then up further on his thigh. I wasn’t touching him in a sensual way. Not at all. But that didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy the heck out of doing what I was doing.
His legs were muscular and tanned. Running my fingers over his skin, I could feel the power beneath.
“I have. They do sessions with me every day. It doesn’t seem to help much,” he choked out as I added more firm pressure as I went.
“Have you tried an anti-inflammatory diet?”
He peeked out from under his arm that had been covering his eyes. “I thought that’s what I was on? I’ve been eating everything you cook.”
I laughed lightly to myself. “You also need to cut out the bad things you eat when you’re not here.”
“Like what?”
