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“Time for the gym, come on.” Paul pushes me off him and climbs off the bed. When I sit up, the pain in my skull intensifies, and I groan. “Meds and water are next to you.”
Cracking an eye open, I see the two pills and water bottle sitting on the bedside table and take both. Thank fuck one of us was smart enough to think about that.
The light in the bathroom flicks on, and I flinch as pain shoots through my brain.
“Fuuuck,” I groan, covering my eyes with my hands and leaning my elbows on my knees.
“You should get up and move, finish the water bottle. You’re dehydrated,” Paul says as the scrape of his dresser drawers being opened sounds.
I get to my feet and sway a bit. When I crack my eyes open again to see where I’m going, I see Paul watching me with a weird expression. If I wasn’t in so much pain, I might be able to figure it out, but I can’t right now.
I stumble to the dresser and pull open my drawer to find some shorts.
“May want to change out of the jockstrap.” Paul’s words have me looking down at myself. Shit. That would explain the naked ass.
I find underwear and push my jock to the floor. As I step out, I start to fall over, but Paul grabs me, and I sag into him.
“Thank you,” I pant, already exhausted.
His lips brush the back of my neck, then he helps me get the compression boxers on that I use for workouts. It takes a ridiculous amount of energy to get them over my ass, and by the time they’re up, my stomach is rolling. I run for the bathroom and throw up the meds and water, then dry heave. My muscles ache, and I lean my head on my crossed arms on the toilet seat. Fuck. Me.
By some miracle I make it to the gym only a few minutes late. Paul found some stale-ass crackers in our room, and I got more meds down with water. So far, it’s holding, but I’m sweaty from the exertion of getting here.
By the time the meds kick in and the band around my head loosens, I realize I am not the only one hurting this morning.
Carmichael is of course showing us all up. Paul appears to be fine—but he’s babying his shoulder a bit for some reason—along with Carp, but everyone else is sluggish. I don’t feel so bad now.
Coach comes into the gym while we’re rotating through our stations for leg day and huffs.
“Tonight’s practice will not be easy. If you’re going to act like a bunch of jackasses, learn how to take care of yourself so you’re not hungover the next day,” the gruff man snaps. He’s clearly unimpressed with us. “Hydrate. Vitamins. Pain meds before passing out. And learn your goddamn limits!”
He storms from the gym, the door slamming against the wall on his way out, and a bunch of us flinch at the noise.
We fucked up, and we all know it.
I’m at the leg press, forcing my way through my second set when Jeremy comes over. He’s pale with dark circles under his eyes and looks like he’s about to fall over.
“Okay, we may have gone a little overboard last night.” He leans against the machine when Preston comes over and snorts behind him.
“No shit,” I complain. There’s a loud clang as I let the weights fall. “I feel like a newborn kitten. I’m not even using the weight I normally do.”
I grab my towel and wipe the sweat off my face, weak and exhausted. I just want to go back to bed, but I have classes after this.
We all switch machines, and I see Jeremy try to talk to Paul, but Paul is stretching his arm. He’s clearly upset about something and in pain, but I have no idea what is going on. Did I do something?
After an hour and a half of bullshitting my way through my workout, I force myself to shower and change before heading to the dining hall for food. I’m not really hungry, but if I don’t eat now, I’ll regret it later.
Jeremy and Preston are waiting for me when I leave the locker room fucking around on their phones.
“What did you do to Paul?” Jeremy asks before looking up.
“What are you talking about?” I cross my arms and wait for him to pay attention.
“He’s mad about something. What did you do?”
We start walking toward the dining hall, and I have a sinking feeling in my stomach.I have no fucking idea.
“Why do you think I did something?” I ask defensively. If Paul is mad about something, there’s a ninety percent chance it was something I did or said. That’s just a fact.
