“Thank god, I was a little worried you’d be jacking off in here with all that moaning and groaning.”
Cooper glances in my direction with a glare. “If I could grip my dick, I’d be doing just that.”
Okay, I wasn’t expecting that response.
“Uh, well, okay then.” I set my cat on his bed before taking a seat next to his arm. “What’s wrong, Coop?” I ask softly.
He picks up his head, and I’m about to say something else before he slams his face back down into his pillow with a force greater than gravity.
“I-o-fr-s-ks,” he mumbles.
I bite my cheek to stop myself from laughing. “Come again?”
“I. Am. Out. For. Six. Weeks,” he grunts rather bitchily.
“Why are you out for six weeks?” I’m assuming football, considering he just got home from their away game in Denver this morning.
He lifts his right hand. His pinky and ring finger are taped together.
“Well, that doesn’t look great. What happened?”
“I got pushed, and my hand got caught under me as I went. Got a phalanx fracture. I was going to just have them bandage it, but apparently, I’d be back to playing faster if I get surgery.”
My heart hurts for him. I know how important all of this has been for him, and the pain in his voice is palpable.
“When’s your surgery?” I ask quietly.
“Tomorrow.”
“Well, it’s good that it’s so soon, right? You’ll get back to playing even quicker?”
He grunts.
Fluffernutter settles between his legs for a second, but when he sniffs him, he shoots off the bed like a bat out of hell.
It’s only then that I bend down, sniffing too. “Hey Coop, why do you smell like actual ass?”
This gets the biggest reaction of them all. With a loud groan, Cooper rolls over onto his back with a scowl.
“I can’t figure out how to shower with this,” he mumbles.
I look toward his bathroom. “You just, I don’t know, get into the shower? Turn it on with one hand?”
“How do I wash my hair?”
I think about it for a second. “Squeeze your shampoo on your head and then rub it in?”
The scowl only intensifies.
“Cooper, you are a professional athlete, and you’re telling me you can’t shower with one hand?”
His face distorts, and he starts mocking me. “Are you telling me that you’ve never accidentally used a hand you’re not supposed to because it’s just second nature, and then you’re absolutely fucked?”
“I’ve never had to.”
He pouts.
With an eyeroll, I massage the bridge of my nose, thinking. “Okay. Let’s get you bathed.” I stand up, offering him my hand.
