Nothing was broken. I doubted it was even a sprain or bone bruise. I knew my body better than anybody, and because I was a lucky bastard, I had experienced just about every injury in the book.
That didn't make it hurt any less.
To nobody's surprise, we lost the game. Afterward, I opted to skip a shower and head back to the hotel. I could already feel myself sinking deeper into a post-game funk. Surrounding myself with backslaps and banter wouldn't make my leg hurt any less, but an ice bath might. Which was why I was determined to beat Matty back, so I could claim our bathtub for the next couple of hours.
Getting out of the Lyft and up to my room was a challenge unto itself. One that was made very slowly and with the aid of a hotel luggage cart.
It was a good thing I dragged my sweat-drenched, aching body into my room when I did. My knee had already ballooned to the size of a ripe cantaloupe and my shin had turned an ugly shade of purplish-green. Thankfully, we didn't play again until Friday, which gave me exactly forty-eight hours to moan, groan, and numb the pain.
And it all started with an ice bath.
The phone buzzing across the dresser would have to wait. Clarke had already texted me twice since the game ended, and like the royal asshole I was, I'd left them on read. I'd seen them, she knew I'd seen them, and yet I couldn't bring myself to respond.
Matty was right. Clarke and I were approaching dangerous territory, one that was well outside the boundaries we had set for ourselves. We weren't dating. There were no sleepovers or mornings after, though that probably had more to do with the room share setup. She was bunking with Dani, and I had Matty.
We didn't even really hang out, save for team gatherings. And bus rides. And a breakfast here and there. And yesterday's hot air balloon ride.
That didn't mean anything, though. Friends took hot air balloon rides to see the sunrise after an all-night sexathon, right?
When my phone buzzed again, I put it on airplane mode.
I knew I was being selfish, and Clarke didn't deserve that. But I also knew that if I did message her back—and she jumped into her default sweet, caregiving mode—I would turn into an even bigger, resentful asshole. And she didn't deserve that either.
No, I chose numbness. Literally.
It took ten minutes and three full bags of ice, courtesy of room service, to pack our soaker tub. I filled it the rest of the way with cold water before setting an alarm for fifteen minutes. Anything beyond that was asking for trouble.
I left my boxer briefs on and gently submerged my lower body in the tub, welcoming the immediate shock to my system. Showers were my cure-all, my go-to for sore muscles and stress, but ice baths were something else entirely. A punishment and reward, all wrapped into one.
My fists reflexively clenched as I sunk into the pain, like sharpened needles piercing my skin. Fuck that. I had tattoos, I knew the reality of needles on skin, and it wasn't this. This was much worse. Anybody who said differently was lying.
I took a deep breath in through my nose and counted to three before exhaling. The intense pain had just begun to subside when the door to our room opened.
"I'm in the bath," I forced out, my chest constricting from the cold. I'd left the bathroom door ajar just in case Matty needed to take a piss while I was still in here. "Ten more minutes, man."
There was no response. When a shapely ankle in a neon pink sneaker nudged the door open wide, I cursed under my breath.
"What are you doing here?" I snapped.
"Oh good, youarealive," she said, her words dripping with sarcasm. "Matty gave me his key."
She crossed the room until she was toe to tub, planting her hands on her hips like a stern teacher. At any other time, in any other place, I might have been turned on.
I sighed. "I'm sorry, okay? You can yell at me later for not answering your texts."
"And calls."
"And calls." A quick glance at my phone told me I still had nine more minutes. I was, quite literally, a sitting duck. "But, you shouldn't be here now."
"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"
Stupid, sexy, obstinate woman.
I groaned in frustration. "Clarke," I said through gritted teeth, "I can't be nice to you right now. I'm a grumpy asshole when I fuck up or get hurt. Don't let me make you hate me, baby. Please."
My heart soared when she crouched down beside the tub. I'd spent weeks dreaming of Clarke on her knees for me, but never like this. Not when my dick was practically frozen against my thigh.
She swirled a finger through the frigid water, barely flinching from the temperature.
