“Cam, what the fuck?” My hand reaches out, dragging over his bruised ribs, and he hisses, pulling back.

“Don’t. Jesus.”

“Sorry.” I pull my hand away, but I’m glaring at my best friend. “When the hell did that happen?”

He shrugs, pushing the rest of his clothes away and striding naked toward the showers. My eyes mean to move to the bruise, but instead get caught on the globes of his ass as he walks away.

Huh, he has a nice ass. For a guy, I mean. It’s toned and flexes with each step, and I need to look away. What the hell was that?

I strip quickly, trying like hell to push that weird moment away, climbing under the spray of my own showerhead. The water is warm and feels damn good over my sore muscles.

“When did that happen?” I wash my hair and my body quickly, not looking back at Cam, but I’m not letting this go.

“Friday. When that big fucker sacked me. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. That looks brutal. And that’s why you were so shitty today?”

“Gee thanks, buddy.” He sounds like he’s laughing a little, so I don’t think I actually hurt his feelings, and it’s not like he doesn’t know.

“Are you going to be able to play Friday?”

I hear his shower turn off and see him grab a towel out of my peripheral vision as he steps out. “Of course I am. It’s the last game. I’m not missing it.”

I rinse the soap from my body, then turn the shower off and climb out, wrapping a towel around my waist. “It looks bad, Camden. Did you let anyone look at it?” He looks guilty, and I know he didn’t. “Camden,” I scold.

“You sound like me,” he says with a fond smile.

“You can’t do that. If you’re really hurt, you should tell someone.”

“I’m fine.” He grabs his t-shirt and pulls it on over his head. And I realize I’m staring at him. “Really. I’m fine. It’s just a bruise, and I’ll be totally normal by Friday. It’s only Monday. You know I bounce back fast.”

Oh, right. Staring in the locker-room isn’t normal. I try to pull my eyes away from him as he grabs a pair of boxer briefs, but I can’t seem to. I know what he’s saying is true. He probably is fine, but I’m still worried. I don’t like seeing Camden hurt.

“You going to get dressed?” My mind goes to Friday night and our discussion. My lip involuntarily pokes out with a pout because it’s still in my head.

“Oh. Yeah.” But I don’t move, and he sighs, sitting down on the bench with a pitying look on his face I don’t like.

“It’s still bothering you, isn’t it?”