sunny, because the blinds were only half-drawn.
His head felt like it was full of cotton, and his limbs were heavy and uncooperative. He groaned and began pushing at the covers and the dead weight against him. It shifted almost immediately and rolled away.
“You okay?” Zane said, voice rough with sleep.
“Hot,” Ty grunted accusingly. He pushed at Zane again and winced with the pressure on his sore body.
Zane scooted back, and the heat radiating from him faded. He also pushed the blanket down, leaving only the thin cotton sheet over Ty"s lower body. Ty kicked one leg out and rolled flat, closing his eyes and lifting his chin, sprawling as the cool air hit him.
“Better,” he muttered, though his ears seemed to be buzzing like he was hungover.
Zane shifted around, moving the mattress slightly. “How"re you feeling?”
“Like I got hit by a truck,” Ty answered plaintively.
“You said a tank, actually.” The bed shifted again, and Zane was off the mattress and moving. “Hurting?”
52 | Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux
Ty opened his eyes to follow Zane around the room. “A little, yeah,” he admitted. He tried to sit up slowly but gave up on it and eased himself back down with a groan. “A lot. Hungover.”
Zane stopped at his side. “What can I get you?” He was watching Ty in clear concern.
Ty waved him off and shook his head, then winced. He closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers across his forehead slowly, massaging and trying to make the cotton feeling go away. It was rare that he felt so crappy he didn"t even think about groping Zane when he woke up next to him. “What time is it?”
“About nine.”
Ty sat up quickly, instantly regretting it even as he kicked what remained of the sheets away and tried to get out of bed. “I"m gonna be late!”
“Late for what? It"s Sunday morning,” Zane said, stepping back to get out of Ty"s way.
“The game! Yesterday was just the first round of that stupid Goodwill tournament.” Ty took a step and stopped short as the room wobbled around him. “Whoa.”
Zane was suddenly there, hands under his elbows to help him regain his balance. “You"re going to go back and play after getting hurt last night?” He didn"t sound incredulous or even questioning. More like he wanted to be sure he understood correctly.
Ty shook his head and blinked rapidly, then focused on Zane and nodded as he steadied himself. “I"m not hurt bad.”
“I remember hearing the words „cracked rib".”
“They"ll just stick me in right field or something.”
“Your throwing hand is injured.”
“So I"ll use a leftie,” Ty tossed back.
Zane dipped his chin to try to catch Ty"s eyes. “It"s not the being hurt I"m worried about.”
“What?”
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“You"re a little shaky,” Zane pointed out. “Even for right field.”
He straightened and let his hands slide from Ty"s arms. “But if you want to go, I"ll take you over there.”
Ty had to agree he probably wasn"t in any shape to drive just then, but a few minutes of moving around and being awake would help.
He wasn"t sure a softball game was really Zane"s scene. He knew the skepticism was obvious in his eyes even as he nodded. “The games last a few hours.”
“I do like to watch sports, Ty.” Then Zane winked and gave a slight smile. “Especially the uniform pants.”
Ty rolled his eyes and pointed at Zane as he moved toward the bedroom door. “No ogling in front of co-workers,” he warned. He turned and grimaced as his entire body protested. He groaned and leaned against the doorjamb, hanging his head for a moment. “Christ, I"m sore,” he muttered.
“If you take the Vicodin, you"ll be seriously looped,” Zane said helpfully.
Ty winced and looked down at his finger, his other hand settling on his sore ribs.
“Ty, look at me,” Zane requested.
Ty looked up at him obediently, unable to wipe the frown off his face.
“If you"re hurting, take the pills. You don"t