Page 80 of Pucking Around

Sweet baby Jesus.

I step up to the table and complete a quick visual inspection of the skin around his groin and upper thigh. No bruising. No swelling. “Does this hurt?” I gently palpate the crease of his groin with my fingers.

“No,” he says, body stiff.

“Try to relax for me.”

He grunts, muttering something in Finnish. He does that a lot. I can only imagine it’s a curse of some kind…probably directed at me.

I shift my fingers over, running down the line of his adductor muscles. “How about this?”

“No.”

“What’s your pain level right now?”

“Three. I’m always at a three,” he clarifies.

“You can pull your shorts back up.” As he does, I add, “I don’t see any discoloration, but that doesn’t mean we won’t in a day or so. The area feels slightly hot to the touch, which can be a sign of a strain. So definitely do the ice routine like we discussed.”

He nods, taking a deep breath, his gaze on anything but me. Am I making him uncomfortable? Typically, I’d ask if they want another person present for this kind of exam, but seeing as I’m the only one he’s trusting with this, I imagine his answer is a big fat no.

“I’d like to do some range of motion tests to narrow down if your pain center is really your groin, or if it lies deeper in your hip joint,” I explain.

“Do anything, Doc.”

I do a few basic range of motion exercises, telling him to stop me when he feels pain. I’ve seen his range of motion on the ice. He can do a full split. “Let’s do a five-second squeeze test.”

Before I can explain, he’s already shifting his knees up off the table and placing his feet flat. The motion has his athletic shorts sliding down into his crotch, exposing the whole length of his bare, tree-trunk thighs.

I smirk down at him.

“This isn’t my first cow show,” he says.

I snort, the sound turning into a choked laugh as he frowns up at me.

“What?”

I shake my head. “It’s ‘rodeo.’ This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“Right,” he murmurs. “Well, it’s not. You can fist me, Doc. I don’t mind.”

And now my professionalism has officially left the building. I’m crying I’m laughing so hard.

Ilmari sits up. Scowling at me. “What did I say now? That is the five-second squeeze test, yes? You put your fist between my knees, and I squeeze. I’ve done it a hundred times.”

Oh my god, and now he’s pouting. He doesn’t like being teased. I clear my throat. “Yeah, champ, that’s how the squeeze test goes. Now, lie back and let me fist you.” I snort again, because, apparently, I’m twelve.

He lays back down and then goes still. “It’s something sexual, isn’t it?”

I chuckle, tapping his knees. He lifts them for me, bringing his feet flat once more. “Yeah, Mars. It’s sexual.”

He raises a brow at me. “Will you tell me?”

“No way,” I reply with a laugh, positioning my fist between his knees. “Consider it homework. Hey, that could be your contribution to the group chat this week—ask the guys to explain fisting to you. Go ahead and squeeze,” I add.

He rolls his eyes, placing enormous pressure on my fist as he squeezes as tight as he can. “It’s not hard to imagine what it means. I assume it’s when you take your fist and place it inside the—”

“Ooooookay, and that’s five seconds,” I say over him, tapping his knee again. “How was that?”

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