Page 13 of Pucking My Grumpy Roommate
“Yeah.” His expression softened slightly. “Don’t push too hard too fast. We need you at one hundred percent, not limping through games at sixty percent.
The contradiction wasn’t lost on me. Push harder, but not too hard. Come back sooner, but be fully healed.
“Got it, Coach.”
I left his office feeling the weight of expectations—the team’s, the fans’, my own—pressing down on me. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and for a moment, I hoped it was Desert Survivor. Instead it was my friend, Dennis.
Dennis
So how’s the roommate situation? She cute? You’re welcome, by the way.
I ignored it, shoving the phone back in my pocket. The last thing I needed was Dennis’s particular brand of help with my life.
By the time I returned to my apartment, I’d convinced myself that maybe having Kate as a temporary roommate wouldn’t be so bad. She’d be at her lab all day. I’d be at PT or the training facility. Our paths would barely cross.
That delusion lasted approximately three seconds after opening my refrigerator.
Every shelf, container, and drawer had been labeled with colorful Post-it notes. My meal prep containers now sat beside what appeared to be scientific specimens in glass jars. One shelf had been entirely cleared and labeled “Kate’s Experimental Yogurt Cultures (completely harmless to humans, probably).”
Probably?
I closed the refrigerator and took a deep breath. Then I noticed my supplement shelf. My perfectly organized, alphabetized supplement shelf. Now it was a chaotic mix of protein powders and boxes labeled “Immunity Boost Tea” and “Brain Function Enhancement Blend.”
“You’re back!”
I turned to find Kate emerging from the guest room, wearing jeans and a sweater with what looked like the periodic table on it.
“What,” I said slowly, “did you do to my kitchen?”
“Oh!” She glanced at the refrigerator, then back at me. “I organized! Well, reorganized. I needed space for my cultures, and I figured labeling everything would help me remember what’s yours, so I don’t accidentally eat your specifically timed nutrition plan. Your meal prep is impressive, by the way. The macronutrient balance is perfect for muscle recovery.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “And my supplements?”
“Right, about those...” She shifted uncomfortably. “I may have rearranged them slightly to make room for my teas. But I kept all yours together! And I added labels with optimal timing for consumption based on your training schedule.”
I opened the cabinet. Sure enough, each of my supplements now had an additional Post-it note: “Take before training,” “Take after protein consumption,” “Most effective on empty stomach.”
“How do you know my training schedule?” I asked, torn between irritation and curiosity.
“I...might have looked at your calendar on the refrigerator.” She winced. “For purely practical roommate coordination purposes.”
I should have been angry. This woman had completely disrupted my system in less than twenty-four hours. But strangely, I found myself almost impressed by her thoroughness.
“The yogurt cultures,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “What does ‘probably harmless’ mean exactly?”
“Oh! They’re definitely harmless. The ‘probably’ was just a little microbiologist humor.” She laughed, then stopped abruptly at my expression. “They’re beneficial bacteria. Probiotics. Good for gut health, immune function, maybe even mood regulation. I’m studying their potential applications for post-surgical recovery, actually.”
“I’m not eating your science experiments.”
“No! Of course not. They’re not for eating. Well, not for you eating. They’re just...growing. Harmlessly. In sealed containers.” She bit her lip. “I can move them to the lab tomorrow if they bother you.”
I sighed, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “Just...ask before you reorganize anything else, okay?”
“Absolutely.” She nodded vigorously. “Total communication from now on. Speaking of which, I made dinner! As a thank you for letting me stay. Nothing fancy, just a protein-richrecovery meal based on what I read about optimal nutrition for ligament healing.”
She gestured toward the oven, where something actually smelled delicious.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, suddenly aware I was starving.
