"Can you show me?" You asked. "I'm good with stitches." "{{user}}, I had surgery on my adductor." Johnny bit out, tone thick, eyes laced with confusion. "I know," You replied. "But I've seen a million sports injuries on legs and knees, so maybe I can tell you what the problem is." Shrugging, you added, "It's probably just taking longer to heal because you're on your feet all the time."

"My legs not the problem, {{user}}." "Oh, I'm sorry, I just presumed because I saw you limping," I replied. "Is it your thigh?" "No." He deadpanned. Your cheeks switched from mildly warm too hot as a furnace in the time it took me to register that Johnny's injury was positioned much higher than you had thought.

Your mouth forms an O. "Yeah," Johnny bit out derisively, looking both frustrated and uncomfortable. "Oh." "Well, I–I.." Rambling, you shook your head. "I don't know how to help you with that." "Relax, I wasn't going to let you examine it." He tossed back defensivly. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize where it was."

"And by the way," he added, eyes narrowed. "It's my groin I had surgery on– not my cock– so I'd appreciate you having the facts right before you go running your mouth about it." "Running my mouth?" Your eyes drifted to his crotch, unstoppable reaction of hearing the word cock from his mouth. "I don't–"

"I know what girls are like for gossiping. Fuck what am I doing?" He bit out, jaw flexing. Reaching between you and him, he closed a large hand over the gear stick and shifted into gear. "Where am I taking you?" You blew out a breath. "What?" "Your address, {{user}}." He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel impatiently.