Layla sat cross-legged on a chair in the medical room, her gloves on, though her attention wandered from the work in front of her. Across the room, Sarah was crouched beside James, one of the forwards who had managed to injure himself during training—nothing serious, just a mild sprain, but as usual, James was being over the top about it.
“God, I think my ankle’s gone. It’s done. No more football for me. Just wheel me out now,” James groaned dramatically, throwing his head back against the treatment bed, his hand flung over his eyes like a tragic hero.
Layla snorted, biting her lower lip to stop herself from bursting out in laughter. Sarah, though, had no such reservations. She rolled her eyes, slapping James lightly on the shin.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Sarah said with a grin.
