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Summary
“Craig Tucker,” the man introduced himself, his voice professional and his expression impossible to read. “I’m your physical therapist.”
Oh.
Oh, shit.
That was not what Tweek had been expecting.
After all the hype Bebe had given him, he’d prepared himself for someone attractive enough. He’d pictured someone along the lines of a Matt Damon type—good-looking, sure, but in a normal, approachable way (no offense, Matt Damon). Maybe a little older, with a few graying hairs and an aura that came with years of experience.
Not… this.
Not someone who looked like they’d wandered off the set of a Calvin Klein campaign and accidentally ended up working in sports medicine.
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OR: Tweek's new PT is unreasonably attractive.