"Actually, it would be more like<i>Little Giants</i>since we're talking football here but I can always call you Buttermaker if that makes you feel better about yourself."  None of the movies he'd mentioned related to football at all.  Something inside her just couldn't let him make a comparison that just didn't fit his situation.  Chalk it up to her very type A personality.<br/><br/>She waited until he was next to her before she started walking back the way they'd come, making sure to set a pace that he could keep up with.  "I guess the question I should be asking is if you even want to be involved in football again.  Or sports for that matter."  Claire cast a sidelong glance at the man next to her.  "Do you even<i>have</i>any other skills?  Other than drinking, of course.  Unless you want to be famous for the rest of your life for being a washed-up alcoholic."  There was no sting to her words.  Her intention wasn't to shame or embarrass him.  It was more that she was verbalizing thoughts that should have remained in her head.<br/><br/>As they made their way back down the tunnel to the locker room, she pulled her phone out of her pocket to dash off a quick text to Roger to let him know that they were finished and would let themselves out.  After hitting send, she tucked the device away again and glanced down at his leg.  "When's the last time you did anything to help that leg feel better?  You still taking pain meds or are you just self-medicating with Dr. Budweiser?  Any physical therapy?"<br/><br/>Claire huffed a soft sigh as they slowly retraced their steps.  He was going to be a stubborn project, she could feel it.  How long was she willing to push and shove and encourage before it just wasn't worth it anymore?  A faint crease appeared between her brows then smoothed away.  He didn't even want her help, he was content with his life as it was.<br/><br/>She plastered on a smile.  "So this beer, where are we going to have it?"