I give him the hand belonging to the arm that isn't sore, stretching it out as I let him help me back to my feet.

"Cramp," I say. "Must be because this isn't really my thing, I was just, you know, messing around."

He could buy it. I'd buy it. Maybe. He only just got here, right? On the other hand... he is one of the people running the ITF. Not like I've done anything suspicious in their neck of the woods recently or anything...