“So you’re pissed that she has a life outside of sessions with you, which she doesn’t get paid for, unless you parading around in your underwear has somehow become a form of reimbursement?”

“I’m comfortable like this, and she doesn’t care. Besides, she offered to help me. It benefits her too.”

Nolan leans against the couch, and Dicken jumps up, sauntering along the edge until he can rub himself on Nolan. “Does it, now? And how might this little arrangement you set up benefit her?”

“She gets experience working with me.”

“So she learns how to best deal with assholes?”

Dicken meows, like he’s in agreement. He’s only loyal to the person most willing to feed him.

“Screw you. I’m not always an asshole. She gets to rehab an NHL player. She learns what works and doesn’t, what helps me make progress, how hard to push. It’s good for her, career-wise.”

“Why doesn’t she use the fact that she has an NHL-playing brother to get her into a clinic that works with professionals in the first place?”

“Because she doesn’t like using her brother’s connections to get things.”

“Well, she’s living in that apartment, isn’t she?”

“Only because her dickhead ex-boyfriend cheated on her and she didn’t have anywhere else to stay. It better not be him in her apartment. I will beat his ass.” I don’t care if I have to break his nose with my crutches; I will take that motherfucker down. I pull out my phone and compose a message to Stevie, but I’m agitated, so I have to delete it a bunch of times and start over again.

I finally go with:

You ready for me? Should I come to you?

It’s not confrontational, and there are no death threats, so I think it’s good. Nice and neutral.

“You sound a little territorial for someone who swears he doesn’t have the hots for our neighbor.”

“I’m not being territorial. I need her for my rehab.”

Nolan snorts. “You keep telling yourself that, Shippy.”

I don’t bother responding to Nolan, because he’s baiting me, and inchworm dots appear on my screen. I frown when I read her message:

Not a good time. Msg l8r.

“Not a good time? Message later? What does that mean?”

“It means she’s busy and she’ll get back to you when she isn’t. I told you to stop being a pussy and just claim the pussy.”

I motion to my crotch. Today I’m wearing boxers that say DANGER: CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE on them. I figured Stevie would find them funny, because it’s true. At least it doesn’t feel like I’ve dipped my balls in acid every time I get hard anymore. “I can’t claim the pussy.”

“Your tongue and fingers aren’t damaged, though.” Nolan shakes his head. “You’re an idiot. If she has a date, you have no one to blame but yourself.”

He wanders down the hall, complaining about how I’m wasting my good years being celibate.

I stand with my eye at the peephole and wait. And wait some more. It’s almost eight by the time the door finally opens. So I step out into the hall, ready to do exactly what my brother said I should before someone else does: claim the pussy.

CHAPTER 14

SERIOUSLY?

Stevie

The second I step out into the hall, Bishop’s door flies open. He leans on one crutch, eyes narrowed and homed in on me. “We still on for tonight, or you busy with something else?”

I can feel RJ behind me. “Winslow, this isn’t the damn locker room. What the hell are you doing in your goddamn underwear?”

My brother’s giant hand clamps over my eyes, and his pinkie nearly goes up my nose.

I bat his hand away and spin out of his reach. “Like I’ve never seen a guy in his underwear before.”

“Rook?” Bishop’s somewhat angry expression softens when his gaze shifts to me. “Why didn’t you say your brother was over? I’ve been waiting for like two hours.”

“I didn’t realize I needed to give you a play-by-play of my evening plans.”

“What the hell is going on here?” RJ’s blazing eyes are fixed on Bishop.

Based on the way these two are glaring at each other, I have a feeling they don’t like each other very much. It may explain why my conversations with Bishop that revolve around hockey are only ever related to his PT and his friend Kingston. Bishop actually seems like he might be a bit of a loner. Or a homebody. Or both.

RJ’s lip twitches. “Are you hanging out with this guy?”

“I’m helping Shippy with PT.” I use the nickname on purpose, to let Bishop know I don’t appreciate whatever the hell drama he’s about to cause me.

“Shippy?” RJ looks like his eyes are about to bug out of his head and roll across the floor.

“Kody needs to go to bed, and Lainey’s waiting on you.” I grab my brother by the elbow and lead him to the elevator, jabbing the button four hundred thousand times in less than three seconds. Thankfully, it opens right away. I use my brother’s shock, or whatever it is, to push him into the elevator. He drags me in with him, though.

I jam my thumb on the button for the parking garage, repeatedly, and fire a glare at Bishop, who’s still standing in the hallway in a pair of red underwear, looking super pissed off. As if he has a right. Christ.

My brother points a finger in Bishop’s direction as the doors slide closed. “What the hell is going on? You better not be dating him.”

“Excuse me?”

RJ crosses his arms. “You can’t date a hockey player.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“You just had your heart stomped all over, Stevie. Do you really think you need to be getting involved with someone right now? Especially someone who travels for more than half the year? Not to mention that guy is an ass clown.”

I rub my temples, trying to keep a lid on my anger, but I don’t think it’s a battle I’m going to win. “Okay, first of all, Rook, you don’t get to dictate what I do or who I do it with. I’m not a kid. I’m an adult, and I can make adult decisions without consulting you or anyone else. Secondly, I’m not dating Bishop.”

RJ scoffs. “Come on, Stevie. Do you think I’m an idiot? He was in his underwear in the hall saying he’s been waiting on you for two hours.” He runs a hand through his hair and tries to pace in the very confined space. It’s not effective because he’s at one end and then the other in two strides. “Are you hooking up with him?”

“He has a groin injury, RJ. He can’t have sex.”

“Thank fuck for that,” he snaps.

The elevator doors slide open, and I push him out into the parking garage. “I’m helping him with PT, not trying to ride his broken dick. Not that it’s any of your damn business.” I’ve thought about it, though. During our sessions I’ve gotten to know Bishop, and under that surly exterior and his poorly thought-out comments that often come across as seriously rude insults is what I’m beginning to think is a genuinely nice guy.

Plus he’s insanely hot, so I would have to be asexual not to have dirty thoughts about him. The kind I use as fodder for my private one-hand clapping parties after our nightly PT sessions. My vibrator has been getting one hell of a workout lately. Not that I’m going to share that with my unreasonably angry brother.