“I thought you didn’t want me to reinjure myself.”

“You have a groin pull. You’re not suddenly a ninety-five-year-old with brittle bones and a double hip replacement.”

He tugs on the back of my hood. “If anyone is drawing attention, it’s you with this freaking sweatshirt on when it’s over seventy degrees and half the girls wandering around here are dressed like they’re ready to go to the beach.”

“That’s because they’re college students and it’s a prerequisite to dress for weather ten degrees warmer than it actually is. I’m being reasonable with my hoodie.”

“Not even a little.”

We manage to make it to his car—thank God he doesn’t drive something ostentatious and expensive like my brother does—without anyone accosting him. Since I have the keys, I rush around to the driver’s side and close myself inside while he fumbles around with his crutches and lowers himself into the passenger seat.

“Thanks for the help.”

“You managed to get yourself here just fine.”

I haven’t driven to what was supposed to be my apartment ever, so I have to program it into Bishop’s GPS. I’m anxious about going to Joey’s and Bishop being with me. I’m also freaked out about last night, and I’m waiting for him to bring it up, but he doesn’t. He sits in the passenger seat, tapping his fingers on the armrest.

“You know what I find interesting?” he finally says.

“I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me.”

He stretches his arm across the back of my seat and fingers a lock of my hair. I know he’s touching it because I can feel his hand resting on my shoulder. Also, he gives it a tug. “That you’ll change the color of your hair to something that stands out but hide behind a hood because of the possibility that some random person you don’t know is going to recognize me. It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. You know that, right?”

“The two are unrelated.”

“Your hair screams ‘Look at me.’”

“But no one wants to take pictures of me and get my autograph because of it. All they know is that I have fun hair. They don’t know I’m related to Rook, or that I’m . . . working on rehab with you, but if they see me with you or my brother, all of a sudden I stop being the girl with the fun hair and I start being Rook Bowman’s sister or that chick who was with Bishop Winslow.”

He doesn’t say anything in response. Instead he keeps twisting my hair around his finger. I can feel him looking at me still, and it’s distracting. Thankfully, we arrive at what was supposed to be my apartment building. I parallel park down the street and try to force myself to get out of the car, but all I can do is sit there, gripping the steering wheel and staring at the building.

“You okay?” Bishop asks after God knows how long. He pulls my hood down and slips his fingers under my hair. His calloused palm curves around the nape of my neck, just like last night. His thumb sweeps back and forth, slow and soothing.

I’m so screwed. I like this guy, and I shouldn’t for a lot of reasons, most of which I cited last night in my head. The other reasons, the ones I haven’t voiced, are the ones that plague me the most. As much as I believe Bishop’s reasons for wanting me to rehab him. What if I’m wrong? It would be a pretty elaborate plan on his part, and it would also put him on par with a sociopath, but I also didn’t realize that I was pretty much dating one of those for an entire year until I walked in on him with someone else. And he’s not sorry because he hurt me. He’s sorry because he got caught.

I also don’t want Joey to be right that I’m using Bishop for more than just an opportunity to rehab an NHL player. I would prefer not to turn him into a rebound.

I’m a bit of an emotional mess, if I really think about it. I don’t want to drag Bishop into that, but I’ve already started to get attached to, and depend on, him. I don’t say any of those things, though. I might be an emotional mess, but I’m not stupid.

“I haven’t been back here since the night I arrived.”

“You mean since—”

“I caught Joey screwing someone else.”

“On your birthday.”

“On my birthday.” Shit. I think I might cry. It’s dumb. It’s been weeks since it happened, but coming here makes it all feel fresh again.

“What’s the apartment number? I’ll get your suitcase for you.”

I finally let go of the steering wheel and look at him. “You can’t do that. It’s a heavy bag; you’ll set yourself back.”

“I’ll be fine, and you’ll stretch me out when we get home.”

I rub my temples. “I still have to organize the decorations with him.”

“We’ll take care of it when we get home too.”

“But Joey signed us up to work on this thing together.” Avoiding him entirely isn’t a great strategy, and it definitely isn’t one I can continue to employ forever. But in this case maybe it’s better to have Bishop deal with Joey until I’m truly ready to do it on my own.

“And Joey is a dickhead who doesn’t deserve to spend five seconds in your presence. Don’t worry. We’ll get it all sorted out. Nolan works at one of those party warehouses, so he’ll have loads of hookups for us.”

“That’s an odd place to work.”

“The hours are flexible, and he’s a part-time manager. We might as well take advantage, since he has the connections.”

I scrub a hand over my face. “Joey thinks you and I are together.”

“Good. Let him think that. Isn’t that actually better for you anyway? Won’t it get him off your ass?”

“He called you my rebound.” Goddamn it. Why can’t I keep my stupid mouth shut?

Bishop shifts as much as he can so he’s turned toward me. His knees hit the center console, and his thumb keeps sweeping back and forth on that sensitive spot behind my ear. “Does that bother you?”

“Does it bother you?” I fire back, because answering that question is complicated, and the truth makes me feel way too vulnerable.

“Coming from your dickbag ex? Not in the least. That guy is going to say anything he can to get under your skin and into your head.” He gives the back of my neck a squeeze. “Let him believe whatever he wants. What’s the apartment number?”

“One-two-one-three.”

“I’ll be back.”

He unbuckles his seat belt and gets out of the car. The back door opens, and he nabs a single crutch. Before he hobbles off, he taps on the window, so I roll it down.

“Just to be clear, you don’t want me to beat the fuck out of this guy?”

“No. You have a groin injury, and that is the opposite of helpful for healing.”

“Is that the only reason you don’t want me to beat his ass?”

“Mostly, yes. Plus I still have to work with him.”

Bishop purses his lips but nods. “Okay. Noted.”

I watch him enter the building, trying to understand what the hell is going on between us. I’m so confused. It seems to take an actual eon for him to finally return. I get out of the car so I can help him with my suitcase. Surprisingly, it’s still in one piece. I just hope all my things are still in it.