My bedroom door swings open a few seconds later. My brother points at my crotch and cups his own with his free hand. “Dude, that looks bad.”

I drag my gaze away from the ceiling. “It feels worse than bad. Can you grab me an ice pack from the freezer?”

“Sure.” Nolan disappears down the hall and returns with one of my gel ice packs and a hand towel.

I drape the towel over my leg and set the pack on top, cringing as the cold skims my balls. They immediately attempt a hasty retreat, causing a shock of pain. I groan and tense, making it worse for a few terrible, mind-bending seconds.

“So what happened exactly?” Nolan jumps onto the bed with his lunch box of medical supplies. Thankfully, it’s a shock-free mattress, so I don’t feel the movement at all.

Dicken, his black-and-white cat, follows suit. He rubs himself on Nolan’s leg, then plunks himself down beside me and rests his paw on my arm. He starts kneading at me, claws digging in, his way of telling me he wants pets.

I rub Dicken’s head while I fill my brother in on the hit I took last night and the splits I shouldn’t have done, which was followed by the trip to the clinic and the six-week hiatus from the ice. I finish up with how I lost my key card down the elevator shaft and ended up on the couch at our neighbor’s across the hall.

“You should’ve messaged when you were at the clinic, and I would’ve gotten rid of my date.”

“I was a little preoccupied.” I drag a hand down my face and cringe. My cheek hit the goalpost when I went down, but the groin injury is far worse, so I didn’t notice the other pain until this morning. “So you know how I thought she was Bowman’s sidepiece or whatever?”

“You’ve been bitching about it since she moved in weeks ago, so yeah.”

“Turns out she’s Bowman’s little sister.” Which actually makes a hell of a lot more sense.

“No shit? Is she single?”

I turn my head only enough so that I can glare at him. “Don’t even think about it.”

He stares right back, one brow arched. “Oh man, now this all makes sense. You have the hots for her, don’t you?”

“No. I don’t.” I return my gaze to the ceiling. She’s got great nipples, though, and a seriously sweet rack.

“I don’t believe you.” He pricks himself with his blood sugar–tester device so he can check his levels before giving himself his shot. It’s the first of five he’ll administer today.

“And that should matter why?”

“You’ve been bitching about this woman incessantly since she moved in. First it was because she was so damn loud and because you didn’t approve of her moral standings or whatever. Then you bitched about her being a student and wearing too much perfume. After that you started moaning about how she’s always in workout gear and doesn’t she have real clothes, blah blah. I’d also like to point out that unless you have to leave this apartment, you’re always in boxers. I’m so familiar with the outline of your junk I could identify it in a lineup before I could my own.”

“I don’t see how my observations can be construed as having the hots for her.” I ignore the part about my junk because it’s my place and I can wear whatever I want. If Nolan wants to wander around in his boxers, he’s free to, although he gets cold because his circulation isn’t the best.

“You haven’t talked this much about a woman since Penny.”

“That name is banned; don’t bring her up again.” Penny was my last semiserious girlfriend. That ended because Penny was more concerned with how many likes her posed photos with me had on her social media profiles than she was with me as an actual person.

“Just sayin’. It’s been a long time since anything but hockey has lit a fire under your ass.”

“An annoyance is not the same thing.”

“You keep living in denial, Shippy.” He lifts his shirt and catches the hem with his chin. He pinches a roll of skin between two fingers—he has to hunch forward because he’s lean—and stabs himself, depressing the needle.

“It’s not denial.”

He drops his shirt and rubs the injection site. “I’ve seen you with your face pressed against the door in the morning, waiting for her.”

“That’s not because I have the hots for her.”

“Uh-huh. You know, if you need dating tips, I’m here for you, bro.”

“I don’t need dating tips. I can pick up women fine. If I feel like putting in the effort.” Which I often don’t.

“I’m just saying, your pretty face isn’t going to last forever, and eventually your hairline is going to start receding.” He ruffles my hair, and I bat his hand away. “One day you’ll have to work on your interpersonal skills and learn how to flirt, unless you’re content with self-love for the rest of your life.”

“Based on this”—I point to my groin—“I don’t think I’m going to get any kind of lovin’, self-imposed or otherwise, for a good while.”

“Yeah. That’s gonna suck.” He packs up his insulin kit and slides off the bed. “You need anything before I head out? My shift is only four hours, and I don’t have class, so I’ll be back early this afternoon.”