I haven’t bothered with art yet, aware that I’ll only be here for a year, and then my brother and I will likely need to find a new place, unless we decide to take over the lease or buy the place outright, which is an option.

A low thud comes from the cat tree across the room, and Dicken waddles over to rub himself on my leg, meowing loudly.

“Look at you . . . what a sweet chonky kitty!” Stevie drops into a crouch. “Is he friendly?”

“Exceedingly.”

He abandons me and rubs himself across Stevie’s legs. He circles her and purrs when she scratches under his chin. “We used to have barn cats when I was growing up. What’s his name?”

“Dicken.”

“Like the author?”

“That’s one interpretation.” That’s not at all why we named him that. “But his middle name is Balls.”

Her nose scrunches up. “That’s not a very nice name for your cat.” She takes a closer look at him, and then her eyes go wide. She gestures to his face, which is decorated in a white pattern. “Oh my God. He has—”

“A dick and balls on his face. Hence the name Dicken Balls.”

She bites her lip as if she’s trying to decide whether she wants to laugh. She rubs between his eyes, where the figurative shaft is. “That’s a horribly awful and perfect name for you, little Dicken.” She gives him one more affectionate scratch under the chin and rises. “Let’s get some medication into you and get you in the tub.”

She follows me down the hall to my bedroom. So does Dicken, meowing loudly behind us. I didn’t bother making my bed, since I spent the majority of the day lying in it. Three ice packs are scattered over the comforter, and my clothes from yesterday are lying in a heap in the middle of the floor, but it’s not too much of a shit sty otherwise.

It’s odd to have a woman in my bedroom for nonrecreational purposes. And it’s been a damn long time since that’s happened. Based on the state of my groin, my unapproachableness, and my lack of finesse with women in general, it’s probably going to be a damn long time before it happens again. I’m lucky I’m decent looking or I’d be totally fucked. Or not fucked. Ever.

“The layout is exactly the same as my bedroom. Is the bathroom through there?” Stevie points to the mostly closed door.

“Yeah. Just let me check and make sure it’s safe.” I hobble past her and stick my head in. The towels on the rack are askew, and a couple litter the floor, but like my bedroom, it’s not bad. “Okay, good to go.”

“Great.” She claps her hands and rubs them together. “Bath time! In you go!”

She prods me forward and slips around me. It’s a fairly spacious bathroom—a lot bigger than the one she found me in this morning. I flip the lid down on the toilet and take a seat. My prescription is sitting on the counter, so I fill the glass sitting on the vanity and pop the cap. I’m supposed to take two every four hours, so I shake out three pills and down them with some water to partially make up for the missed dose.

“Do you have epsom salts?” Stevie asks as she opens cupboards and peeks around.

I point to the linen closet. “Should be some in there.”

She runs the water and puts the stopper in the drain, then opens the linen closet. The epsom salts are on the top shelf. Stevie isn’t particularly tall, maybe five four at best, so she has to stand on her tiptoes to reach it.

She manages to get the epsom salts down and dumps a healthy amount into the water, swirling it around to help it dissolve.

“All right, time to strip down,” she says when the bath is half-full.

I wait for her to give me some privacy, but she just stands there, one eyebrow arched, hands on her hips.

“You want me to get naked in front of you?”

“You’ve been flashing me your panties for weeks.”

She has a point. I pull my shirt over my head and drop it on the floor. I have to brace my weight on the counter so I can rise up enough to pull my sweats over my hips, which really hurts. I sit back down with a groan and slide them past my knees. Bending over causes more pain, so Stevie steps up and helps take them off the rest of the way.

I can’t even make it from the toilet to the tub without crutches. I sit on the edge and take a few deep breaths, waiting until the worst of the vicious stabbing pains ease.

Stevie settles her palms on my shoulders. “You okay?”

I lift my head, which isn’t the best idea, since her tits are right in my face. They’re covered by a T-shirt and a bra, but still. They look like they’d be a comfortable place to rest my head. I look down instead of doing that, except now I’m staring at her crotch. Again, covered in black yoga pants, but she’s female and gorgeous, and I’m full of testosterone. Pent-up testosterone, some latent rage, and a high level of frustration over being benched for six weeks. And for the first time in what feels like four million eons, I think I might actually like this woman beyond the surface. I wonder if she’s wearing a pair of those shorts she favors under the yoga pants. I wonder if she’ll wear them for our physio sessions.

“Bishop, you in there?” She snaps her fingers.

“Huh?” I look up, all the way to her face.

Her brow is arched. “You were off in la-la land.”

“Sorry.” The la-la land of her yoga-pants-covered pussy. “Are you gonna leave me alone to soak?”