I’m in my living room, waiting for Stevie and flipping TV channels with the sound off so I can listen for the elevator. Yes, I’m aware it’s borderline creepy. I messaged her more than half an hour ago, but I still haven’t heard back yet.

The sound of the elevator dinging puts me on alert. I grab my crutches and pull myself up, pleased with how much less it’s hurt over the past few days. I hear a knock in the hallway, but it’s not my door. I make it to the peephole in time to see a guy disappear into her apartment.

A fucking guy. Who isn’t me.

I wait with my eye pressed against the peephole for the guy to come back out.

“Have you moved in the past half hour?” Nolan startles me.

“What?”

“I’ve walked through here three times, and you haven’t moved. What the hell are you doing?”

“A guy went into Stevie’s apartment, and he hasn’t come back out.”

Nolan’s eyebrows rise, and he smirks before he schools his expression. “And that’s a problem because . . . ?”

“Because we’re supposed to have a session tonight, that’s why. And she hasn’t answered my texts. I have to see the team doctor tomorrow. I need to go having made progress so I can get back on the ice, and now she’s leaving me hanging!”

“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.”