“Yeah, I can see that.” I force my eyes back up to her face. At least I feel slightly less bad about noticing how hot she is.

“I can’t believe you thought I was his, what . . . mistress?” She flips her hair over her shoulder and sneers.

I throw my hands up in the air. “Well, what the hell was I supposed to think when you show up in the middle of the night looking like something the cat dragged in, being all evasive and noisy and shit?”

“I wasn’t being evasive.”

“You could’ve said you were Bowman’s sister from the start, though. It would’ve cleared up a lot of shit.”

“Would it have changed how much of an asshole you’ve been?”

“Well, yeah, of course.” If I’d known who she was, I wouldn’t have been such a giant dick.

She props her fist on her curvy hip. “I shouldn’t have to announce that I’m related to my famous fucking brother for people to be nice to me.”

I drag a palm down my face. She’s missing the damn point. “That’s not—”

Her hand shoots out in front of my face, startling me. I almost fall off the slippery toilet seat. “As fun as this conversation has been, I have to get ready for work, so now is probably a good time for you to get your shit and head back to your asshole headquarters. You’re super welcome for taking care of your rude ass last night.” She spins around and stalks out of the bathroom.

“I thought you were a morally deficient stick chaser! And I’m always an asshole,” I yell after her.

A door slams from down the hall.

“Dammit.” I drop my head in my hands and mutter a string of curses. This is not awesome. I’ve been a total dick to Bowman’s sister. I mean, I’m a dick most of the time, but I was extra dicky with her. And I pissed all over her bathroom. Plus I’ve insulted her a bunch of times. If she tells him, it’s going to make my life even more miserable. Maybe she already has.

I use my crutches to pull myself up. I do a half-assed job of cleaning up the mess I made all over her toilet seat, and the side of the vanity, and the floor. I even managed to get the damn mirror. I might have to send my cleaner over to deal with this.

I debate whether I should leave but decide it would be better to try to smooth things over and lessen the chance of her ratting me out to her brother. I crutch down the hall, slowly. I need to take some painkillers and lie down again.

I reach what I’m assuming is her bedroom and knock on the door. “Hey, uh, Stevie?” It’s a weird name, but it seems to fit her.

“Are you still here?” The door swings open. “And still in your damn underwear. Where the hell are your pants?”

I follow the movement as she pulls a shirt over her head, covering her sports bra and her smooth, toned stomach. She has an incredible athletic body, one I no longer feel guilty about ogling now that I know she’s not screwing my married team captain.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot. If I’d known you were Rook’s sister—”

“You would’ve toned your asshole down.” She brushes by me and heads toward the living room.

I can’t keep up because moving too fast makes me feel like I’m going to vomit. “Look, I’m sorry,” I call after her.

“You’re only sorry because my brother is a big deal.”

I crutch after her, grunting through the pain. “That has nothing to do with it. I just don’t want to make waves with my team.”

She spins around angrily. “Oh, now I get it. You want to make sure I won’t tell my brother about this. Well, don’t worry. I’m not really dying to share the whole boner-killer comment with anyone, let alone RJ.”

Shit. I forgot about that less-than-flattering insult. “You were a hot mess.”

She glares at me, then forcefully gathers my clothes and shoes from the floor and stalks to the door. I must have gotten hot in the middle of the night and taken everything off, although I don’t remember that. She unlocks it with a jerky movement and tosses them into the hallway. “Leave. Now.”

I blow out a breath; clearly I’m not making things better with my apology. I hobble past her and turn with the intention of telling her I don’t think she’s a boner-killer at all, but she slams the door in my face.

“That went well.” I bend and snag my jogging pants. As I drape them around my neck, I feel around for my phone and slip it out of my pocket so I can check my messages. My brother has finally gotten back to me. Apparently the door is unlocked now, so I can let myself in. I pick up my discarded shirt and fumble with my shoes but manage to keep ahold of everything until I reach my door.

I’m a whole lot stunned as I shoulder my way inside. My brother’s most recent lady friend comes sauntering through my living room wearing last night’s dress, a pair of heels that are way too high for this early in the morning, and what’s left of yesterday’s makeup.

She gives me a slow once-over, her smile widening. “Oh! Hi!”

I point in the direction I just came from. “The door’s that way.”

My brother appears at the end of the hall, wearing blue pants and a white golf shirt and staring at his phone, possibly setting up tonight’s date. It wouldn’t be the first time. “Shippy isn’t a morning person. Just ignore him.”

“We talked about this,” I gripe as I crutch past him.

He finally drags his eyes away from the screen, and they widen when they land on me. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Hockey.” I continue down the hall, leaving him to deal with his date.

Once I’m in my room, I toss yesterday’s clothes on the end of the bed and root around in the pocket again until I find the painkillers. All I want is to lie down and sleep until my body doesn’t hurt anymore.

There’s a glass of water on my nightstand. It’s two days old, but I’m too lazy to get fresh water, so I use it to swallow the pills. Stevie’s right: I should ice my leg . . . but I don’t feel like going back to the kitchen, so instead I stretch out on top of my comforter and wait for the painkiller to kick in, along with the drowsiness.

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.