I snort. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Bishop cracks a lid and eyes me from the side but doesn’t comment.

“Oh?” Uber Driver, whose name is Jett, according to the tag hanging from the rearview mirror, perks up. “Well, in that case maybe you wanna come see me play, and we can get a drink afterward?”

Bishop scoffs. “Are you seriously trying to pick her up?”

“Are you guys, like, a thing?” Uber Jett’s eyes dart from me to Bishop.

“No, but it’s pretty tacky, don’t you think? First of all, you have no idea what’s going on between us. Just because she told you I’m not her boyfriend doesn’t mean I’m not something. I’m not, but that’s beside the point.” Bishop’s annoyed gaze locks on the side of my face. “Also, what’s she gonna say when she’s trapped in this car with you until we get where we’re going? You’re almost forcing her to say yes, even if she doesn’t want to.”

“It’s really okay.” I pin Bishop with a “What the fuck?” look and slip the postcard in my purse.

“It’s really not,” Bishop says.

Thankfully, we pull into the arena parking lot, and Bishop gives him clipped, irritated directions to his car, ending whatever that was.

CHAPTER 11

SMALL SPACES

Bishop

I don’t know why I’m being such an asshole to the Uber kid, other than he’s being ballsy with the way he asked out Rook’s baby sister. I’m tempted to one star him, but then he might one star me back.

He might one star me anyway. Not that I honestly give a shit.

Stevie doesn’t offer to help me get out of the car, which is a lot harder than getting in. Uber Kid takes off as soon as I close the door.

“Well, that was fun.” Stevie’s arms are crossed, and it draws attention to her perky tits, the nipples of which are burned into my memory for all eternity.

“You’re out of his league, and he’s not even remotely your type.”

“You have no idea what my type is,” she snaps.

“I know it’s not a chain-smoking Uber driver who probably snorts blow.” I dig around in my sweats pocket until I find the keys to my SUV. The lights flash as I unlock the doors and hand the keys to her.

She looks my car over. It’s not flashy or overly expensive. It’s practical, decent on gas, and fits all my hockey gear. I like my money in my bank account more than I like fast cars. Would I enjoy driving around in a sweet sports car? Maybe, but dropping a quarter of a million dollars on a vehicle is a stupid way to burn through money when I have no idea how long my career is going to last. I’m pragmatic and I don’t have a five-year contract with an $11-million-a-year salary like her brother does. All I have is two seasons at five mil a year, and I’d like that to last the rest of my life and Nolan’s if it needs to.

I toss my crutches in the back while she adjusts the driver’s seat so she can reach the gas and brake.

I’m about to get in when Kingston comes jogging across the lot. His hair is wet and parted on the side. He looks a lot like Captain America and dresses like a golf pro. It fits his personality. “Hey! I’m surprised to see you. I figured you wouldn’t be moving around for at least a couple more days.”

I lean against the side of my SUV. “Just coming to pick up my car.”

“I would’ve brought it back for you.” His Volvo SUV beeps from the next spot over, and he tosses his hockey bag in the back seat. He peeks over my shoulder and tips his chin up. “Who’s driving?”

“Just a friend.” I shift so I’m blocking the passenger-side window. “What’re you doing here so late?”

“Running ice drills with a few of the guys—you know, keeping sharp for tomorrow night’s game.” He’s still trying to see around me. “Is that a girl?”

“Uh, yeah.” King and I might be friends, but there’s no way I’m going to tell him it’s the team captain’s little sister driving my car.

“Since when do you have a girlfriend?”

“I don’t. She’s a friend who also happens to be a girl.” She’s not even really that.

“You’re being awfully cagey about her if she’s just a friend. Don’t think I can’t tell you’re trying to hide her.” He opens his driver’s-side door and climbs in. “Miss you on the ice, buddy. Give me a call if you need anything; otherwise I’ll stop by later in the week, ’kay?”

“I’ll make sure I’m stocked up on two percent milk.”

“Does a body good.” He actually means it like the commercial, not like he’s full of himself. I wait until he closes his door before I turn back to my SUV. I have to open mine all the way so I can get in, but my body blocks most of King’s view.

“Does that guy play for Seattle too?” Stevie leans forward, like she’s trying to see around me.

“Yeah. That’s Ryan Kingston; he’s a goalie. Why?”

Stevie shrugs. “No reason.” She watches him pull out of the spot. He waves as he passes us, so she waves in return.

“He’s a super-straight arrow, and there’s no way in hell he’d be interested in you.”

She glares at me, full top lip pulled up in disgusted sneer. “Could you be any more offensive?”

I hold up a hand. “That came out wrong. You’re the team captain’s little sister. He’s a rule follower, so even if he was interested, he would never make a move, because it would go against his moral code. Also, he has a girlfriend, and they’ve been together for years.”

“Right. Okay. Let’s also not forget that I’m a boner-killer.”

I sigh. I should probably learn how and when not to be an asshole. “I only said that because I thought you were screwing your brother.” I cringe. “I mean I thought you were his other woman, not his sister.”

“Uh-huh.”

She has to know she’s hot. I don’t see how she couldn’t. She sees her own face in the mirror every day. It’s not hard to look at, and neither is the rest of her. “You’re not a boner-killer. You got hit on by the damn Uber driver with me sitting right next to you. That has to tell you something about your appeal to the opposite sex.”

“That guy looked like Justin Bieber’s emo brother.” She types the address to our building into the GPS while I shift around, trying to get comfortable—which isn’t easy, considering my pain level.

It’s been six hours since I took anything for the discomfort and swelling, partly because I want to see how bad the pain gets. The medication the doctor prescribed is good for taking the edge off, but it also keeps me from knowing exactly how severe the injury is. Based on the black spots in my vision every time I make a sudden move, I’m thinking it’s pretty damn bad. I groan as I stretch my leg out.

“Did you ice your injury today?” Stevie flips through my music presets until she finds something she presumably likes.

“Yeah.”

“What about heat and stretching?” She shifts the SUV into gear.

“Nope.”

“When do you start rehab?”