“Kody needs to go to bed, and Lainey’s waiting on you.” I grab my brother by the elbow and lead him to the elevator, jabbing the button four hundred thousand times in less than three seconds. Thankfully, it opens right away. I use my brother’s shock, or whatever it is, to push him into the elevator. He drags me in with him, though.
I jam my thumb on the button for the parking garage, repeatedly, and fire a glare at Bishop, who’s still standing in the hallway in a pair of red underwear, looking super pissed off. As if he has a right. Christ.
My brother points a finger in Bishop’s direction as the doors slide closed. “What the hell is going on? You better not be dating him.”
“Excuse me?”
RJ crosses his arms. “You can’t date a hockey player.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“You just had your heart stomped all over, Stevie. Do you really think you need to be getting involved with someone right now? Especially someone who travels for more than half the year? Not to mention that guy is an ass clown.”
I rub my temples, trying to keep a lid on my anger, but I don’t think it’s a battle I’m going to win. “Okay, first of all, Rook, you don’t get to dictate what I do or who I do it with. I’m not a kid. I’m an adult, and I can make adult decisions without consulting you or anyone else. Secondly, I’m not dating Bishop.”
RJ scoffs. “Come on, Stevie. Do you think I’m an idiot? He was in his underwear in the hall saying he’s been waiting on you for two hours.” He runs a hand through his hair and tries to pace in the very confined space. It’s not effective because he’s at one end and then the other in two strides. “Are you hooking up with him?”
“He has a groin injury, RJ. He can’t have sex.”
“Thank fuck for that,” he snaps.
The elevator doors slide open, and I push him out into the parking garage. “I’m helping him with PT, not trying to ride his broken dick. Not that it’s any of your damn business.” I’ve thought about it, though. During our sessions I’ve gotten to know Bishop, and under that surly exterior and his poorly thought-out comments that often come across as seriously rude insults is what I’m beginning to think is a genuinely nice guy.
Plus he’s insanely hot, so I would have to be asexual not to have dirty thoughts about him. The kind I use as fodder for my private one-hand clapping parties after our nightly PT sessions. My vibrator has been getting one hell of a workout lately. Not that I’m going to share that with my unreasonably angry brother.
“He already has a team therapist working with him. He actually has a full staff helping him rehab, so why would he need you?” RJ’s eyes narrow with suspicion.
I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mean for it to sound as dismissive as it does, but it still gets my back up. This is the exact reason growing up as Rook Bowman’s baby sister is a curse. Like what I do is so paltry and unimportant I couldn’t possibly be helpful in any real capacity. “I’m helping because he wants to heal faster, and it’s a good opportunity for me, career-wise. I get to work one-on-one with an injured NHL player.”
“I’ve already offered to get you a job working with NHL players, if that’s what you want. All I have to do is talk to our GM, and you’re in, Stevie. I have connections that could get you in to work with the women’s team. Then you can rehab and condition hockey players in a professional setting that isn’t Winslow’s apartment.” RJ keeps running his hands through his hair, gripping it at the crown.
“I already told you, I don’t want you to get me a job. I want to do it on my own merit, not because I have some high-profile brother who can pull all these strings for me. I’m damn good at my job, and I don’t need my brother swooping in to do everything for me. I’m better than that.” I try not to raise my voice, but I’m pretty annoyed by this whole thing.
“Why do you think Winslow is letting you rehab him?”
“Because I offered, and he wants to get back on the ice.”
RJ sighs and rubs the spot between his eyes. “Come on, Stevie, you can’t be that naive.”
“What are you talking about? Naive about what?”
“He’s using you, Stevie.”
“I’m the one who suggested it. Besides, it’s a mutually beneficial arrangement, so I don’t see how that constitutes me being used,” I snap.
“He’s doing this to get back at me.”
“That doesn’t even make sense. To get back at you for what? Not being injured?”
“Because he’s had a beef with me for years and because I became team captain when I chose to come to Seattle. It was supposed to be him.”
I throw my hand in the air. “Of course it has to be about you.”
“He’s been an antagonistic ass since preseason training has started. He’s jealous and he doesn’t like that I’m tight with management and our coach. Fuck!” He paces around like he’s a caged MMA fighter waiting for the bell to ring. “I bet he did this on purpose. I bet he knew this would piss me off when I found out. That’s why he’s letting you rehab him. I doubt him coming out into the hall, dressed the way he was, asking if you two were still on for tonight, was an accident.”
“Are you serious with this?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing; more than that, I don’t want to believe it, because I honestly feel like, shitty attitude aside, Bishop may actually be benefiting from my help.
“I’ll get the pool house set up for you, and you can move in there. There’s no way I’m letting you live across the hall from Winslow if he’s going to pull this kind of shit.”
The anger I try to keep a lid on most of the time pops off. “Do you even hear yourself? Not everything is about you, RJ! For the first few weeks, Bishop thought I was your mistress. He had no idea I was your sister. So whatever plot you think he’s hatching against you is in your head.”
“You don’t understand, Stevie—”
I slash a hand through the air. “No. You don’t understand. You have no idea what it’s like to be your little sister. It’s always been about you. How much better you are at everything, how much attention you always got. Is it so hard to believe Bishop is letting me help him because I’m actually capable?”
“It’s not that I don’t think you’re capable, Stevie. I know you are, and I don’t want you to feel like I’m trying to make this about me—”
“Then stop, because it has nothing to do with you.”
He blinks a bunch of times, probably shocked by my outburst, and his expression softens. “I don’t want you to get hurt.” His phone goes off. Judging by the ringtone, which is the refrain from a sappy song, it’s Lainey.
I’m on the verge of really losing it on him, so this interruption is perfectly timed. “You have to get home.”
“Stevie.”
I step out of his reach. “I love you, RJ, I really do, but this is my life, not yours. No one stopped you from making your own choices, bad or good, so you need to let me do the same.”
This time he doesn’t try to stop me from getting back on the elevator. Once the door is closed, I drag my palms down my face and exhale my frustration. I don’t want to second-guess Bishop’s motives for letting me help him, and now that’s exactly what I’m doing.
What if he is using me? I let my head drop back against the glass and stare up at my reflection in the mirrored ceiling, annoyed that one conversation with my brother would make me reevaluate everything.
When the elevator doors slide open, Bishop is there, in all his ridiculous underpants glory, waiting for me.
I don’t have the mental or emotional energy left to deal with him right now. “Session canceled.” I brush past him.
“What? You can’t do that. I have an appointment with the team doctor tomorrow.”
“Have a bath, do some stretches, and follow it up with an ice compress, and you’ll be fine. You don’t need me for that.”
He’s right on my heels, literally. His crutch nearly lands on my foot. “What the hell is going on? What did Rook say to you about me?”
&nbs
p; “Nothing. He said nothing.” I unlock my door, and of course, because Bishop is a giant of a man, he bulldozes his way in before I can shut him out.
“Bullshit. If he didn’t say anything, why are you flaking out on me?”
“Because I’m not in the mood to deal with your level of asshole.”
“He said something. Why won’t you tell me?”
He grabs for my wrist, but I smack his hand away. “Because my conversations with my brother are none of your goddamn business.”
He stabs at the floor with the end of his crutch, like he’s stomping without using his feet. “If the conversations are about me, then it is my goddamn business.”
I throw my hands in the air. “What is it with you hockey players and your fragile, overinflated egos?” I don’t wait for a response, because it doesn’t warrant one. “You know what? I’m done with this bullshit. Go home.” I skirt around him and yank the door open, motioning for him to leave.
“So you’re bailing on me when I need you?”
“Like I said, you don’t need me. Take a bath, stretch if you want to, or don’t. Just give me some space, please and thank you.” I’m looking at the floor because I’m on the verge of tears, and I do not need Bishop here when that happens.
His crutch appears in my vision and then his bare feet and his junk. His underwear is ridiculous tonight, with the whole CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE warning. His abs are also ridiculously amazing, and they’re right in my face. I want to run my hands over the smooth planes and trace all the dips and ridges.
I’m realizing now, after that blowout with my brother and Bishop’s current line of questioning, that I might actually be starting to like this guy. Which isn’t great for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is that my brother seems to hate him, and he’s also a high-profile NHL player: something I generally try to avoid.
“Stevie?” Bishop’s voice is low.
I watch his hand lift in my peripheral vision, and for a moment I think he’s going to tip my chin up and force me to look at him. In which case I’ll most definitely lose it in front of him.
Shit. I really do like him.
His rough fingertips barely graze my cheek before his hand falls back to his side. “I’m going to leave, not because I want to, but because I don’t know what to do or say to make this better, and I don’t want to make it worse.”
He crosses the threshold, and I let the door fall closed behind him; then I turn the lock and secure the chain latch. I listen for the sound of his door, but after a few seconds of silence I give in to the urge to check the peephole. He’s still standing in front of my door, frown fixed in place, looking a whole lot confused.
It makes me want to invite him back in, and not for a therapy session.
CHAPTER 15
PARTY TIME
Bishop
I haven’t seen or heard from Stevie since last night. I’m pretty sure she was on the verge of tears when I left her apartment. I wanted to do something to make it better, but I had no idea what that something would be, so I did nothing.
Maybe I should’ve hugged her. That would’ve been something. But I didn’t want to screw this up, and she seemed really pissed off. And now I’m waiting for her to message me, because she asked for space. I don’t know what that means. So my brother’s claiming the pussy idea is on hold until I can figure it out. Also, Rook’s reaction to the whole thing hasn’t been great. I really hope he’s not going to mess this up by making her not want to work with me anymore.
Tonight I have to go to Waters’s house for his morale-building team party. I’m not in the mood for it, since it means being social and friendly for a lot of hours. But I can’t build rapport on the ice right now, so I need to show my face. At least for a couple of hours.
Kingston picks me up at seven thirty. Waters lives on the outskirts of the city in a huge house that verges on being a mansion. A lot of the top earners on the team live out here. I think Rook might be one of them, which would make sense, since he’s pretty much up Waters’s ass all the time.
Kingston pulls into a driveway lined with our teammates’ cars and parks behind an SUV. The inside of Waters’s house boasts top-of-the-line finishes and appliances and modern furniture.
Waters’s wife, Violet, greets us in the kitchen. She’s a tiny woman with brownish hair and a really big rack. She’s dressed in a pair of black leggings and a Seattle T-shirt with the logo stretched across her chest. She also looks like she’s pregnant. Either that or she’s smuggling a basketball under her shirt.
“You must be Winslow.” She motions to my crutches. “I saw that happen, and my beave cried in sympathy.” She points to her crotch, as if that needs more of an explanation. “I can’t imagine how much that hurt. You know, Alex has had his share of on-ice injuries over the years, but never a groin pull, thank the Lord for that. I can’t imagine what I’d do if he was out of commission for six weeks. He took a bad hit back when he was playing for Chicago and messed up his shoulder, but all the important parts were still in working condition, you know?” She pats her rounded belly. “And obviously those parts work incredibly well.”
I’ve been warned about Waters’s wife. We all have. By Waters. He explained that Violet has zero filter and pretty much says whatever is in her head. I thought he might be exaggerating, but obviously not.
“I guess that’s a good thing?” It comes out more like a question than anything.
“Alex seems to think so, and usually so do I, but he keeps knocking me up, so right now I’m on the fence, since it means I can’t have a glass of wine for another year, again. Speaking of booze, can I offer you boys something to drink?”
I’m no longer on pain meds, so I accept a beer, but Kingston declines.
“Wine? Cocktail?” She motions to the endless supply of alcohol. “Oh! I have Jell-O shooters! You boys should do one!”
Rook appears beside her, out of nowhere, holding a beer. “Kingston, Winslow, glad you could make it.” He gives us both a nod, but his gaze lingers on me for a couple of extra seconds. “You sure you wanna start passing out the Jell-O shooters already, Vi? If I remember correctly, the last time you had Jell-O shooters at a party, there was an impromptu karaoke session. I have a video of your rendition of ‘I Like Big Butts’ saved somewhere on my phone.”
Violet points a manicured nail with little sparkly jewels on it at him. “I’d just finished breastfeeding and hadn’t had anything to drink in almost two years. Also, you were supposed to delete that. And one Jell-O shooter for these boys won’t lead to karaoke.” She passes one to Kingston.
“What’s in it?” He sniffs it.
“Mostly Jell-O,” Vi replies.
“And vodka,” Rook explains.
“Oh, thank you, but I’m driving, ma’am.” Kingston offers it to me. I don’t want to be rude, so I take it, toast the beginning of the season, and suck back the lemon Jell-O shot, coughing as it burns its way down my throat.
“Is it really strong?” she asks.
I have to clear my throat before I answer. “A little.”
“Maybe I didn’t get the ratio right this time.” She pats her belly. “I can’t try them, so it’s possible I overdid it on the vodka.” She turns her attention back to Kingston. “Kudos for being super responsible. Can I get you water, sparkling water, soda, orange juice? Pretty much if you want it, we have it.”
Kingston surveys the bar. “I’d love a glass of milk, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, please, ma’am.”
“Oh my God, that’s awesome.” She throws back her head and laughs, but when none of us join in, she stops. “Wait. Are you serious?”
Kingston’s ears go red, and he slips his hands into the pockets of his khakis. “Yes, ma’am, but I can have water if that’s not possible.”
“We have milk, but you have to stop calling me ma’am. You’re making me feel old.”
“Sorry, ma’am. I mean Mrs. Waters. It’s a habit and not meant as an insult.”
Violet
turns to Rook. “Is this guy for real?”
“Kingston is from Tennessee. They’re bred with manners down there,” Rook explains. His gaze slides to me. “Most of the time, anyway.”
“Maybe you should introduce him to your sister. It’s Evie, right?”
“Stevie,” Rook and I say at the same time.
Violet gives me a questioning look, and Rook pins me with a glare.
“She doesn’t date hockey players.” Rook directs the comment at me.
So of course I respond. “Does Stevie know you dictate who she can and can’t date?”
Rook sneers. “I don’t dictate anything for Stevie. That’s her choice. She doesn’t like the attention that comes with someone in the media spotlight, which includes my teammates.”
“Not all of us live in the spotlight, though,” I argue, which is an admittedly stupid thing to do.
Rook shrugs. “She just got out of a long-term relationship. It wasn’t an easy breakup, and she’s not ready to get into another one.”
“Okay, well, I guess no introductions for you, then.” Violet points at Kingston. “Which is too bad, because she’s stunning and good with kids, from what Lainey tells me. And you look like the kind of guy who probably wants to have at least a dozen children.”
“I have a girlfriend, and she’s not ready for kids yet.” Kingston runs a hand over his chest and looks down at his outfit. “But twelve would be a lot.”
“Sure would, but making them is fun.” Violet grabs the milk from the fridge. “Is two percent okay?”
“Yes, ma’am . . . I mean Mrs. Waters.”
“Please, call me Violet.” She pours him a pint glass of milk and slides it across the counter.
Alex comes up behind his wife and kisses her on the cheek. “Kingston, Winslow, glad you could make it. It’s good to see you on your feet! Injury’s healing great, I hear.”
That must mean he’s spoken to my therapist after today’s session.
“That’s ’cause he’s pulling double PT.” Rook takes a hefty sip of his beer.
“Double PT? With the team therapist?” Alex’s brows pull down. “He didn’t mention that.”
A Favor for a Favor Page 12
