A Favor for a Favor (All In 2)

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.