My job? Rehab his knee. Don’t fall back into bed with my brother’s best friend.

Jason is my brother’s best friend.

Also known as: completely off-limits, wildly inappropriate, and the reason I have trust issues with charming men who smirk for a living.

He’s a hockey star with a busted knee and an ego to match. I’m a retired Olympian turned physical therapist with zero patience for cocky athletes—especially the ones I used to fantasize about in my twenties before he ghosted me with a wink and a margarita.

Now? He’s injured. He needs help. And guess who got volun-told to fix him?

That’s right. Me.

Trapped in close quarters. With him.

He’s determined to make rehab feel like foreplay. I’m determined to survive our sessions without combusting—or committing murder. Either feels likely.

We’ve got rules: no flirting, no feelings, and absolutely no touching… unless it’s medically necessary (and no, Jason, "measuring flexibility" doesn’t count).

But the more time we spend together, the harder it gets to remember why I ever put him in the off-limits box.

He’s my patient.

He’s my past.

He’s my brother’s fucking best friend.

And if I’m not careful, he might just be my next mistake.