When I Need You

  be in a timely fashion. I could handle the weekly payments from the parents and make sure the money hits the right LCCO account. I could order supplies. I could fill out the reports for the number of volunteer hours.”

  My head? Spinning. This wasn’t a “Hey, kids, let’s put on a camp!” kind of project if I had to fill out reports.

  Astrid paused and gave me a challenging look. “You had no idea about the required LCCO reports, did you?”

  “No, but I bet I know who ordered those reports.” I paused. “My brother the CFO.”

  “In triplicate, no less.”

  Jesus. “Now I have a question. How old are you?”

  “I turned twenty-one last month. Why is that relevant?”

  I shrugged. “Just wondering if the reason you want to stay in the Cities instead of going home is to party like it’s 1999.”

  Astrid rolled her eyes. “Props for the Prince reference, but I’ve never seen the fun in getting drunk and acting stupid. Besides, since this would be an unpaid internship, I’d have to keep my other job waiting tables at Brit’s Pub.”

  I offered her my hand. “I’d be happy for your expertise. But—”

  “But keep in mind, as a Lund, you’re large and in charge, running the show, yada yada. Got it.”

  “Has a smart-ass always lurked beneath the brusque receptionist?”

  “Yes, but a respectful smart-ass, Mr. Lund, sir.”

  “You and me are gonna get along just fine, Astrid. Text me your number and I’ll be in touch.”

  I wasn’t sure, but I might’ve seen her saluting in the reflection of the elevator doors.

  Since I was already in the building, I figured I might as well clear the next hurdle. I took the elevator to the PR department—my sister Annika’s domain.

  I bypassed her assistant and knocked on her door before walking into her office. “Hey, sis,” I said as I strolled toward her.

  “Why, yes, Jensen, please just barge in any time you feel like it. It’s not like I’m doing real work here.”

  Her snappish tone had me pausing midstride. “What the hell is that about?”

  She sighed and spun her chair to face me. “Just sharing the loathing, bro. Mondays suck. I’m stuck doing the worst part of this job because I’m the boss.”

  Annika’s mentor and former boss had decided to stay home full-time after her last baby. Since Annika had been second-in-command, she was the logical choice to take over. “What are you doing?”

  “Running cost analysis for our two biggest campaigns last quarter.” She pointed at me. “Don’t think I didn’t see your eyes glaze over the instant I uttered ‘cost analysis.’”

  I grinned at her. “Busted. But seriously, is this a bad time to talk?”

  That was when Annika gave me a quick once-over. “Not that you don’t look great all GQ’d up, but what’s with wearing the suit in the off-season? Did someone die?”

  “Mom said the same thing to me.”

  “Obviously we’re both concerned someone has been drinking Polyjuice Potion and is impersonating you.”

  “Hilarious.”

  “Let’s sit in the lounge area.”

  “Look who’s all fancy with her ‘lounge’ area in her fancy-ass office.”

  “Shut it or I won’t share my almond pastries with you,” Annika warned.

  “Who made them?”

  “I did. I made a shit ton because Axl loves them.” She stopped in front of her space-age coffeemaker. “Coffee?”

  “You know how to work that thing?”

  “Yeah, it’s real hard poking the buttons.”

  After we were settled in with our coffee and pastries, she said, “What’s going on?”

  So I told the story for what felt like the bazillionth time. Then I followed it up with the camp situation and how I’d come up with a solution.

  “It sounds like you’ve got everything under control after your meeting with Aunt P.”

  We never called her Aunt P to her face for obvious reasons. “I’m lining up volunteers. Which is where you come in.”

  Annika said, “Hit me with it.”

  “Can I talk to Lucy about her summer plans for Mimi and if she would be interested in sending Mimi to camp and teaching craft classes?”

  “Every day for the entire summer?”

  I shook my head. “Three days a week, six hours a day.”

  “Why are you asking me?”

  “Because you’re her boss. If you can’t spare her I’d understand.”

  “I’m sure she’d be all over it. Especially since she won’t lose income by helping out.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. “What do you mean?”

  “Any LI employee who volunteers for an LCCO event is paid their regular salary.” Her eyes searched mine. “You’re on the LI board of directors, Jens. How did you not know that?”

  I shrugged. “Some of that shit bores me to tears, so I tune out during the meetings.”

  “You and Walker.” She smirked. “And I suspect Dad is right there with you guys. Anyway, things are projected to slow down in our department during the next couple of months, so the timing is good.”

  “So I can ask her?”

  “Yes. But if she says no . . . I won’t get involved, okay?”

  “Deal.” I started to get up.

  “Ah ah ah, not so fast.” She pointed at me. “Park it. Tell me more about Rowan. Because you’ve got it bad for her.”

  “She and I are friends. That’s it.”

  “Right. That’s why you’re going to all this trouble for her kid.”

  I kept my cool demeanor. “First off, I had to come up with a project for LCCO anyway. This one fits the parameters. Second, she’s my friend’s sister. Martin wouldn’t want me messing with her. Third, Rowan breaks every one of my rules. I could look the other way if it was just one, but it’s all three. Fourth, she doesn’t date athletes.”

  Annika laughed.

  “What’s funny about that?”

  “You. Trying to convince me that any of that matters. The fact that she breaks all your rules is a cosmic clue and a celestial sign that you should just toss out the rule book.”

  I scowled at her. “You’ve been hanging out with Dallas too much if you’re talking about cosmic clues and celestial signs.”

  She leaned forward. “Nope. Still haven’t convinced me.”

  Screw it. I drained my coffee like it was a tequila shot. “You’re right. Rowan is amazing. She’s smart. She’s so damn devoted to her son and for some reason I find that incredibly hot. She’s funny. And sweet. But she’s not a pushover. That red hair fits her fiery personality perfectly. She doesn’t act fake nice to me because I’m famous and rich and then she’s a raging bitch to everyone else. She’s genuinely nice.” I blew out a long breath and ran my hand through my hair. “Calder’s dad, a pro football player, screwed her over, so she’s all ‘pass’ when it comes to athletes—especially pro athletes. And worst of all, at least from my side, is that I didn’t have a clue that she’s been a Vikings cheerleader the entire time I’ve been part of the team. Oh, and she cheered for the U of M football team too.” I felt my cheeks heat. “So yeah. I’m the stereotypical egotistical football player who doesn’t see anything in the stadium beyond my teammates standing on the sidelines and the damn end zone. How would I ever make up for that dickhead behavior?”

  “You can’t. But I think it’s great you’re trying to redeem yourself even when there’s no chance the two of you will ever have a romantic relationship.”

  I bristled. Even my sister didn’t have faith I could overcome Rowan’s perception of me.

  Annika pointed at me. “Oh, wipe the mulish look off your face, Jens. If you showed her the sweet, charming Jensen I know and love, she’d be all over you. I’m just saying it’s too bad the NFL has that stupid rule about cheerleaders and players not getting involved.”

  As I’d gotten to know Rowan, I’d conveniently forgotten that rule. Which, now that I th
ought about it, bordered on infringing on personal freedom. Why did the national organization believe they had the right to tell me who I couldn’t date?

  “Although technically,” she said slyly, “with you being on the injured reserve list, you’re not an ‘active’ player until the coaching staff officially deems you eligible.”

  I stared at her. “You scare me sometimes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you are unparalleled in finding sneaky-ass justification to get what you want.”

  “Dude. I’m in PR. It’s all about the spin.”

  No lie there.

  “What am I contributing to camp?”

  “Cookies. Or whatever Swedish treats you’re baking for Axl.”

  “Done.”

  I glanced at the clock across the room. “Thanks for making time to talk to me given your busy executive schedule.”

  She waved me off. “I always have time for you. Here’s one bit of sisterly advice.”

  “Shoot.”

  “While this friendship is new and exciting to you, she has to do the day-to-day parenting stuff. Be her friend, but don’t insert yourself into their daily lives without a clear invitation that’s what she wants. Keep it cool and casual, okay?”

  I hated to hear it because she was probably right. I needed to back off. “I get it.” I stood.

  Annika followed me to the door. “Who else are you recruiting besides Lucy?”

  “Dallas. Trinity. “

  “My advice? Ask Trinity when the big, bad daddy-to-be isn’t huffing and puffing around, demanding she stay off her feet.”

  “On it. I’ll keep you updated.”

  • • •

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had such a productive day besides having a great workout or making progress on my physical therapy.

  Everyone I’d contacted about volunteering for camp had stepped up—that was one of the reasons we, Astrid mostly, had chosen Camp Step-Up as the new camp name.

  I’d been texting with Rowan sporadically. I hadn’t asked her plans for the night—even when we needed to discuss camp specifics.

  Tonight, I needed something besides flirting and conversation.

  I needed action. Real action that I hadn’t had for over a month.

  I made the call.

  “’Bout time you came crawling back to me. The beer is cold, the joystick is hot and I am ready to kick your ass at Assassin’s Creed, baller.”

  “In your dreams is the only place I’ll ever lose to you, puck-head.” I paused when Axl told me in Swedish to do something obscene to myself with a cruller. “Do you have food or should I pick some up?”

  Axl snorted. “It’s sacrilegious not to eat pizza when we’re playing. We’ll order in. Bring more beer. And none of that cheap shit you billionaire Minnesotans insist on serving. The good stuff.”

  Snobby Swede. There wasn’t a damn thing wrong with Grain Belt beer. So that was what he was getting. “Be there in thirty.”

  Eleven

  ROWAN

  I half expected Jensen to be lounging outside my door, bursting with news about the meeting with LCCO.

  But I’d been home forty-five minutes and hadn’t heard from him. How much of an idiot did it make me that I missed him? I’d gotten used to him showing up.

  The flurry of text messages from him surprised me. I hadn’t expected him to be quite so gung-ho about setting up an alternative camp, even when we were under a time crunch. But his follow-through gave me a bigger peek into what made him tick. So I added tenacity to the other fascinating facts I’d learned about Jensen Lund.

  His personal space was meticulous. The times I’d been in his apartment I hadn’t seen a single thing out of place.

  He lived in athletic clothes, which was awesome for getting a glimpse of his world-class body. But he didn’t flaunt his physique—even when he should have because it defined powerful. In fact, if I did happen to catch him without a shirt on, he immediately excused himself and covered up. Damn shame, really, but his body shyness? Completely unexpected.

  He always wore a ball cap outside the apartment complex. He had such glorious hair that I hated his near-constant state of hat-head, but I understood that a cap gave him some camouflage.

  He had few visitors. Because he came from a large family and was part of a football brotherhood, I imagined he’d have people over 24/7. Yet it appeared he preferred solitude. I snickered at that thought. Maybe he actually had a chance at solitude now with Martin away for a few months, because my brother could be a total pest when he was bored and alone.

  Yeah, you haven’t done such a hot job leaving Jensen alone either. You find some reason—excuse—to see him every day.

  Not that Jensen is any better, my conscience argued. He always had some kind of a reason for knocking on my door—even if that reason was lame like he “heard a weird noise in the hallway” and needed to check and see if we were okay.

  But we were friends, right? Friends made time for each other.

  Friends don’t make eyes at each other. Friends don’t send each other flirty texts. Friends don’t notice things like the difference between the scent of his body wash and his shampoo. Friends don’t waste time wondering if the scruff on his face would be downy soft or bristly against your cheek when he kissed you. Or how it’d feel on your neck, your chest, your belly as he kissed progressively lower.

  I shook my head to clear it. Dammit. How had I veered into that territory?

  Right. Listing all the things I knew about Jensen that few others did.

  Like he didn’t have many books in his living room, but the ones he displayed looked well worn. He had three complete sets of Harry Potter books—hardcover, paperback and a leather-bound edition. He also had a wand in a box from Ollivanders and a PROPERTY OF HOGWARTS beer stein on the shelf next to the books, which I found sweet.

  He’d hung up his family pictures in his kitchen. There weren’t many, and the only people I recognized were Dallas and her brother, Ash, and his sister, Annika—because of her being tight with Dallas—and Axl Hammerquist, who I’d met once. There wasn’t a single picture of him in his football uniform anywhere, which I found very telling.

  His kitchen sorely lacked the most basic cooking utensils. He’d confessed to Calder that he couldn’t cook, so I found it . . . endearing that Chopped was his favorite TV show. But Jensen liked to eat. He ate quickly, as if he’d win a prize for finishing first. But even as he shoveled food in, his manners were impeccable. I’d been tempted to ask if as a kid he’d been required to take etiquette lessons, given the Lunds’ social standing.

  Surprisingly, it’d been easy to forget that the man was one of the heirs to a billion-dollar corporation. At times I’d even forgotten he was The Rocket, the beloved football star, the man with national endorsement deals, a hundred thousand followers on social media and the good guy—a dude’s dude—with the charming smile and the bad-boy reputation for rotating women into his bed like they were auditioning for the play of the week.

  Whenever he’d shared a meal with us and I’d watched him across the table, laughing and talking with my son, I saw none of those things. Granted, Jensen Lund remained the hottest man I’d ever seen up close and personal, but he was funny, honestly engaging and so unbelievably sweet.

  But the intense way he studies you indicates there’s something deeper there than friendship—for both of you. You’re drawn to his cocky self-assurance that when he strips you naked, he’ll show you—very thoroughly—how hot and fast The Rocket can make you burn.