When I Need You, Page 27

  The least you can do is thank the man.

  “So, uh, thanks for sticking around and helping tonight. Especially after Calder got sick on you. If your clothes are ruined I’ll replace them, just let me know how much they cost. And how much do I owe you for the—”

  “Would you stop?”

  I didn’t meet his gaze until his shadow fell across me.

  “Come here,” he said gruffly.

  “Jensen, you don’t—”

  “Shut up and let me hold you. You’re shaking.” He wrapped me in his arms.

  That felt good. He felt good. Solid. Comforting. I closed my eyes and sank into him.

  After a bit, I said, “I’m sorry. I doubt you saw the night ending this way.”

  “I don’t assume anything, Rowan.”

  “Oh.” Not what I’d expected.

  Maybe you should change your expectations when it comes to this man, since he’s exceeded all of them.

  “You settled enough to listen to me?”

  That caused me to bristle.

  His mouth brushed my ear. “Why did that simple question get your back up?”

  “Because it’s not a simple question. It sounded accusatory.”

  “Maybe it was. So I’ll lay it out. You pissed me off tonight, Coach.”

  My back went even more rigid.

  “I wasn’t pissed because your son got sick. I’m pissed that you think so little of me. You assumed because we were interrupted that I’d be mad. That I care about sex—or lack of it—more than your son’s well-being and your peace of mind.”

  I didn’t deny it; I had thought that.

  “Why did you assume I’d kick you out of my apartment and leave you to deal with everything on your own?”

  I tried to squirm away but his hold tightened.

  “See? When push comes to shove . . . you shove. If I hadn’t been around to help you tonight, I’ve no doubt you would’ve done it all yourself.”

  “How would that have been different than any other night in my life? It’s no reflection on you, Jensen, that I’m resistant to accepting help. I’ve never been in this situation before. Where I’m . . . on a date or hookup or whatever it was and I get a call that my son is sick. I don’t date. Because of exactly what happened tonight! Calder getting sick was the universe reminding me I am a single mother and I don’t have the luxury of going out and acting as if I don’t have a responsibility in the world.” I managed to hold it together—just barely.

  “So I’m just a hookup? You’d bang me, get it out of your system and assume things would go back to the way they were between us before?” he demanded softly.

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking clearly. It was a whirlwind. A night of fun at a funky bar. And afterward, the way you touched me . . . the way you wanted me. For a little while I got to have the fantasy. So thank you. But this is the reality of who I am.”

  “You think I don’t know that about you?”

  “Knowing it and experiencing it are two different things.” I kept my gaze aimed at his chest. “Calder comes first for me. Every single time.”

  “As he should.”

  “But?”

  Jensen nudged my chin up to look into my eyes. “No buts. Your dedication to being there for your son will never be an arguable point for me.”

  “Then what are we arguing about?”

  “Nothing. I had to force you to take my help tonight. All I’m asking is, next time? Don’t fight me on it. Save us both the time and wasted energy and accept it.”

  I blinked at him. “There’ll be a next time?”

  “Well, if I have any say in it . . . yes.”

  My eyes searched his. “Why aren’t you running the other direction?”

  He laughed. “I have no fucking idea.”

  I laughed too. At least he was honest.

  “Do you want me to go?”

  Did I? I wasn’t naive. Things had changed between us tonight, but I wasn’t ready to embrace all of it. Maybe that was the problem. I wanted to compartmentalize everything just like my brother did. I would’ve thrown myself into a wild night of sex with Jensen, but I balked at the idea of him falling asleep and waking up with me in my bed in front of my son. That wasn’t fair. Maybe I had to send him away until I could accept all of what was growing between us and not just the easy, obvious parts.

  “Rowan. Sweetheart, that wasn’t a trick question.”

  “I know. I just . . .”

  “I’ll go. Do me a favor. Shut down that hamster wheel in your head. Whatever is spinning in there will keep.” He pressed a lingering kiss to my forehead. “Try and get some rest. If you need anything, call me or text me. I’ll have my phone right next to me.” Then he gave me a little head-butt. “Don’t be stubborn.”

  “I won’t be. I promise.”

  Jensen turned toward the door. But then he turned back. “Oh. One more thing.”

  “What?”

  “This.” He slanted his mouth over mine and brought me flush against his body. He kissed me with all the fire and finesse he’d shown me earlier, but this kiss had a sharper edge to it. As if to remind me that he could be helpful, thoughtful Jensen, but he was also one hundred thousand percent a hot, hungry male who would bide his time, but in the end, he would have me.

  “Lock the door behind me,” he murmured against my mouth when we came up for air.

  Then he was gone.

  Eighteen

  JENSEN

  I hadn’t heard from Rowan, so I assumed Calder had settled down for the rest of the night.

  Although I’d been up late, I rolled out of bed at my usual time and met with Dante at the training center. None of my teammates had shown up, so it was a quiet but intense workout. Especially since Dante seemed more preoccupied than usual.

  Legs wobbly, arms aching, I parked myself in front of the industrial fan in the locker room, letting the sweat drip off my face and hair onto the towel between my feet.

  “What’s going on with you lately?” Dante said, startling me.

  I didn’t bother looking at him. I’d grown tired of defending myself at every turn. I’d proven myself to anyone in the organization who’d demanded it of me, whenever they’d demanded it. “I more than kept up today and you damn well know it. The amount of speed I’ve lost since the surgeries is nominal and will have zero effect on my ability to run the ball. I’m stronger, more agile, so I can block faster. I’ve never been in better shape so I seriously don’t know what you want from me, Coach.”

  Silence.

  Dante laughed. Not a nice laugh either. “Coach, huh? Guess you put me in my place. So much for my belief we’re friends outside of me being your trainer.”

  I said nothing, because knowing Dante as I did, he wasn’t finished.

  “To clarify, Rocket, when I asked what was going on with you, I meant in your life outside of football training. In the past month, I don’t hear from you aside from texts asking about the workout schedule. We used to hang out. We used to go out. Now, it feels like you’ve cut me out.” He paused. “I’m not the only one who’s noticed. When was the last time you spent time with your teammates? You used to make an effort. Hell, Jensen, you used to be fun. Clubs, parties, women, you were up for anything, anytime. What happened to that guy?”

  “That guy doesn’t exist anymore.” I finally met Dante’s gaze. “And good fucking riddance to him. What I find interesting is that you noticed after our Florida and Mexico trip that I’d changed. Know why? Because you kept your distance from me after my injury. You and everyone else on the team. There’s no reason to invest time in a former player and teammate, right?”

  “Not true, bro.”

  “Totally true, bro, because I lived it. There’s no need for a ‘feel sorry for me’ conversation, and I’ve never brought it up for that reason. My family hired the best doctors to fix me. My family aided in my recovery. My family rallied around me. My family reminded me that I was more to them than a football player. Somehow along the
way, I’d forgotten that.

  “Ever since I was drafted, I get the superstar treatment. While it’s great, it’s not real. And my teammates, as you pointed out, always counted on me to be part of the posse. Booze, women, elite clubs. These players have multimillion-dollar contracts. So why did I end up footing the bill for most of those wild nights? You know why? Because I’m a nice guy. I’d rather just pull out my credit card than bicker about who had how many shots of Hennessy. Not a single one of them noticed . . . until I stopped going. It wasn’t me they missed as much as my wallet. Like I said, I’m not whining. I’m not bitter. What I am? Is wiser. That doesn’t change the fact that I will go to the dirt for these guys when we’re on the field. But as soon as that uniform comes off, I’m not The Rocket. I’m finally grasping the fact I have a lot more to offer the world than my celebrity—as fleeting as that may be.”

  I didn’t wait for his response. Instead I returned to my locker, stripped and hit the shower. The hot water loosened my muscles. The steam cleared my head. As a shy kid, I’d had a hard time speaking up for myself. Growing up as the fourth kid in my family, I found it easier to let my siblings speak for me. Around age sixteen, after Annika had gone to college, and Walker had moved to Sweden, and Brady was killing himself in grad school, I had no choice but to learn to assert myself.

  I hated it. It took me a few years to be comfortable with it and not apologetic. The only place I had no problem asserting myself was on the football field. The women who hang around athletes are the aggressors, and I happily let them be. To say I didn’t have to work hard to get laid? Massive understatement. I hated when I had to become an asshole to get them to leave me alone. I’d learned my lesson there, but much later than I probably should have.

  After I dressed and was on my way out, I noticed Dante waiting by the exit for me.

  Great. Now I’d have to listen to his rebuttal. With my twenty-minute shower I’d given him plenty of time to come up with one.

  Maybe if I just walked past him without making eye contact . . .

  “I wondered if you had drowned in there.”

  No such luck on ducking further conversation. “Nope. I’ll see you Monday, D.”

  “Hold up.”

  I kept walking.

  He followed me. “Who is she?”

  “Who is who?”

  “The woman you’re seeing.”

  “What makes you think I’m seeing anyone?”

  “Come on, Jens. This is me. There’s a woman you’re trying to impress by staying on the straight and narrow. Fine. Whatever. But who is she?”

  So, nothing I’d said in the locker room had resonated with him.

  That’s because if it had, he’d have to shoulder some of the blame for your attitude. It’s easier to blame his shortcomings on someone else. You’ve known this about him. That’s why you’ve kept your professional distance, even when he has no idea you don’t consider him anything more than just your trainer.

  It still made me sad, though, that my honesty counted for nothing.

  Good thing I had my sunglasses on; that way he couldn’t see the total bullshit in my eyes. I faced him. “You busted me.”

  He grinned. “I knew it. So who is she?”

  “Her name is Astrid. You don’t know her.”

  “She sounds hot. I’ll bet she’s as fiery as an asteroid between the sheets, amirite?”

  I said nothing. But I didn’t need to.

  Dante clapped me on the back. “Anyway, I’m happy to hear that. Part of me worried that you were hooking up with Rowan Michaels.”

  “Why would you give a shit about that?”

  “Because she is one hundred percent off-limits, man. She and I are friends, and I’d hate to see her fired because you can’t keep your hands off her pompoms.”

  Took all my willpower not to take a swing at him. “You’re full of shit, D. Why would she be fired?”

  “Because they can’t fire you. They’d fine the hell out of you for breaking the no-frat rule, but her? Gone. It’s not like anyone would notice.” He snickered. “You wouldn’t notice. There are a dozen women ready to slip on those tiny white booty shorts and go-go boots and shake their T and A for the crowd. But there’s only one Rocket.”

  In my mind’s eye, I’d cracked him a good one in the jaw and as he lay sputtering and bleeding on the blacktop, my tires spit gravel on him as I drove off.

  Dante proved how much of a tool he was when he said, “Call me. I wanna meet this Astrid chick you’re filling with rocket fuel.”

  • • •

  Unwanted thoughts created a logjam in my head. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to go home. I needed some distance from Rowan. Maybe for her own good.

  I drove to Brady’s place. I had the code for his private gym and an open invitation to use it whenever I wanted. Shooting hoops would be a great waste of time.

  Once I was inside the cavernous space, I grabbed a basketball. Sitting on the bench, I messed around, dribbling and bouncing the ball. Then I headed toward the hoop.

  I’d shot maybe four times from the free throw line when I heard the door open that separated Brady’s living space from the ultimate man cave/garage.

  “So the Vikes cut you and you’re brushing up on your basketball skills to try out for the Timberwolves?” Brady said as he descended the metal staircase.

  “What little faith you have in my recovery, bro.” Four bounces. Shoot. Swish.

  “Jens. You know I was yanking your chain.”

  He stopped beside the line and I gave him a once-over. “Nice suit. You wear one even on a Saturday? Dude.”

  “FYI: I had a business breakfast meeting, so of course I wore a suit. I’ve only been home an hour and I hadn’t changed yet. Dick.”

  I laughed. “Speaking of dick . . . your fly is undone. You’re not wearing a belt and your tie looks like one of my day campers put it on you. I won’t even get into what a mess your hair is, Mr. Perfectly Coiffed.”

  Brady flashed me a cocky grin. “What can I say? My wife can’t resist me when I’m wearing Tom Ford. Especially on the weekend.”

  “That explains why you guys are late to brunch most Sundays.”

  “Yep.”

  “I didn’t show up looking for company. I sure didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “You didn’t. Lennox went back to sleep after I wore her out.” Brady snatched the ball from my hands.

  “You’re not dressed to take me on, one on one, GQ.”

  He snorted. “It’s against the rules for you to play basketball, bro. You might twist something important. But the suit won’t stop me from kicking your ass in a game of horse.”

  “Whatever. I’ll even let you go first.”

  “How gracious of you.” He shrugged out of his suit jacket and zipped his fly. Then he shot a three-pointer from the side. Swish. He aimed that cocky grin at me. “Nothin’ but net.”

  “Lucky shot.”

  He chased the ball and pitched it to me. “You’re up.”

  I dribbled. I shot. Swish. “See? Easy pickin’s from right there.”

  Brady shot and missed.

  Then I shot and missed.