When I Need You (Need You #4)

“It’s in storage.” I didn’t tell Jensen that Martin had opted for the six-month plan with the option to renew for a year. Part of me wondered if he planned on coming back. “I just realized that I told you why I was at the Vikings corporate offices today, but you didn’t tell me why you were there. Training camp doesn’t start for a while.”

He reset the professional distance between us. “They wanted a status update on my injury since I spent a week in Florida with the doctor’s team. Everything is still inconclusive and will continue to be until training camp.” He stood. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time.”

“It’s okay. I was just going over last-minute schedule updates.”

“For what?”

“Collegiate cheerleading tryouts are this weekend. I’m coordinating the stunt groups, which can be a challenge if we’re out of balance on the number of bases and side bases to flyers, not to mention rotating guys in for the coed squad. It’s two and a half days of cheer drama.”

“That long?”

“It’s super competitive and intense.” I launched into an explanation of the different squads and the level of experience the athletes needed to have for intercollegiate competition.

He’d paused in the doorway during my spiel. “You bring Calder along?”

“I’m too busy to watch him. My mom and dad pick him up from school Friday and take him for the weekend. I don’t see him until Sunday night, which sucks, but tryouts only happen once a year.”

“Do your parents live in the Cities?”

“Two and a half hours northwest in Fergus Falls. They have apple orchards, so Calder gets to ride on the tractor and run wild.” When he didn’t respond, I realized I’d been babbling instead of letting him leave. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Going on and on and boring you.”

His eyes darkened and his gaze dipped to my mouth. “The last thing you are, Rowan Michaels, is boring.”

When he loomed over me and I caught the scent of his skin—his cologne, or shaving cream, or even his laundry detergent, whatever it was I just wanted to find the source and breathe him in.

What is wrong with you?

I stepped back. “Thanks for the gift jackass.”

That blue gaze turned sharp.

Dammit. “I meant, thanks for the jackass gift.”

“My pleasure. Now that we’re being neighborly, remember, if you need anything, a cup of sugar, or even eggs”—he grinned—“I’m right across the hall.”

“Good night, Jensen.”

“Sweet dreams, Rowan.”





Five


JENSEN




Early Friday afternoon after Dante had tortured me and he was in a fine mood because of it, I said, “So the cheerleading team tryouts at U of M. You have access to that this weekend?”

“You mean am I helping out? No. If you mean do I have access to the training center? The answer is yes. Why?”

“I wanted to check it out. See Rowan Michaels in action, educate myself, given I was such a tool about who she is and what she does.”

Dante leveled his death stare on me. “Really. That’s how you’re playing this, Rocket? Taking an ‘academic’”—the asshole even made air quotes—“interest in what Rowan’s job entails at the U of M?”

“Given the fact that she cheered for me my freshman and sophomore year, I think I owe it to her to see why I hadn’t paid attention.” That sounded plausible. Hopefully he bought my ain’t-no-big-thing attitude, when in truth, Rowan interested me far more than any woman I’d met since before my injury last year.

“You owe it to her,” Dante repeated. “That better not be Jensen-speak for wanting a piece of her, because I have a major problem with that.”

For the first time I gauged him as competition. Good-looking guy with dark hair and olive skin that indicated his Italian ancestry. Dude was a total bro, built like a freight train with the smarts to back up his ambition. But he was a player, so it annoyed me that he thought he had the right to warn me off. “Something going on between you and Rowan?”

He snorted. “I’ve known her since her senior year in college. She’s like my little sister so naturally I’m gonna warn off a guy like you.”

A guy like me who’d lived like a freakin’ monk the past year. After I returned home from the hospital, several of my hookups vied for a chance to “help me out.” But they started to equate—confuse?—my need for a quick bout of sex with a long-term commitment, so I put a halt to all of it. No dating. No clubs. No team parties. While a small part of me missed the rush of locking eyes with a woman, knowing I could have her on her knees or on her back with just a sexy smile, the truth was random sexual encounters weren’t enough. In my lonely self-reflection, I realized I wanted more.

“Got nothin’ to say to that, Rocket?”

I shook off my melancholy. “Give me some credit. She violates all three of my rules.”

He tried—and failed—to intimidate me with silence. Finally he sighed. “Fine. I’ll get you in. But all you’d have to do is give your name at the door and you’d be golden.”

“Except I don’t want anyone to know I’m there.”

Dante’s eyes widened. “Not cashing in on your celebrity? You are serious about the educational-pursuit angle. I thought The Rocket loved being mobbed.”

I used to. Now I avoided it whenever possible. “Just get me in and I’ll blend.”

He clapped me on the back. “Buddy, you’re six foot five, built like the pro football player you are and your ugly mug has been in the news since you were sixteen years old—you don’t know how to blend.”

I flashed my teeth at him. “Watch me.”

? ? ?


An older sister with a love of theater had served me well. Not only did I rock Halloween costumes, I’d learned that a couple of adjustments could change my appearance—or at least other people’s perception. I left the dark blond scruff on my face, tucked my hair up in an old U of M ball cap and slipped on a pair of glasses with clear lenses that I kept around to go incognito.

I wore a stained pair of black sweatpants, the elastic bottoms pulled up below my knees, and a pair of white tube socks shoved down to the tops of my hiking boots. My teammate Devonte had left a size 6XXL quilted flannel shirt here a few weeks back. Defensive ends were massive so the shirt was oversized even for a guy my size. Shuffling with my shoulders hunched and my head down, I appeared a few inches shorter.

When I squinted in the foggy bathroom mirror, I felt confident no one—not even my own mother—would recognize me in this getup.

I climbed into my Hummer. Halfway to the campus MOM popped up on my digital screen. She’d keep calling if I didn’t answer, so I accepted the call. “What did I do wrong that warrants a phone call from my beautiful mother on a Friday afternoon?”

“Why do you assume you are in error?”

“Because I’ve been home a few days and haven’t seen you?” She’d ignored the flattery, which wasn’t a good sign.

“I suppose I should be happy that you made time for your brothers.”

“You and Dad are welcome to work out with us at five in the morning,” I offered.

“When you are up with the hens, there is so very much of the day left to contact people, yah?”