When I Need You (Need You #4)

“Piss off.”

“Maybe he had a beauty in his bed and he didn’t want to leave,” Walker suggested slyly.

I snorted. “I spent all day yesterday in airports. Only thing I wanted to do in my bed last night was sleep.”

Brady’s was the only gym I’d been in that didn’t smell like a gym. I crossed over to throw my can in the trash. Then I took a mat off the stack and unfolded it on the floor. I grabbed a thick foam roller and a couple of leg bands and sat on the mat with my right foot pressed against the wall.

Both Brady and Walker were silent, so I cranked my head around to look at them. “What?”

“We’re not going to talk about it at all?” Brady said. “We’re just getting straight to the workout?”

“That is why I’m here,” I pointed out. “Besides, I have specific stretching exercises I have to do first and it takes a while.”

“Does it help?”

“Yep.”

I focused my weight training on my arms, chest and core. I’d been in therapy for a year and could perform the leg workout in my sleep. But I was superstitious enough not to get cocky and screw something up before my official meeting with the coaching staff later today.

Watching Walker and Brady sparring reminded me that Walker was no challenge for Brady, whereas Brady and I were evenly matched. But I also knew better than to get inside the ring. One wrong twist of my foot and I’d be back where I started.

After we finished, we took a breather on the benches by the water station and I studied my brothers.

Walker patted his beard with a towel and then wiped the back of his neck below his man bun. Brady mopped his stubble, which would be gone by the time he donned his suit and tie and entered the Lund Industries corporate offices. He was the only kid who had inherited Dad’s dark hair. Walker, Annika and I were all blond like Mom. So it cracked me up that Walker considered himself the black sheep of the family. That title should’ve gone to Brady just on looks alone.

“Why you studying us like you haven’t seen us in months, bro?”

I met Brady’s curious stare. “Just thinking about hair color and wondering what color Walker’s kid will have. I’m hoping for a fiery-ass red with a temper to match.”

“I don’t care if he’s bald as a cue ball or has orange-colored clown hair, just as long as he’s healthy and my wife isn’t at risk.”

My bottle of water stopped halfway to my mouth. “He? You found out the sex?”

Walker grinned. “Just last week. We’re having a boy.”

“Congrats, man. That is awesome.” I looked at Brady. “You and Lennox catch baby fever yet?”

“No.” He picked at the label on his water bottle. “I mean, yes, we’ve discussed starting our family. I imagine we’ll get closer to that when baby T-Dub makes his appearance.”

“T-Dub? Dude. That’s a lame mash-up name. Wal-Trin is totally better.”

“Wal-Trin?” Brady said with a snort. “That sounds like a discount cold medicine.”

Ignoring him, I said to Walker, “Please promise me Brady won’t get in on the baby-naming pool.”

“Maybe if you and Lennox wait too long, the newlyweds will beat you in the baby race,” Walker teased Brady.

“First of all: Piss off.”

Walker and I grinned at each other and bumped fists. Getting Brady riled up was always entertaining.

“Second, Annika said she’s not ready to share her time with Axl yet.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Now as the only singleton in our family, you should be worried that Mom’s started her campaign to marry you off.”

“It’s already under way. Before I left for Florida she tried to set me up with this ‘cute as a muffin’ nurse.”

Brady and Walker exchanged a look. Then Walker said, “Mom doesn’t know about your three dating rules?”

“Seriously? Like I’d give Mom that kind of leverage? Hell no.”

“So we’re the only ones who know that the first thing to keep The Rocket from asking a woman out on a date is if her status is a single mother?” Walker said.

“Bite me,” I ground out.

“The second thing is no cheerleaders,” Brady added.

“And the third no-go . . . no health care professionals,” Walker finished.

“Those rules have served me well,” I argued. “So I’ll stick with them.”

“Until you meet a woman you want to nail who violates one of those rules and the Jensen Lund rule book will go right out the window.”

“Wrong. I made those rules my sophomore year of college. I haven’t broken a rule yet.”

“Never?” Brady said.

“Never.”

Walker raised both eyebrows. “No shit?”

“No shit.”

“Props for sticking with it, but explain to me where these rules came from,” Brady said.

“No single moms became rule number one after I saw what my buddy Bentley went through. He met this chick in class, asked her out, she kept turning him down because she had a kid. He had it bad for her and hounded her until she said yes. Once they got involved, he found out she had an asshole baby daddy and she worked two jobs to stay in school. Then Bentley started missing class to take care of the kid for her. He ended up dropping out. Then she dumped his ass six months later. He went through all that shit for nothing. So I’ll pass.”

“I get that seeing your buddy’s life upended at age twenty would sour you,” Walker said. “But this no-cheerleaders rule . . . What’s that about?”

“In high school and college if I dated a cheerleader and we broke up—which we always did—I still had to see her at every game and team event. Then the rest of the cheerleaders on the squad hated me on her behalf. They were one collective mind in separate bodies. In the pros there are no-fraternization rules between the cheerleaders and the players.”

“That’s archaic,” Walker said. “And probably illegal. I’d get my ass sued if I tried to tell my office manager Betsy who she could date outside working hours.”

“It is what it is and it makes things easier for me.”

“I agree with Dubbya, which is why Lund Industries doesn’t have that kind of asinine rule in the employee handbook,” Brady added. “It doesn’t make sense. But your no-health-care-professionals edict doesn’t really make sense either.”

I scrubbed my hands over my face. “Look, I’m a football player. My body takes a beating on a regular basis. Nurses, massage therapists, fitness trainers, even yoga instructors, try to diagnose me if I mention an ache or pain. Like I should listen to her over what the team’s medical staff is telling me? Then I take a blast of shit when I don’t follow through with her advice. It leads to drama, and I don’t do drama. And I definitely don’t go against my professional trainers’ recommendations. So I avoid the hassle by just saying no to that entire profession.”

They both stared at me.

“For chrissake, what now?”

“That is actually a smart list, Jens.”

I tried—and failed—not to take that as a backhanded compliment. “Surprised that I use my brain for more than memorizing plays and random chicks’ phone numbers?”