When I Need You

  “As long as you do me first,” Daisy answered.

  Raina pushed between us. “Coach T would write you up if she heard this conversation. It’s not appropriate. She’d expect better from her team captain.”

  “Gonna tattle, little girl?” Marsai taunted.

  “It’d be no less than you deserve,” she retorted, and flounced off.

  “Piece of work, that one.”

  “Eh. She’s all bluster and no balls,” Marsai said.

  Daisy and I reached the open door to the locker room, only to have everyone going past us because apparently Coach T had called us all back.

  I’d die if she forced us to do another circuit. My arms were wobbling as it was.

  We stood on the field, waiting for Coach T to pull out the megaphone—she loved that damn thing—to let us know what was going on.

  Just then the outer door banged open and the football team barged in.

  What the hell?

  I scoured the group—not because I was searching for one blond hottie in particular—but more than half of the guys were missing. A full roster of players ate up a lot of space. Training camp didn’t start for weeks and that happened in Mankato, not at the Winter Park complex.

  “Why do they all look as if they were frog-marched here at gunpoint?” Daisy said.

  “Same reason we do. Brutal practice.” That was when I noticed the athletic staff accompanying them wasn’t the second-tier trainers, but the ones who worked directly with the offensive coordinators and specific players.

  I hadn’t seen Jensen all week. Even Calder had asked about him.

  It would’ve been funny, cheerleaders on one side of the field, squaring off against players on the other side, if it hadn’t been for the waves of hostility emanating from the players’ side. The derision on a few faces didn’t help. As if we had no right to be here.

  My back snapped straight. I loved the sport of cheerleading. I wasn’t a football fanatic. I’d loved cheering for basketball just as much and considered trying out for the Timberwolves team, even when it was more dance-focused than cheer. So I hated the reminder from some of the players themselves that they saw us as nothing more than a nuisance that detracted from their athletic prowess on the field.

  Daisy said, “Sometimes I want to dick punch these guys when they look down their noses at us like that.”

  “I’m right behind you, Daze. Go for it.”

  Feedback from the speaker system had us all cringing. Then one of the managers from the corporate office—I never could keep them all straight since there were so many—stepped onto the field wearing a headset.

  “Good morning. I’ll start off with the reason for this meeting. As you know, the Vikings organization purchased land in Eagan last year to build a new corporate headquarters and training center. There’s been much speculation and erroneous information in the press about the status of our plans. We’re making a major press announcement next week.” He addressed the players. “So if you’re approached by any member of any local or national news outlet for the inside scoop, you are required to answer ‘no comment.’ This is a deal that’s been sixteen months in the making, and the organization does not need one of you giving the press so much as a sound bite. Is that understood?”

  Male grumbles rumbled down the sideline.

  “There will be serious repercussions if anything is leaked. And trust me, we can—and will—track down the perpetrator. We have rules for a reason, rules we expect everyone to follow.”

  For the briefest moment, I wondered if he’d shown up and called the team and the cheer squad together to remind us of the no-fraternization rule. My gaze immediately shot to Jensen, who appeared to be studying his cleats.

  Don’t be paranoid. Clearly with the way Mr. Big Shot is addressing the players, it’s about other rule violations you aren’t aware of.

  Then Mr. Corporate went all Rah! Rah! Team! as if we needed a pep talk.

  Daisy exhaled a soft snoring noise, and it was hard not to laugh.

  Coach T interrupted the speaker’s monologue, using the megaphone. “Respectfully, Brian, as none of the breach of protocol seems to be directed at my athletes, I’m excusing them from the remainder of this discussion.”

  Brian seemed taken aback by Coach’s boldness. Evidently he didn’t know her very well. “Of course. And as I’ve hit the major talking points, I’ll turn it back over to the coaches.”

  The big, burly coach yelled, “Everyone is dismissed.”

  Thank god.

  Access to the players’ locker rooms was on our side of the field, and as soon as they were released, they started in our direction at a dead run.

  Since Daisy and I were the first in line to the tunnel—we’d been the last ones out—we waited to let them pass. But not all of them did.

  Hugo, the backup center, nearly plowed us over.

  Daisy mumbled about him being a big, dumb ox.

  Jensen, near the front of the line of players, smiled when he saw me. Then he jogged over.

  Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. What are you doing?

  “Hey, Rowan, do you have a minute?”

  I felt every pair of eyes zoom in on us. With surprise, curiosity and a few burning looks of hostility.

  What the hell was wrong with him? We’d just suffered through a fifteen-minute lecture on the importance of rules, and he’d decided to ignore that and blatantly break them? In front of my coach as well as his?

  He can ignore it because the rules don’t apply to him.

  When he got close enough that only he and Daisy could overhear me, I said, “What are you doing?”

  “Talking to you.”

  “Don’t.”

  Jensen froze. “What’s wrong?”

  “We are not supposed to interact according to—”

  “That’s a bullshit rule and you know it.”

  “But it is a rule. Everyone is staring at us.”

  He glared at anyone who met his gaze before he directed it back to me. “So?”

  “So trot your smarmy little rule-breaking self to the locker room.”

  Instead of backing away, Mr. Contrary moved closer. “What has gotten into you?”

  “Stop it, Lund. I’m not kidding.”

  “You’re serious about me not even talking to you?”

  “Yes. Just go.”

  “Like hell.”

  Frustrated, I turned and walked away.

  A scuffle broke out behind me as Daisy tried to stop him. But much bigger men in the NFL had tried to stop him without success. The next thing I knew, The Rocket had landed in front of me.

  “Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” he demanded.

  “I’m pissed off that you don’t understand I can’t be seen with you.”

  That sent him back a step.

  “You don’t give a damn that you are creating issues for me by insisting that we talk right here in front of everyone. We can’t. Go back to pretending you don’t know who I am, especially when we’re here.”

  I sidestepped him and this time he didn’t follow.

  Daisy literally had my back until we got into the locker room. Then she said, “I don’t see you for three weeks and suddenly now you’re chummy with The Rocket?”

  Chummy. Who even used that word anymore?

  “I expect to be filled in over ice cream . . . unless the story is so hot that it’ll melt the cone right out of your hand?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Not. Even. Close.”

  Since several of the girls were new, the locker room was more subdued than usual. I appreciated the silence while I could because when the season officially started, it’d be a zoo. After I washed my face and neck and redid my ponytail, I fired off a quick text to Talia to check on Calder, and she immediately responded that everything was fine.

  Daisy sauntered toward me, her hair falling loose around her shoulders, looking as if she’d just stepped out of a salon. She’d skipped the high heels in favor of flip-flops, but her body sti
ll swayed as if she’d stepped onto a runway. It’d be easy to be jealous, but after years in the world of dance and competitive cheer, I accepted that some women were born with the ability to look fantastic with little to no effort.

  She glanced at my phone in my hand. “All clear with your sitter?”

  “Yep.”

  “I feel like we should be hitting the bar for an adult beverage.”

  “Ice cream sounds better.”

  “Roger that.” She shoved her Jackie O–styled sunglasses back in place. “Follow me. I know a shortcut.”

  I refrained from pointing out that the last time she said that we ended up jumping a curb and driving the wrong way—on a one-way—for a block.

  Sebastian Joe’s was always busy, even in the winter when the temps dipped below zero, so when the weather warmed up, the line was long.

  Daisy did a quick sweep of the crowd before leaning in closer to murmur, “You and The Rocket. Every detail. Now.”

  I told her about how he’d basically taken over the night I’d come home sopping wet, in a lousy mood about the camp cancellation. “He hung out with Calder and watched Dancing with the Stars with us because he’d never seen an episode.”

  “I’m sure Calder rectified that immediately,” she said with amusement.

  “Yes, he did, with absolute glee. Boggled my mind that Jensen enjoyed it.”

  “Get the eff out.” Daisy tipped her head and peered at me over the tops of her sunglasses. “He was cool with Calder . . . the way he is?”

  Daisy was the only person I didn’t bristle up at when asked that question. My boy was sweet, kind, loving, funny, smart, adventurous, athletic and artistic. He was also effeminate. But that was part of who he was. I loved everything about my son. I accepted everything about him, as did the people in our lives who mattered to us. I’d never understood why some people felt it was their right to pass judgment on him. Or to make rude, nosy or just plain nasty comments about a little boy who’d never dream of uttering something so cutting to a stranger. It wasn’t possible to shield him from everything, but I’d be damned if I’d let anyone into our lives who didn’t treat my kid with the acceptance he deserved.

  “Ro?” Daisy prompted.

  I looked up at her. “Jens has never been anything but wonderful to Calder. Even when Calder head-butted him in the groin. He listens to him with the patience that’s needed to deal with any six-year-old. They watch Chopped sometimes and he’s even read Harry Potter to him.”

  “So it’s Jens now, huh?” she teased.

  I blushed. “He told us he doesn’t want to be called The Rocket off the field. Calder sometimes calls him Rocketman but Jensen seems amused by it, not annoyed. His behavior doesn’t jibe at all with the reputation he has. Then after Calder was in bed, he came back over because he said he could ‘tell’ something was bothering me.”

  “Did he make a move on you?”

  “No. We talked. I told him about the camp problems and he came up with a solution on the fly. Being cynical, I sort of said, yeah whatever. Then he proved me wrong. You know he’s one of the Lunds. They have their own organization—Lund Cares Community Outreach—that provides services for community groups. LCCO stepped in and stepped it up, keeping our same dance instructor from the previous camp, but also adding in theater, art and vocal music to the curriculum. No football or sports of any kind.”

  “I’m impressed,” Daisy said. “Unless you’re freaked out because you think he’s got an ulterior motive for being Mr. Helpful and that’s why you were a little psycho with him today.”

  Immediately I bristled up. “What? I wasn’t psycho. Protecting myself isn’t psycho! He was completely out of line by singling me out in front of everyone. We’re not supposed to be—”

  “That no-fraternization rule is total bullshit,” Daisy argued. “It was outdated in the ’70s. Hello, we’re two decades into the new millennium and we’re all well past the age of consent. Let us make up our own minds about who we want to fraternize with.”

  I didn’t disagree with her. I hated to admit that when I was with Jensen I didn’t think about that stupid rule at all. I was too busy trying to figure out what to do about the magnetic pull between us, which was why I was so upset with him for bringing it to everyone’s attention today.

  “But, honey, admit it, your reaction to him merely talking to you was . . . slightly psycho.”

  “Fine. I overreacted.” I sighed. “I’ll try to explain it to him later.”

  “Good luck with that. He was pissed off.”

  Yet another thing everyone noticed.

  An ear-piercing shriek echoed in front of us.

  Daisy said, “Someone is taking the ‘you scream, I scream’ portion of the ice cream rhyme literally.”

  I laughed.

  After we chose our flavors—Red Papaya sorbet for her and Caramel Coffee Oreo for me—we wandered back to the parking lot.

  Daisy said, “I have an idea. Let’s show off these fine bodies that we’ve slaved to maintain. Grab your kid, pack swimsuits and an overnight bag and come to my place. We’ll spend the afternoon lazing by the pool admiring all the manflesh that populates ye old ce-ment pond. Then we’ll kick back, color and play games with Calder, eat a disgustingly healthy dinner and after your boy is tucked in, we can share a bottle of wine and watch Thor or anything starring hot, half-naked men.”

  “That sounds like heaven.” Usually I reserved my weekends for time with Calder, but I’d gotten used to Martin whisking his nephew off on an adventure. Hopefully a sleepover at Daisy’s would count. “Calder’s dance class ends at three. I’ll pick up food on my way over.”

  “See you then.”

  I got in my car and headed back to Snow Village.

  Avoiding Jensen Lund wasn’t possible when you lived across the hallway from him.

  Or if he didn’t want to be avoided.

  I packed everything for our overnight trip. Rather than try to juggle all our stuff and a heavy bag of garbage, I left Calder in the apartment and dragged the bag down to the Dumpster.

  After I’d tossed the bag in and closed the lid, I spun around to see Jensen leaning against the side of the building.

  My heart jumped. So did my pulse at the glint in his eyes.

  I glanced at the outer set of stairs. If I could get around that metal pole fast enough . . .

  “You’re not seriously thinking about trying to outrun me, are you, sweetheart? I didn’t earn the name The Rocket for nothing.”

  “Why did you follow me?” I stared at his empty hands. “You aren’t out here dumping garbage.”

  He shrugged. “I heard your door close, saw Calder wasn’t with you and figured it’d be a good time to talk about what happened this morning.”

  I held up my hand. “You were out of line.”

  “For merely talking to you?”

  “Yes. According to the rules, we aren’t supposed to—”

  “I do not give a good goddamn about that rule.”

  “That is apparent,” I retorted. “How many of your teammates asked you why you approached me?”

  “About half.”

  “And the trainers?”

  He shifted, almost nervously.

  “They all did, didn’t they? And you want to know why? Because you didn’t see any other players even acknowledging the cheerleaders as they blew past them. You don’t have a reputation for breaking team rules, so you brought everyone’s attention to the