When I Need You

  and she encouraged me to get some rest while I had the chance. I didn’t tell her about having dinner with Jensen, because it was no big deal.

  I knocked on his door, bringing a bottle of wine and two of the turtle brownies I’d baked earlier in the week.

  Jensen answered the door wearing the same disguise he’d had on earlier.

  I lifted a brow. “Incognito in your own apartment? Is there something I should know, Lund?”

  He groaned. “The restaurant was way behind with orders and I just got home. Come in, and pour yourself a glass of wine while I get changed. I set everything up on the dining room table.”

  I’d never been farther into his apartment than his living room. As I turned the corner, I realized his apartment was laid out differently than ours. The dining room was a separate area instead of a part of the kitchen. Out the sliding glass door, a balcony ran the length of the kitchen and overlooked the pool. I opened the wine and noticed only one glass. Not that there was room for anything else on the table, as it appeared he’d ordered enough food from Emily’s Lebanese Deli for ten people.

  When he said, “All right,” as he came up behind me, I jumped, sloshing wine all over my shirt and the floor.

  “Shit. I’m sorry.”

  “Got paper towels right here.” He tossed one on the floor and said, “See? No worries.”

  “Jensen. Maybe this was a bad idea.”

  Taking the glass of wine from my hand, he set it aside, moving in so close I couldn’t see the tops of my feet, which I’d been staring at intently. Then he said, “Rowan. Look at me.”

  I tilted my head back and met his gaze. All I saw in his eyes was concern.

  “What’s going on? Why are you so jumpy?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because this feels like a date, even when I know it’s not.”

  His eyes searched mine and I couldn’t look away. “Total honesty between us, okay?”

  I nodded.

  “I find you hot as fuck. You’re smart, sexy and sassy and that pushes all the right buttons for me. But despite all that? There are a lot of things about you that make you exactly the type of woman I don’t date. So go change shirts and get back here to have dinner with me—as friends. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He grinned—that devastatingly wicked sexy grin that made female football fans’ panties damp. “However, I will restrain myself from slapping you on the ass as I would my other friends.”

  “So noted.”

  “Hurry back. I’m starving.”

  In my bedroom I didn’t even fret over which shirt to wear; I just grabbed one. I returned to Jensen’s in under three minutes.

  He’d already opened up all the containers and poured me another glass of wine. I noticed he’d gotten a beer for himself.

  “Holy crap, Lund. Did you order the entire menu?”

  He blushed. “I didn’t know what you like. So yeah, I think I got one of everything.” He pointed at the offerings. “Dolmathes—stuffed grape leaves—chicken kabob, kafta kabob, hummus, spinach pie, baba ghannuj, mistah bread, Lebanese chicken and rice, Lebanese green beans, lentils and rice, kibbi—kinda like meatloaf—and tabbouleh. I burn a lot of calories, so I need a lot of calories. Trust me. None of this will go to waste.”

  “This looks great. I haven’t had Emily’s in ages. I used to eat there all the time when I was in college. Sadly, Calder isn’t a fan.”

  “I wasn’t either at his age. Tastes change.”

  “I try to expose him to different foods. It’s funny to watch parents who attempt to ‘develop’ their kids’ palate by feeding them oddball foods at a young age. Those same kids skip the veggie trays and devour chicken nuggets and fries at birthday parties when their parents aren’t around.”

  “My brother and his wife are having their first kid in a few months. It’ll be interesting to see how they deal with stuff like that.”

  As we ate, he talked about his family. Made me happy to hear he was close with his siblings as well as his cousins. For as different as Martin and I were personality-wise, we’d made a point to stay close and I counted him as one of my best friends.

  “So did you have the idyllic life growing up in a Minnesota apple orchard? Or were you one of those who couldn’t wait to peel out as soon as you turned eighteen?”

  I groaned. “Peel out? Seriously?”

  He laughed. “I love puns and that was sort of a gimme.”

  “True. But no more,” I warned.

  “Damn. Next one lined up was to ask if you were the apple of your daddy’s eye.” He smirked. “Yeah, I know, I’m the guy who always reaches for the low-hanging fruit.”

  I held up my hand. “Lund. Stop.”

  “I’m done. Answer the question.”

  “I had a great childhood. My parents are awesome. They never pushed me to do anything except my best. Sounds clichéd but it’s true. Dad inherited the farm from his grandfather and their orchards were certified organic—before it was cool to focus on organic farming methods. So we were raised left of center but we weren’t ostracized for it. My folks never expected me to stick around, but I wouldn’t be surprised if when Martin decides to settle down he goes back there and takes over for my dad.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s a perfect setup for him. He can grow his own and still take on web design clients because there’s not a lot to do in the winter months.” I shoved my plate aside and decided to start boxing up leftovers, when I noticed there weren’t any. The man had put away a serious amount of food and he was staring longingly at the brownies. “You want yours now?”

  “Yes. Man, I love homemade brownies.” He brought the garbage can over, sweeping everything into the trash in one fell swoop.

  Guess that was one way to clear a table.

  Jensen returned with a gallon of whole milk and two glasses. “Want some?”

  “Half a glass.”

  “Then you should only get half a brownie. It’s sacrilegious not to enjoy them with milk.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “My grandpa Jensen. He lives in Sweden and the man is serious about his sweets. No coffee or tea with his fika or dessert. Just cold milk.”

  I smiled and cut my brownie, giving him half. “Far be it from me to buck a family tradition.”

  “Rowan, I was kidding—”

  “No, I’m stuffed and I’ve had more than my fair share of brownies this week, so you enjoy.”

  “Thanks.”

  After I took a small bite and a swig of milk, I said, “You’re named after your grandpa?”

  “Jensen is his last name. When he’s around, my family usually calls me Jens ’cause Gramps tends to answer if someone yells Jensen.”

  “I imagine so.”

  “This brownie is freakin’ fantastic.”

  I poured myself more wine. “Thanks for buying dinner.”

  “Happy to have your company tonight.” He frowned. “You don’t have to rush off?”

  “No. I can stay a little longer.”

  “Good. The couch is comfier than these chairs.”

  I carried my glass and the wine bottle into the living room. Jensen pulled the back section apart so I didn’t have to climb over. “What is with you and this enormous couch? One might think you were overcompensating.” You did not just say that.

  Jensen granted me a sexy smile as he vaulted over the edge one handed. “Bigger is always better, baby.”

  I wouldn’t know about that.

  “The last place I lived, the interior designer chose a dinky-ass couch and two spindly chairs for a living room four times the size of this entire apartment. Some ‘modern concept’ that I stupidly agreed to because what do I know about interior design?”

  When he blushed and ducked his head after admitting his ineptitude . . . heaven help me. It was so sweet and charming and humble.

  “The furniture was too small for a guy my size. I spent all my time in my bedroom because at least I could stretch out on
my big bed and watch TV. I swore the next place I lived I’d pick out furniture I wanted. Comfortable stuff so I wouldn’t give a damn if beer or pizza got spilled on it. Who wants to live in a fucking museum? Not me. Not ever again.”

  “I figured with your salary you could live anywhere you wanted, so that’s why I thought this wouldn’t be your main residence.”

  “I hadn’t realized how much I hated where I was living until after my injury and it felt like the same sterile environment as a hospital. Then I started hanging out here with Axl and got to know Martin. I discovered I was much happier and more myself in this place, so I moved in when Axl shacked up with Annika.” He sighed. “Still haven’t gotten the dog I wanted.”

  “What kind of dog?”

  “Probably a mutt from the pound. A big mutt.”

  Sipping my wine, I wondered if I could ask him what I wanted to know, if he’d meant his insistence of honesty between us.

  “Don’t go quiet on me now, Coach. If you ask a question I don’t want to answer, I won’t.”

  “You were born rich and grew up in a mansion. A lavish lifestyle has to be the norm for you. Is this an experiment in how the common people live?”

  He laughed—it wasn’t a nice sound. “Wow. Okay. When I introduce you to my parents you’ll kick your own ass for the assumptions.”

  That startled me. Why would he want me to meet his parents?

  “My family is grateful I’m not in an assisted-living facility because I was permanently paralyzed.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be a dick, Jensen.”

  “I know. But that question is also why I don’t invite many of my teammates to hang out here. They’d all be like . . . ‘Man, why you slumming? Why’d you give up that sweet crib with the million-dollar river view for this dump?’ I also get asked why I even take a salary. I could just play football for free. It’s not like I need the money.”

  My jaw dropped. “People say that shit to you?”

  “All the time.”

  “And then I had to go and ask an equally boneheaded question.” I groaned. “I’m sorry.”

  “Par for the course. There is one way you can make it up to me—and no, dirty-minded girl, it doesn’t entail sexual favors—although I’d be a fool to say no if you offered me a couple.”

  I rolled my eyes at his hopeful look. “Don’t go dragging me into your impure thoughts. So how can I make it up to you?”

  “By answering an equally invasive question.”

  I refilled my wineglass in preparation and Jensen laughed. I found myself smiling back. This was so much easier with him than I imagined. “Hit me with the question.”

  His face took on an appealing earnestness when he asked, “What’s the deal with Calder’s dad?”

  “Short version? He knocked me up senior year and acted like I’d gotten pregnant on purpose to trap him.”

  “Trap him how?”

  Here was the moment of truth. “He was a football player. Big Ten All-Conference trophy winner as defensive player of the year. Defensive tackle predicted to go high in the NFL draft. We’d been dating since sophomore year and he broke up with me at the start of our last semester of college. A month later I found out I was pregnant.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Said the baby wasn’t his. Accused me of wanting a free ride and warned I’d need a court-ordered paternity test to ever get a nickel out of him.”

  “Jesus.”

  I closed my eyes and forced out the words that still left a bitter taste in my mouth. “I was on the pill, I never missed a dose. But the free clinic I’d gotten the pills from had received a bad batch that had been recalled by the drug manufacturer. Only the clinic hadn’t gotten the memo about the recall. Big blowup in the national media because it happened at ten other clinics across the country. Anyway, I ended up with free prenatal medical care, free postnatal medical care, and pretty much free medical care for Calder and me at the clinic for as long as we live here.”

  “While that’s the least they could’ve done for you, get back to the part of the story where the baby daddy justified abandoning you and his child.”

  The wine loosened my tongue. Normally I wasn’t an oversharer, but here I was, spilling my guts to a guy who’d played on the same team as my ex.

  “Rowan.”

  I met his gaze.

  “I promise anything you tell me doesn’t go beyond us.”

  “I appreciate that. It’s just you . . .”

  His eyes narrowed. “I know him, don’t I? Or at least I know who he is.”

  I nodded.

  “Does Calder know him?”

  “No.” I ran my finger over the rim of the wineglass. “Martin has always been a big part of Calder’s life. So has my dad. Calder has healthy, loving, dependable relationships with them, so he’s not missing male role models.” I glanced up when Jensen remained quiet a beat too long. “What?”

  His gaze searched my face. “I’m trying to come up with the least obnoxious way to phrase this question.”

  “Just ask it.”

  “Does the asswipe baby daddy pay child support?”

  I shook my head.

  “You know that’s total bullshit. Even if he isn’t involved in Calder’s life, his damn checkbook should be. You shouldn’t have to shoulder the entire financial burden of raising a child, Rowan. Not to mention everything else you have to do without help.”

  Why did I like that he’d gotten so fired up on my behalf?

  Because there is a pull toward this man you can’t deny.

  When Jensen opened his mouth, I held up my hand. “Let me explain the timeline. I was five months pregnant during the NFL draft in April. We graduated in May and he moved to the city that’d drafted him. Calder was born in August during training camp. We had a standing order for a paternity test. When the results confirmed he’d fathered my baby, his lawyer offered me a onetime lump sum . . . with a stipulation.”

  Jensen snorted.

  “Accepting the money cleared him of all future parental responsibilities, with the exception if Calder was diagnosed with some heinous disease. Then he’d pay for half of the medical treatments.”

  “How generous.”

  “It is what it is. My stipulation was that he has zero contact with Calder.”

  “He’s abided by that?”

  “Completely. If down the road he grows a conscience and wants to establish a relationship with Calder, all contact goes through a mediator. He’ll never have unsupervised or random interactions with my son. It hasn’t been an issue so far.”

  “Does he still have an NFL contract?”

  “Yes. The two times his team played in Minnesota? I requested a bye week from the cheer squad and took Calder out of town.”

  “Good for you.” Jensen gave me a soft smile. “I admire the fact that you don’t take shit from anyone.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So I remember you saying you were living at Martin’s temporarily while you looked for a house. Have you had any luck?”

  Although grateful that he’d changed the subject—and hadn’t asked for my ex’s name—I couldn’t help but tease him for the question. I lightly tapped my foot against his. “You’re already sick of being my neighbor, Lund?”

  His lean cheeks went red. “No! I just—”

  “Jensen. I was kidding.”

  He knocked his foot into mine. “See if I borrow a cup of sugar from you. I’ll head down and ask Lenka first.”