When I Need You

by Lorelei James

  “It’s good to hear that kind of team loyalty. It’s a rarity.”

  “Loyalty and integrity are the two most important attributes a man can possess.”

  Calder tugged on his shirt and peered up at him. “What’s in-teg-rity, Pop-pop?”

  Integrity was not kissing the hell out of your sexy-as-sin mother last night.

  Or maybe that was willpower.

  I must’ve made a derisive noise because the next thing I knew, Michael Michaels aimed his piercing gaze at me. “Maybe The Rocket can explain integrity.”

  No pressure.

  I crouched down in front of Calder. “Let’s say you’re goofing around outside throwing rocks and you accidentally throw one too hard. It breaks a window and the person who lives in the apartment isn’t home. No one saw you do it, so no one would ever know that you broke the window so you’d be tempted to keep it a secret.”

  He blinked those big brown eyes at me.

  “But if you tell your mom you did it—”

  “She’ll make me apologize and accept the consequences,” he blurted out.

  “Exactly. Integrity means telling the truth even if you’re afraid of the consequences. It means doing the right thing, even if it’s the hardest thing.”

  Calder glanced at his grandpa as if he didn’t believe me.

  Michael Michaels made an affirmative grunt. “Happy to see you have a brain and aren’t just jock-stock.”

  “Ask me about incidents leading up to the Civil War and I can impress you with specific dates. Only time my history degree comes in handy.”

  “I’m a history buff too.”

  “Yeah? Any particular time period?”

  “Lately? The Roman Empire.”

  Then we were just two history geeks going on about books and maps and all the details I hadn’t paid attention to until college. A history degree—not a teaching history degree—was pretty worthless. But once I’d discovered history wasn’t only found in dry, dusty tomes in a library, I couldn’t be dissuaded from making it my major.

  Calder became bored during the conversation and raced up and down the hallway. Or he danced and twirled. Or he attempted cartwheels and handstands. He wasn’t loud, just energetic. I remembered having unlimited energy as a boy. Why walk someplace when you could run? Or skip?

  Calder only shouted, “Pop-pop! Watch this!” one time when he performed a full-out run that ended in him leaping into the air and landing soft as a cat in front of us.

  “You nailed that landing. Good job.”

  The door to Rowan’s apartment opened and a tall woman stepped out. She stopped and looked at me curiously. A smattering of freckles spread across her high cheekbones and regal nose, laugh lines creased the corners of her mouth and her eyes—the exact same color as Rowan’s and Martin’s. But her most arresting feature besides her smile? The shoulder-length dreads that looked like thick black ropes wrapped with silver.

  Without thinking, I said to Michael, “Holy hell, man, now I see who Rowan inherited her stunning looks from.”

  Luckily, he didn’t take offense. He chuckled. “Her mama’s still something, ain’t she?”

  “Yes, sir, she is.”

  Then she sauntered forward and offered a slender, callused hand. “I heard that flattery, Jensen Lund. You are every bit as handsome as I’ve been warned about. I’m Rochelle Michaels.”

  I grinned at her. Then at Rowan, scowling at me behind her mother’s back. “Very pleased to meet you. Sorry for staring, but I imagine a woman who looks like you is used to it.”

  “Oh my. And you’re just as charming to boot.”

  Calder jumped in front of me. “Guess where we’re going?”

  “To play glow-in-the-dark mini golf?”

  He giggled. “No. Guess again!”

  “To an all-you-can-eat ice cream shop?”

  Another giggle. I shot a quick look to Rowan. The soft, sweet, loving smile when she looked at her son gave me a funny feeling, which made no sense.

  “Nope!” Calder said, grabbing my attention again. “We’re going to Chuck E. Cheese!”

  “Fun. Sometimes your uncle Martin and I went to Dave and Buster’s.”

  “Where they don’t limit you to two beers all night,” Michael said under his breath.

  Rochelle elbowed him. “If you don’t have plans, Jensen, you’re welcome to come along.”

  “Thanks for the invite, but I spent all afternoon with my family. This morning I hit it hard at the training center, so I’ll be parked on my couch the rest of the night recuperating.”

  “The team is already training?” Michael said. “Thought that wasn’t until the end of July.”

  I recognized he was a true football fan. “Special circumstances for me, as you can guess, given my injury. Had to run the forty today. Three times.”

  “How’d you do? If you don’t mind me askin’?”

  “You’ll probably see it in the paper tomorrow, but my average was four point seven seven.”

  “Damn, son. That’s great.”

  “It felt good.”

  “Pop-pop, come on. I’m starved,” Calder complained. “You said we were going like two hours ago.”

  He ruffled his grandson’s hair. “We’re goin’. Nice meeting you, Lund.”

  “You too.” I looked at Rowan, to see her looking at me. Same odd tickle—but this time it wasn’t only in my belly.

  “Dad, you and Mom go ahead,” Rowan said. “You have to take Calder’s car seat out anyway. I’ll be right there.”

  I rested against my apartment door, waiting for us to be alone. After I heard the elevator ding, I said, “So you think I’m charming?”

  Rowan crossed her arms over her chest. “My mom thinks you’re charming.”

  “But I bet she heard it from you, ergo, you think I’m charming, Coach.”

  “Full of yourself much, Lund?”

  You’d like to be full of me, sweetheart. And I’d enjoy every hot second filling you up.

  I didn’t say that out loud; I didn’t have to. The blush spreading across Rowan’s cheeks hinted that she’d been sidelined by the same thought.

  “Without further feeding your ego . . . I have something for you.”

  “You talked to your mom about me. My ego can take the rest of the night off.”

  Rowan laughed. “You are unbelievable. Stay there. I’ll grab it before I go.”

  She wasn’t gone long. She handed me a plate wrapped in foil. “I baked brownies for Calder’s lunches this week. I had extra. I know you liked the other ones I brought over. So . . . enjoy.”

  “Seriously?” That was really sweet. “This is awesome. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I didn’t say anything flip. I was genuinely touched by her thoughtfulness.

  “I’ve gotta go.” She walked backward down the hallway—so I wouldn’t ogle her ass?

  Dammit. I had to be more discreet about that.

  “I’ll want my plate back, Lund.”

  And that was how the five-day streak of seeing Rowan Michaels stretched into ten days.

  Monday night, I “borrowed” a cup of milk for my brownies. Which I then ate at Rowan’s table with her and Calder.

  Tuesday the window in Calder’s bedroom had gotten stuck. Rowan asked if I could use my ridiculous amount of muscles for something useful and get it unstuck. I probably would’ve taken my shirt off—I’d seen the woman eyeballing my chest the first time we’d met—if her son hadn’t been around.

  Wednesday I returned the plate. After I knew Calder had gone to bed. That garnered me an invitation to come in for coffee. Then Rowan and I ended up talking for an hour, not really noticing that both of our cups had gone cold.

  Thursday Rowan and Calder stuck around and asked questions about my Corvette as I polished it after I’d spent the afternoon at the racetrack with my dad.

  Even though Friday morning dawned gray, cold and chilly I looked forward to how the weekend would play out. And how much
Rowan Michaels would play a part in it.

  Eight

  ROWAN

  My head pounded.

  I was soaked to the skin from the late-afternoon cloudburst.

  My arms felt encased in concrete as I overloaded myself with grocery bags so I didn’t have to make two trips from the car to my apartment. The elevator doors opened and I managed to poke the number two with my elbow.

  As the car ascended, I closed my eyes to block out the elevator’s reflection of the bedraggled woman staring back at me.

  I needed wine. As soon as I changed into dry clothes and put the groceries away, I’d pour a glass or three to chase away the wet chill sinking into my bones.

  I’d made it half the length of the hallway when Jensen stepped out of his apartment. The rustling of grocery bags alerted him to my presence and he glanced up.

  “Hold on a second and let me help you.” Jensen started toward me.

  “It’d be a huge help if you could just open the door to my apartment, please.”

  He darted across the hall and knocked twice on my door before opening it. Then he said, “Stand back, incoming with supplies,” through the open doorway.

  Calder and Alicia gaped at me as I hustled into the kitchen, near collapse from the weight of all the bags. Or maybe my straggly appearance caused their alarm. My clothes were dripping. Even my shoes were squishing, courtesy of the ankle-deep water I’d stepped into in the grocery store parking lot.

  When I straightened up, I noticed Jensen frowning at me. Before I could snap off “What?” he loomed over me.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He said, “You should’ve let me carry the bags.”

  “I had it under control.”

  His gaze did a head-to-toe sweep before he cocked an eyebrow at me as if to say Oh really?

  I knew that I resembled a wet cat—not a look Mr. Tall, Blond and Muscled ever suffered from. I bet Jensen would look magnificent wet. Water zigzagging down the muscles in his chest until the droplets funneled into the grooves of his eight-pack abs. Or the stream of water diverted to that deeply cut V starting at his pelvis.

  “Uh, Rowan?”

  Evidently my brain had gotten waterlogged; a naked and wet Jensen Lund should not have been foremost on my mind.

  I glanced over at Alicia. “Sorry I’m late. I know you have to go. I hope you brought an umbrella.”

  She flashed a sympathetic smile. “This time of year I stash one in my car and one in my backpack.”

  “Smart girl.”

  Her gaze flicked to Jensen, then back to me. “Do you need me to stay until you get settled?”

  “Thanks, but no. I’ll be fine once I get out of these wet clothes. Have a good weekend and I’ll see you Monday.”

  As soon as she was out the door, Jensen said, “Calder, buddy, could you grab a couple of towels for your mom?”

  “Sure!” He raced off.

  I tried to peel my trench coat off but it was plastered to my arms. I tugged on one sleeve and the sodden fabric didn’t budge an inch. Plus, it didn’t help that my hands were freezing and I couldn’t get a decent grip.

  “Let me do it,” Jensen said.

  “I’m f-fine—”

  “Stop.” Warm hands framed my face, and then Jensen tilted my head back. His fiery blue eyes bored into mine. “Suck it up and accept that I am helping you.”

  His big, rough-skinned hands slipped down my throat to the base of my neck. Grabbing the lapels of my coat, he jerked with enough force to get it off on the first try.

  Of course he’s practiced at getting a woman out of her clothes, my pride remarked snarkily.

  Then Calder bumped into me and thrust two towels at him. “Here.”

  “How about you help her dry off while I hang up her coat.” Jensen disappeared around the corner.

  After handing me a towel, Calder dropped to the floor and mopped up puddles with the other one.

  Tears sparked in my eyes. He was six years old. He shouldn’t be cleaning up after me. When he looked up and saw my tears, he said, “Mommy, why are you crying?”

  “Because I’m lucky to have such a sweet, helpful boy.”

  “And because she’s cold,” Jensen inserted. “So I think your mom needs to take a hot bath. While she’s doing that, we can put away the groceries. If there’s time left over, we could hang out and watch TV.” He waited until I looked at him. “How’s that sound, Mom?”

  Like heaven.

  “I know where everything goes,” Calder announced. “But I’m not supposed to climb on the counters.”

  “Luckily I’m tall enough to reach the top of all the cupboards in here.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I can do it after—”

  “Mommy, your shoes are leaking,” Calder blurted out.

  “Shoot. I’ll just—”

  “Hang on to me while Calder takes off your shoes.” I started to protest, but Jensen was right there, his mouth on my ear. “Let him help.”

  Grudgingly I leaned against Jensen, trying not to get him wet and lifted my right foot. Calder tugged hard on my slip-on athletic flat.

  Water squished out.

  After the left shoe was off, Jensen said, “Can you sneak those wet shoes in the closet, ninja-boy?”

  “Yeah. They kinda smell bad.”

  I glanced over to see Calder wrinkling his nose and holding my shoes at arm’s length as if they were coated in skunk oil.

  Then Jensen leaned in to speak softly to me once more. “Do you trust me with your son?”

  Jensen had been friendly to Calder this week—not in a pandering way, which I appreciated. I nodded.

  Relief crossed his face. “Go take care of yourself. Warm up, relax. I’ll be out here if you need anything.”

  “You don’t have plans tonight?”

  “Nope.”

  My eyes narrowed on him. “Then where were you going when you left your apartment and saw me in the hallway?”

  A sheepish grin tipped his lips. “To knock on your door to see if you and Calder were up for ordering in pizza.”

  That sweet smile and sweeter words just did me in.

  “But now that I see you have all these groceries, you probably