When I Need You (Need You #4)

He folded his arms across his chest. “You spoke so passionately about what you do that I wanted a firsthand look.”

“This isn’t my normal day, thank goodness. The real culling process starts tomorrow. That’s the worst part. The tears and tantrums. I’ll pretty much want the whole bottle of wine tomorrow night rather than just a glass or two, even when I’m not the final judge.”

“How much of your input is taken into consideration when the final decisions are made?”

“I’m called out if I put a huge NO on someone’s paperwork.”

“Does that happen often?”

I shrugged. And winced. That move aggravated the muscle in my shoulder that I’d pulled when I’d stepped in as a back spot for a stunt group. Before I could answer, Jensen leaned closer.

“I recognize that wince of pain, Coach Michaels. What did you do?”

Why did I like him calling me by my professional name? I faced him and we were so close that I noticed his glasses magnified the dark fringe of lashes surrounding those stunning blue eyes. “I pulled it during a demonstration. No big deal.”

“When you did the cartwheel/back handspring/splits combo? Or the airborne somersault?

What was an airborne somersault? My thoughts scrolled to that section of the routine. “Oh, you mean a standing back tuck?”

“Yeah, that. Cool move.”

I blinked at him. “Exactly how long have you been here, Lund?”

“Long enough. So . . . Which side? Left or right?”

“Left.”

Then his big hand curled around the cup of my shoulder and his thumb just magically zeroed in on the sore spot. He lightly pressed. When I hissed in a breath, he dug his thumb in deeper.

“Sweet baby Jesus, yes, right there.” I might’ve slumped forward in supplication and moaned without shame.

Briefly, the circling and swirling motion stopped, but then he resumed.

“Without seeming ungrateful, how the hell did you know exactly where to touch me?”

“I’m a man. I’d better know all the best spots a woman needs to be touched.”

The way he’d said that? Pure sex.

“You know what I meant.”

He paused. “I have the same issue on the left side after I’ve leapt to catch throws.”

“Well, thank you. It’s feeling better now.”

“Bullshit. My hands on you makes you nervous. Deal with it. Turn to the left, reach across your upper body and wrap your left hand over your right hip.”

I should’ve reminded him that I had the degree in sports medicine, but his tone didn’t invite argument. As soon as I executed the movement the knot loosened and the pain vanished. Cranking my head around, I peered at him over my right shoulder. “That was incredible.”

“I told you. I am very, very good with my hands.”

The heat in his eyes was unmistakable.

Or maybe the lenses of his fake glasses were flashing a false reflection. “Thank you,” I managed. “I’ll have to remember that trick.”

“Don’t try it solo,” he warned. “You tense up again, find me. I’m great in a tight spot.”

I’ll bet you are. I’d also bet you could loosen me up in no time at all.

He lowered his hand. Slowly. Almost reluctantly. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Question? What question?

“How much input you have on who makes the final cut on the various squads?”

“Honestly? A lot. If a candidate is difficult, and I mean a serious pain in the ass to other candidates, that’s not someone we want to deal with several hours a day, five days a week, plus game times, for the next school year. We have an abundance of qualified candidates; why would we choose someone who doesn’t understand teamwork?”

Jensen nodded. “Wish that attitude carried over to the pros. So freakin’ many glory seekers. It’s ‘what can the team do for me?’ rather than them being part of the team.” He shot me a sideways glance and a wry grin. “And no way am I naming names.”

“You don’t have to, Lund. I’m on the inside, remember? I hear more team gossip than most.”

“What do you hear about me?”

“Talented. Cocky as hell, but you’ve got the stats to back it up—or at least you did the last year you played.”

“Any of your insider sources react with surprise that I’m still on the roster?”

“No more than anyone else who’s been on the injured reserve list this long.” I shook my head. “How’d we get off on this tangent? Anyway, thanks for coming today.”

When I moved to stand, he clamped his hand on my thigh. “You’re leaving?”

“It’s been a long day and it’ll be an even longer one tomorrow.”

“But I still have a ton of questions.”

I looked at him skeptically. “You do?”

“Yeah. So I could ask my questions over dinner. Either we could go out someplace or we could order in.”

I leveled my best “you’re up to something” evil eye at him

He laughed. “Man, you are hard-core with that suspicious mom glare. I swear, I have no nefarious plans. I just thought we could share a meal and conversation. If either sucks, you can bail and be home in two seconds.”

Spending the night by myself wasn’t appealing. Looking at Jensen Lund wouldn’t be a hardship. “Fine. Want me to grab takeout?”

“How about you bring a bottle of wine and I’ll deal with the food. Lebanese okay?”

“Sounds great.” I stood. “So an hour?”

“See you then. Just knock.”

I made my way to the bottom of the bleachers and back to the coaches’ area.

Bree, one of the new student assistants for next year, said, “Is that weird-looking dude you were talking to your boyfriend?”

“No.” I packed up my stuff. “Just a friend. Why?”

“It’s creepy how he watched you. His eyes never left your butt the entire time you were walking away from him.”

“He could hardly be looking at my face since I had my back to him, now could he?”

“Whatever. Old-people lust is gross.”

I froze. Old people. Really? She thought I was . . . old? I whirled around to chew her ass about rude assumptions, but she’d already taken off. Probably a good thing.

But as I drove home, I had to wonder whether I had really been any different at age nineteen. Anyone out of college seemed old to me. And a thirty-year-old woman with a kid? Ancient.

Dealing with college students every day had made me grateful that part of my life was over.

I wondered if Jensen had many normal college days or if everything had revolved around his ability to catch a football. What degree had he earned before getting drafted into the pros?

Guess if we ran out of normal dinner conversation that was something I’d bring up.

? ? ?


It’s not a damn date, Rowan. Just pick something to wear.

I’d rummaged through my closet for the past ten minutes searching for an outfit that said friendly, but not sexy.

No dresses.