When I Need You (Need You #4)

“You brought it on yourself by talking over me.”

“By all means. You’ve got the floor.”

“Thank you. I . . .” She inhaled and slowly let it out. “I’m a shitty friend too, all right?”

Do not say anything even remotely smart-ass-y, Lund.

“This is new to me. It wasn’t supposed to happen—”

“But it did. And ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

“As if I ever had a chance of ignoring you,” she retorted.

My body language said, “Is that a bad thing?” even when I remained quiet.

“And I don’t know what to do with it, okay?”

“I could give you a hint.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

She sighed. “Fine. What is your hint?”

“The next time I want to kiss you? Let me.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

I laughed.

“Stop joking around.” She blinked at me. “You are joking, right?”

I didn’t answer. Let her come to her own conclusions. Or . . . let her stew. I smiled and said, “Good night, Rowan.”

? ? ?


It’d been a long week.

Things weren’t completely ready, but I’d called a staff meeting for Friday morning anyway.

A staff meeting. Me. Mr. Tune-Out during any meeting longer than five minutes where I wasn’t watching guys get pummeled.

I had a feeling karma was about to bite me in the ass.

Every other camp-type situation I’d been involved in had been with other football players. So the work was split up between at least half a dozen of us. The camps never lasted long: three hours at the most. Then we’d have an autograph session.

This summer camp sent me into unknown territory and I’d dragged poor Astrid along for the ride. She’d been great this past week, but I needed her to be on top of everything the next three months because I’d be hit-and-miss. Realizing I preferred being a worker bee to being the big boss when it came to my LCCO responsibilities meant I had no ego about putting Astrid on the payroll and upping her responsibilities. But the truth was, my main responsibility was to train and prepare for football season.

I rolled out of bed and headed to the fitness center in the apartment complex. I wouldn’t have time for a full workout before I met with the staff, but I could at least get cardio out of the way.

After four hard miles on the treadmill, I showered. I threw on some clean clothes and heated up one of my prepared breakfasts that didn’t suck—steel-cut oats with almonds, blueberries and honey. I filled out the form online for the following week’s meals as I ate and hit send when I finished.

My family gave me crap for employing a personal chef. Before Brady had met Lennox, he ate whatever meals his secretary brought him—usually at his desk. Walker was marginally better cooking for himself. But his company provided lunch for their employees, so I failed to see how having healthy meals delivered to my door was any different.

Besides, because I was a professional athlete my caloric intake needs fluctuated. Hiring an expert to keep my protein-to-carb ratio balanced for optimum performance was no different than hiring any other professional. I could probably roof a house myself, but why would I want to when I could hire a roofer?

I didn’t understand why my mom took it so personally that Chef J prepared my meals when she’d had a full-time cook and several other domestic workers when I was growing up.

She’s concerned because she wants a woman in your life to share meal prep responsibilities, not a random guy in a restaurant across town.

But even if I was in a serious relationship? I wouldn’t expect my partner to adhere to the same diet I did during the season or learn how to prepare it.

“Dude. If you’re that hungry I could fix you something to eat.”

Rowan. I still couldn’t believe she’d said that to me when I’d wanted to kiss her.

I hadn’t seen her much this week. Once in the elevator as I returned home and she was leaving to run Calder someplace. Once in the hallway between our apartments. Calder had started a long story about . . . I honestly couldn’t remember. I’d spent the entire time watching Rowan. Wondering if I’d taken spinning my wheels to a whole new level. Wondering why I’d ditch my three nonnegotiable rules in a hot minute if she gave me a sign she wanted more than this bogus attempt at being friends.

But the stubborn woman hadn’t made the effort. I’d wait her out. I could be damn stubborn too.

At the site of Camp Step-Up, a former elementary school, I parked my Land Cruiser next to an older-model Saturn.

Astrid climbed out of it as I walked past. She fell into step with me, holding the biggest insulated coffee mug I’d ever seen. “Morning,” she said brightly. “I’m glad you’re here early.”

“Better early than late.”

“I’ve already been here for forty-five minutes,” she confessed.

“Why didn’t you go in?”

“We haven’t discussed specifics on arrival times and if I’m allowed to open the building early. Or if I fall behind on my work”—she made a sarcastic little snort, as if that’d ever happen—“and I have to stay late, if you’re all right with me locking down the building.”

“Since you have the code I’d think it’d be a given that you can come and go as you please.”

She stopped, forcing me to stop. “This is what I’m talking about. I don’t assume anything. We have to make these types of decisions as a team. I’d think it was a given that you’d know all about teamwork.”

“You’re right. We need to be on the same page of the playbook.”

Astrid rolled her eyes. “Seriously? You couldn’t have said ‘the ball is in your court’ or anything that doesn’t use the clichéd word playbook?”

“Hey, it’s no joke that a playbook is the bible in my world. And get used to the sports analogies, because that’s how I roll. Since we’re both early we’ll have time to go over whatever list you’ve got—I’m assuming there’s more than one.” I pointed to her enormous coffee cup. “You have enough to share?”

“Nope.”

“Stingy with the caffeine. I’ll remember that. Let’s see if you know how to work the new security system.”

Astrid struggled to juggle her coffee as she punched in the code, but she got it right on the first try.

We wandered into the area that’d served as the office and dumped our stuff. LCCO had done few updates, but the entire facility would be cleaned next week.

This was one of the smallest elementary schools I’d ever been in. No wonder the school district had sold this property. The building had sat empty for the past fifteen years prior to LCCO purchasing the property three years ago. They’d used it for storage and as a place to organize items for various charity events. After talking with Aunt Priscilla, I’d learned that LCCO remained unsure on future plans for the space. Renovating was economically unfeasible—according to Brady, the Lund Industries CFO, as well as Walker, the Lund family construction expert.

The gymnasium had a stage that stretched along the back wall. In the corner was a line of portable lunch tables. In the opposite corner a door led to a small kitchen.