When I Need You (Need You #4)

The morning went smoothly, but with the kids’ excessive amount of energy, I opted to give them a fifteen-minute break between activities and before lunch. With Jax at my disposal, I had him supervise the kids inside while I took on the role of playground monitor.

My ever-efficient program director, Astrid, even brought me a whistle.

The old playground equipment hadn’t been removed after LCCO’s purchase of the property, so I had to ban the kids from sliding down the metal slide, which sat directly in the sun. Most of them wanted to hang from the monkey bars or swing on the swings. Alex, the ace projectile vomiter, asked me if we’d brought any balls.

“What kind of balls?” I asked him and the group of six kids with him.

“A basketball,” he said.

I did a quick check of the playground equipment. “I don’t see any hoops.”

“I could teach them how to play foursquare.”

“I’ll bring one as long as everyone who wants to play gets a turn. This is a fun camp, not a place where anyone needs to be competitive either in art or dance or music or recess.”

Alex gave me a disbelieving look. “But someone is always better than someone else.”

Astute kid. “True. But I know from experience that working together as a team raises the level of everyone’s abilities. That means including everyone. That means taking turns. If you all can promise me that—in writing—then I’ll bring one ball on Wednesday and we’ll see how it goes.”

“In writing?” Eloise, a freckled, pigtailed, scrawny girl of about eight repeated.

“Yeah. You know. Like when we sign that no-bullying contract at school,” Alex said.

A collective ah of understanding arose from the rest of the kids.

“You know what would be really cool?” a nine-year-old named LaShawn said. “If we got a really big piece of paper and everyone could sign it. Then we could tape it by the door so we’d all see it every time we went outside as a reminder.”

“Excellent idea. I’ll talk to Astrid and track down a piece of paper so we can do it before everyone leaves for the day.”

The kids were so pumped up and talking a mile a minute, we missed the first call to lunch.

Evidently Astrid had gotten herself a whistle too. She blew that sucker hard enough that we all stopped and faced her like a pack of trained dogs.

“Lunchtime. Find your lunch on the tables. Where you sit today won’t be where you sit every day, because we want everyone to get to know each other.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. Who came up with assigned seating? I hated that in elementary school. I was the shy kid and a slow eater, so no one talked to me and I was always the last one to leave the table. That was probably why I learned to shovel food in so fast I barely tasted it.

After I did a quick check of the playground to make sure no one was out here hiding, I headed toward the door. I froze when I heard her shout, “Lund, wait up.”

I stepped into the shadow of the building, away from the street side, and watched Rowan amble toward me.

She thrust a plastic grocery bag at me. “Here. I brought you lunch.”

Just like that, my resentment over her silence the last week vanished.

You’re an easy mark, Lund. You’re too soft when it comes to women.

No, I just had it bad for this one sweet woman, who took time out of her busy day to do something thoughtful for me.

“Is this a piece of humble pie?” I joked.

Rowan snorted. “Funny. I’m not making you eat crow either.”

“Good. While I appreciate you bringing me lunch, if it comes with the expectation of an apology, I’ll pass.” I paused and slipped my sunglasses on top of my head. “I’m not sorry for what I said. I meant every word.”

“I . . .” She turned her head away. “I overreacted, okay? I do that a lot. I hate that about myself.”

“Why would you hate anything about yourself?”

Her gaze finally met mine. “I miss signs, I misread signals and then I immediately become defensive because I realize too late that I screwed up.” She exhaled. “I’m sorry. My dismissal of you—of us—being whatever we are, hurt you. That wasn’t fair when you’ve been nothing short of amazing since we moved in. So I brought you lunch, hoping I could get a brief moment of your time to apologize.”

“Apology accepted.”

A beautiful smile lit up her face. “That fast?”

“Yep. It’s over, done with and we can move on.” I allowed a quick grin. “As the youngest kid in the family, I learned to forgive and forget in record time. Or I found myself ostracized by my siblings and cousins and there was nothing I hated worse than playing with myself.”

A devious look danced in her eyes. “I’ve heard guys like to do that all the time.”

I blushed. Damn Nordic skin. “I meant playing by myself.”

“Sure you did, Lund.”

Just like that, we were back to normal.

“Anyway, I can’t stay. I have to get back to work.”

I moved in until we were toe to toe, forcing her head back to meet my gaze. “Thank you for the food. Thank you for the apology. I was depressed I’d have to watch Chopped by myself again this week.”

“Right. You wouldn’t want to disappoint Calder. That’s become his favorite show because he gets to spend time with you.”

“I like hanging out with him. But this is one of those big signs you’re misreading, so let me help you out by taking the damn blinders off.”

She watched me warily.

“Admit we’re more than friends, Rowan.”

“We’re more than friends, Jensen.”

“Tell me you missed me, sweetheart.”

“I missed you, sweetheart.”

She wouldn’t be Rowan without some sarcasm. “Assure me that if we’re in a team meeting situation, you won’t be dismissive and act like you don’t know me.”

“If we’re in a team meeting situation, I won’t be dismissive and act like I don’t know you. However, for your part after a team meeting, there will be no hugs, no kiss-kiss on the cheek, no whispering in my ear, no patting my ass, no staring at my ass and no ‘Hey, babe, you left your shirt on my couch’ type of comments.”

“Fine. After a team meeting no hugs, no kiss-kiss on the cheek, no whispering in your ear, no patting your ass, but I’ll stare at your ass if I want to—ain’t nothin’ gonna change that—and no ‘Hey, babe, you left your shirt on my couch’ type of comments.” I smiled. “See? We can compromise and work this out.”

She drilled me in the chest with her index finger. “Also, when I’m trying to be serious you have to stop looking at me like you’re imagining me naked in your bed.”

“Not happening. And give me some credit, woman, I don’t only think of you naked in my bed. Sometimes I imagine you naked against the wall. Or naked in my shower. But my favorite is you naked on my kitchen table, all spread out in a lickable, fuckable feast.”

“Jensen Lund. You can’t tell me stuff like that.”

I lifted a brow. “You’d rather I acted on it?”

“Yes. I mean no. I mean yes.” She closed her eyes. “I suck at this.”