When I Need You (Need You #4)

“Fuck off, Ash. Give me a moment to bask.” Nolan leaned in. “You’re not screwing with me?”

“No. I look like a bum most of the time. I don’t know what kind of clothes I like because I’ve never thought about it. Annika’s always helped me, but it’s weird to ask her now that she’s married.” I shrugged. “Hiring a professional to help me is the smartest option. Especially if you trust him.”

A moment of silence passed. Both my older cousins assessed me.

Finally Ash said, “Who’s the woman?”

I blinked at him. “What?”

“Gotta be a woman you’re trying to impress if you’re willing to deal with Jacques, the personal shopper from hell.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but it’s not for a woman.” Not entirely.

“Why now?”

“I’ll be in the spotlight for the first time in over a year during training camp with interviews. I should take that part of the job seriously and look professional.”

“Speaking of jobs . . . why didn’t you ask either one of us for help at this LCCO summer camp?” Ash said.

“You even asked my jock brother—who’s never progressed from drawing hockey stick figures—to lend a hand,” Nolan said.

“Whoa. I didn’t ask Jax. When he registered Mimi on Monday and saw Lucy, he informed me that he was sticking around. Last thing I need is him harassing her, so I told him the only way he could be on the premises was if he joined the staff as the janitor.”

Nolan laughed. “Bet that went over well.” He paused. “But I don’t see you sporting a black eye for the suggestion.”

“That’s because Jaxson ‘Stonewall’ Lund is the custodial engineer and number-one gopher—a little U of M humor there—for Camp Step-Up.”

“Get out.”

“It was his only option. I won’t roll over for a fucking hockey player,” I sneered, “even if he is my cousin. My LCCO project, my rules.”

Silence.

Then Nolan pointed at the sliding glass door. “Is everyone hiding out there getting this on video?”

I looked at Ash and he shrugged. “What are you talking about, Nolan?”

“I’m being pranked, right? That’s the only explanation for the bizarre things that have transpired in the last ten minutes.”

“No prank. After I meet with your shopper I’ll give you competition for the most stylishly dressed Lund. As far as Jax . . . fun fact. He wields a mop as well as a hockey stick.” I smirked. “I dropped a urinal cake on the floor just to see if he’d take the shot.”

Ash burst out laughing in a way I hadn’t heard in a long time. “This is gonna be some fun tonight.”

“You guys haven’t told me where we’re going.” Nolan and Ash exchanged another look. I hated that secretive shit. “No strip clubs.”

“It’s not a strip club. It’s a pub.”

“No, it’s a sports bar,” Nolan said.

“Name a sports bar that has karaoke,” Ash demanded.

“Guys. No offense, but no matter what you call it, it doesn’t sound like a place I wanna go.”

“Tough shit. We’re going there because we own it.”

After a beat of silence, I laughed. “Am I being pranked now?”

Nolan shook his head. “Short version. During Jax’s drinking days, he invested in a bar with one of his puck bunnies. After he sobered up, he realized running a bar was no longer a retirement option. The partnership contract is a mess. But the bottom line is he can’t sell his half. His partner can’t sell hers. They’re stuck, so Ash and I are acting partners on Jax’s behalf. We’re trying to establish a decent working relationship with Simone, the partner. There is potential to turn the bar into something unique and profitable; we just don’t know what that is yet.”

“This puck bunny . . . ?”

“Is no dumb bunny,” Nolan said. “She’s been running the bar as is, and it’s her sole source of income. She sank all of her retirement funds into it. We’ve had the Lund legal team look into the contract and it’s nothing like they’ve ever seen. She was just as much a victim as Jax.”

“What’s this Simone chick like?”

“A ball-buster who carries a grudge against athletes.”

Great.

“Get moving, we wanna show off our soon-to-be hippest bar in the Cities.”

“Do we drink free since you own it?”

Ash snorted. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“While you’re showering, I’m going through your closet,” Nolan said. “You will wear the clothing I lay out for you.”

I stood. Best not to argue. But I sure as hell was scoring at least one free drink for my trouble tonight.

? ? ?


I emerged from my bedroom fifteen minutes later.

Both Ash and Nolan stared at me.

Then Ash peeled a fifty from his money clip and handed it over to Nolan.

“What was that about?”

“Ash is pissy because I nailed your style—Men’s Health meets Abercrombie—on the first try. He said you’d ignore my suggestion and wear a hoodie and jeans.”

“Like The Rocket needed more fuel. Jesus, Nolan, he looks a million times better. You’ve created a monster.”

I’d been skeptical of the “look” Nolan had put together for me. My navy suit pants with the subtle gray stripe, which had a slimmer cut—but nowhere near skinny jean territory because I’d never found a pair that’d fit over my thighs. Without the matching suit jacket, the pants could pass for jeans. Nolan had picked one of my shiny, skintight sleeveless workout shirts in electric blue. The bottom hung long enough to cover the waistband so I could skip the belt. I hated having my arms exposed, so I’d been relieved to slip on a collarless warm-up jacket in light gray cotton—more fashion than function since it didn’t have pockets or a hood—but it looked dressier than it was paired with the pants. I’d ditched the tasseled loafers Nolan had chosen in favor of my Sperry Top-Sider boots.

The result of all this fussing? I did look damn good. Most importantly, I looked like me, not like I was trying to fit into someone else’s skin—and clothes.

“Thanks for rearranging the packaging,” I said to Nolan. “I’ll grab a hat and we can go.”

“No hat, Jens.”

I faced him. “I have to wear a hat.”

“It’s a habit,” Nolan argued. “A hat doesn’t mask you as well as you think it does, especially if it’s sporting a football team’s logo.”

“Since my injury I only wear team gear when I’m required to. But I always wear a hat in public. Always.”

“When was the last time you were recognized?”

“Wednesday. I ran to the convenience store by the school to grab a package of Oreos for snack time and some chick snapped a pic of me. Later the Twitter caption said, ‘The Rocket can put his hand—or his whole face—in my cookie jar anytime he wants.’” I paused. “Oh, and I was recognized . . . because I wasn’t wearing a hat.”

“Give it up, Nolan,” Ash said. “We’ve been out with him enough times to know when he gets recognized, he gets mobbed and it’s not fun.”

Three knocks sounded on my door. My gaze winged from Ash to Nolan. “Did you invite Brady and Walker?”

“Uh. No.”

I opened the door.