Six

ROWAN

Seeing Jensen Lund at the U of M cheerleading tryouts should’ve been shock enough.

But knowing he’d gone to the trouble to disguise himself so his presence wouldn’t disrupt the athletes had really shocked me. And driven home the point that there was more to the man than I’d given him credit for.

I wouldn’t have known he was here if his cousin Dallas hadn’t told me. Somewhere along the line I’d forgotten that he and Dallas were related.

After the last group session ended, I packed up my belongings and said good-bye to the staff who were leaving for the ice arena to work with the hockey cheerleaders.

I scaled the bleacher steps and sat next to Jensen on the bench seat. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Dallas spilled the beans.”

“She was pretty nosy asking why you were here. I’m wondering too.”

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.

So . . . jeans and a T-shirt. But not like I tried too hard, wearing a hipster T-shirt with an emblem of an obscure band or brand of beer or clothing—which I had a drawer full of thanks to my hipster/stoner brother. I opted for a Justin Timberlake concert tee, black skinny jeans and no shoes. I’d just kick them off at the door anyway.

I’d called Calder before I left the apartment. But as usual, he’d been almost too busy to talk to me. I briefly spoke to my mom and she encouraged me to get some rest while I had the chance. I didn’t tell her about having dinner with Jensen, because it was no big deal.

I knocked on his door, bringing a bottle of wine and two of the turtle brownies I’d baked earlier in the week.

Jensen answered the door wearing the same disguise he’d had on earlier.

I lifted a brow. “Incognito in your own apartment? Is there something I should know, Lund?”

He groaned. “The restaurant was way behind with orders and I just got home. Come in, and pour yourself a glass of wine while I get changed. I set everything up on the dining room table.”

I’d never been farther into his apartment than his living room. As I turned the corner, I realized his apartment was laid out differently than ours. The dining room was a separate area instead of a part of the kitchen. Out the sliding glass door, a balcony ran the length of the kitchen and overlooked the pool. I opened the wine and noticed only one glass. Not that there was room for anything else on the table, as it appeared he’d ordered enough food from Emily’s Lebanese Deli for ten people.

When he said, “All right,” as he came up behind me, I jumped, sloshing wine all over my shirt and the floor.

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Got paper towels right here.” He tossed one on the floor and said, “See? No worries.”

“Jensen. Maybe this was a bad idea.”

Taking the glass of wine from my hand, he set it aside, moving in so close I couldn’t see the tops of my feet, which I’d been staring at intently. Then he said, “Rowan. Look at me.”

I tilted my head back and met his gaze. All I saw in his eyes was concern.

“What’s going on? Why are you so jumpy?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because this feels like a date, even when I know it’s not.”

His eyes searched mine and I couldn’t look away. “Total honesty between us, okay?”

I nodded.

“I find you hot as fuck. You’re smart, sexy and sassy and that pushes all the right buttons for me. But despite all that? There are a lot of things about you that make you exactly the type of woman I don’t date. So go change shirts and get back here to have dinner with me—as friends. Okay?”

“Okay.”

He grinned—that devastatingly wicked sexy grin that made female football fans’ panties damp. “However, I will restrain myself from slapping you on the ass as I would my other friends.”

“So noted.”

“Hurry back. I’m starving.”

In my bedroom I didn’t even fret over which shirt to wear; I just grabbed one. I returned to Jensen’s in under three minutes.

He’d already opened up all the containers and poured me another glass of wine. I noticed he’d gotten a beer for himself.

“Holy crap, Lund. Did you order the entire menu?”

He blushed. “I didn’t know what you like. So yeah, I think I got one of everything.” He pointed at the offerings. “Dolmathes—stuffed grape leaves—chicken kabob, kafta kabob, hummus, spinach pie, baba ghannuj, mistah bread, Lebanese chicken and rice, Lebanese green beans, lentils and rice, kibbi—kinda like meatloaf—and tabbouleh. I burn a lot of calories, so I need a lot of calories. Trust me. None of this will go to waste.”

“This looks great. I haven’t had Emily’s in ages. I used to eat there all the time when I was in college. Sadly, Calder isn’t a fan.”

“I wasn’t either at his age. Tastes change.”

“I try to expose him to different foods. It’s funny to watch parents who attempt to ‘develop’ their kids’ palate by feeding them oddball foods at a young age. Those same kids skip the veggie trays and devour chicken nuggets and fries at birthday parties when their parents aren’t around.”

“My brother and his wife are having their first kid in a few months. It’ll be interesting to see how they deal with stuff like that.”

As we ate, he talked about his family. Made me happy to hear he was close with his siblings as well as his cousins. For as different as Martin and I were personality-wise, we’d made a point to stay close and I counted him as one of my best friends.

“So did you have the idyllic life growing up in a Minnesota apple orchard? Or were you one of those who couldn’t wait to peel out as soon as you turned eighteen?”

I groaned. “Peel out? Seriously?”

He laughed. “I love puns and that was sort of a gimme.”

“True. But no more,” I warned.

“Damn. Next one lined up was to ask if you were the apple of your daddy’s eye.” He smirked. “Yeah, I know, I’m the guy who always reaches for the low-hanging fruit.”

I held up my hand. “Lund. Stop.”

“I’m done. Answer the question.”

“I had a great childhood. My parents are awesome. They never pushed me to do anything except my best. Sounds clichéd but it’s true. Dad inherited the farm from his grandfather and their orchards were certified organic—before it was cool to focus on organic farming methods. So we were raised left of center but we weren’t ostracized for it. My folks never expected me to stick around, but I wouldn’t be surprised if when Martin decides to settle down he goes back there and takes over for my dad.”

“Really?”

“It’s a perfect setup for him. He can grow his own and still take on web design clients because there’s not a lot to do in the winter months.” I shoved my plate aside and decided to start boxing up leftovers, when I noticed there weren’t any. The man had put away a serious amount of food and he was staring longingly at the brownies. “You want yours now?”

“Yes. Man, I love homemade brownies.” He brought the garbage can over, sweeping everything into the trash in one fell swoop.

Guess that was one way to clear a table.

Jensen returned with a gallon of whole milk and two glasses. “Want some?”

“Half a glass.”

“Then you should only get half a brownie. It’s sacrilegious not to enjoy them with milk.”

“Who told you that?”

“My grandpa Jensen. He lives in Sweden and the man is serious about his sweets. No coffee or tea with his fika or dessert. Just cold milk.”

I smiled and cut my brownie, giving him half. “Far be it from me to buck a family tradition.”

“Rowan, I was kidding—”

“No, I’m stuffed and I’ve had more than my fair share of brownies this week, so you enjoy.”

“Thanks.”

After I took a small bite and a swig of milk, I said, “You’re named after your grandpa?”

“Jensen is his last name. When he’s around, my family usually calls me Jens ’cause Gramps tends to answer if someone yells Jensen.”

“I imagine so.”

“This brownie is freakin’ fantastic.”

I poured myself more wine. “Thanks for buying dinner.”

“Happy to have your company tonight.” He frowned. “You don’t have to rush off?”

“No. I can stay a little longer.”

“Good. The couch is comfier than these chairs.”

I carried my glass and the wine bottle into the living room. Jensen pulled the back section apart so I didn’t have to climb over. “What is with you and this enormous couch? One might think you were overcompensating.” You did not just say that.

Jensen granted me a sexy smile as he vaulted over the edge one handed. “Bigger is always better, baby.”

I wouldn’t know about that.

“The last place I lived, the interior designer chose a dinky-ass couch and two spindly chairs for a living room four times the size of this entire apartment. Some ‘modern concept’ that I stupidly agreed to because what do I know about interior design?”

When he blushed and ducked his head after admitting his ineptitude . . . heaven help me. It was so sweet and charming and humble.

“The furniture was too small for a guy my size. I spent all my time in my bedroom because at least I could stretch out on my big bed and watch TV. I swore the next place I lived I’d pick out furniture I wanted. Comfortable stuff so I wouldn’t give a damn if beer or pizza got spilled on it. Who wants to live in a fucking museum? Not me. Not ever again.”

“I figured with your salary you could live anywhere you wanted, so that’s why I thought this wouldn’t be your main residence.”

“I hadn’t realized how much I hated where I was living until after my injury and it felt like the same sterile environment as a hospital. Then I started hanging out here with Axl and got to know Martin. I discovered I was much happier and more myself in this place, so I moved in when Axl shacked up with Annika.” He sighed. “Still haven’t gotten the dog I wanted.”

“What kind of dog?”

“Probably a mutt from the pound. A big mutt.”

Sipping my wine, I wondered if I could ask him what I wanted to know, if he’d meant his insistence of honesty between us.

“Don’t go quiet on me now, Coach. If you ask a question I don’t want to answer, I won’t.”

“You were born rich and grew up in a mansion. A lavish lifestyle has to be the norm for you. Is this an experiment in how the common people live?”

He laughed—it wasn’t a nice sound. “Wow. Okay. When I introduce you to my parents you’ll kick your own ass for the assumptions.”

That startled me. Why would he want me to meet his parents?

“My family is grateful I’m not in an assisted-living facility because I was permanently paralyzed.”

“I wasn’t trying to be a dick, Jensen.”

“I know. But that question is also why I don’t invite many of my teammates to hang out here. They’d all be like . . . ‘Man, why you slumming? Why’d you give up that sweet crib with the million-dollar river view for this dump?’ I also get asked why I even take a salary. I could just play football for free. It’s not like I need the money.”

My jaw dropped. “People say that shit to you?”

“All the time.”

“And then I had to go and ask an equally boneheaded question.” I groaned. “I’m sorry.”

“Par for the course. There is one way you can make it up to me—and no, dirty-minded girl, it doesn’t entail sexual favors—although I’d be a fool to say no if you offered me a couple.”

I rolled my eyes at his hopeful look. “Don’t go dragging me into your impure thoughts. So how can I make it up to you?”

“By answering an equally invasive question.”

I refilled my wineglass in preparation and Jensen laughed. I found myself smiling back. This was so much easier with him than I imagined. “Hit me with the question.”

His face took on an appealing earnestness when he asked, “What’s the deal with Calder’s dad?”

“Short version? He knocked me up senior year and acted like I’d gotten pregnant on purpose to trap him.”

“Trap him how?”

Here was the moment of truth. “He was a football player. Big Ten All-Conference trophy winner as defensive player of the year. Defensive tackle predicted to go high in the NFL draft. We’d been dating since sophomore year and he broke up with me at the start of our last semester of college. A month later I found out I was pregnant.”

“What did he do?”

“Said the baby wasn’t his. Accused me of wanting a free ride and warned I’d need a court-ordered paternity test to ever get a nickel out of him.”

“Jesus.”

I closed my eyes and forced out the words that still left a bitter taste in my mouth. “I was on the pill, I never missed a dose. But the free clinic I’d gotten the pills from had received a bad batch that had been recalled by the drug manufacturer. Only the clinic hadn’t gotten the memo about the recall. Big blowup in the national media because it happened at ten other clinics across the country. Anyway, I ended up with free prenatal medical care, free postnatal medical care, and pretty much free medical care for Calder and me at the clinic for as long as we live here.”

“While that’s the least they could’ve done for you, get back to the part of the story where the baby daddy justified abandoning you and his child.”

The wine loosened my tongue. Normally I wasn’t an oversharer, but here I was, spilling my guts to a guy who’d played on the same team as my ex.

“Rowan.”

I met his gaze.

“I promise anything you tell me doesn’t go beyond us.”

“I appreciate that. It’s just you . . .”

His eyes narrowed. “I know him, don’t I? Or at least I know who he is.”

I nodded.

“Does Calder know him?”

“No.” I ran my finger over the rim of the wineglass. “Martin has always been a big part of Calder’s life. So has my dad. Calder has healthy, loving, dependable relationships with them, so he’s not missing male role models.” I glanced up when Jensen remained quiet a beat too long. “What?”

His gaze searched my face. “I’m trying to come up with the least obnoxious way to phrase this question.”

“Just ask it.”

“Does the asswipe baby daddy pay child support?”

I shook my head.

“You know that’s total bullshit. Even if he isn’t involved in Calder’s life, his damn checkbook should be. You shouldn’t have to shoulder the entire financial burden of raising a child, Rowan. Not to mention everything else you have to do without help.”

Why did I like that he’d gotten so fired up on my behalf?

Because there is a pull toward this man you can’t deny.

When Jensen opened his mouth, I held up my hand. “Let me explain the timeline. I was five months pregnant during the NFL draft in April. We graduated in May and he moved to the city that’d drafted him. Calder was born in August during training camp. We had a standing order for a paternity test. When the results confirmed he’d fathered my baby, his lawyer offered me a onetime lump sum . . . with a stipulation.”

Jensen snorted.

“Accepting the money cleared him of all future parental responsibilities, with the exception if Calder was diagnosed with some heinous disease. Then he’d pay for half of the medical treatments.”

“How generous.”

“It is what it is. My stipulation was that he has zero contact with Calder.”

“He’s abided by that?”

“Completely. If down the road he grows a conscience and wants to establish a relationship with Calder, all contact goes through a mediator. He’ll never have unsupervised or random interactions with my son. It hasn’t been an issue so far.”

“Does he still have an NFL contract?”

“Yes. The two times his team played in Minnesota? I requested a bye week from the cheer squad and took Calder out of town.”

“Good for you.” Jensen gave me a soft smile. “I admire the fact that you don’t take shit from anyone.”

“Thanks.”

“So I remember you saying you were living at Martin’s temporarily while you looked for a house. Have you had any luck?”

Although grateful that he’d changed the subject—and hadn’t asked for my ex’s name—I couldn’t help but tease him for the question. I lightly tapped my foot against his. “You’re already sick of being my neighbor, Lund?”

His lean cheeks went red. “No! I just—”

“Jensen. I was kidding.”

He knocked his foot into mine. “See if I borrow a cup of sugar from you. I’ll head down and ask Lenka first.”

“Lenka,” I repeated. “The woman who lives in the last apartment before the exit to the stairs? Long black hair, pale skin and is rocking the vampire vibe?”

“You’ve met her?”

“Briefly. Why?”

“Did she offer you her oral expertise as a ‘Welcome to Snow Village’ gift?”

I choked on my wine. Then I studied him for a moment. “You’re not joking.”

“I wish I were.”

“I imagine you’re no stranger to offers like that.”

Jensen shrugged. “I imagine a smokin’-hot professional cheerleader isn’t a stranger to propositions either.”

“You’d be wrong. No guy is interested in landing fifth on my list of life priorities.”

“You have a list of ‘life priorities’?”

“Yes. Don’t you?” Doesn’t everyone? hung in the air unspoken.

He laughed. Hard. Then he said, “My life motto is ‘just wing it.’”

“Well, I’m not the type to wing it. My life revolves around lists.”

“So let me see if I can put your life list in order. Obviously Calder is first. Work is second. Training—cheer, et cetera is third. Dating is . . . fifth? What happened to slot four?”

“That’s for friends. It’s a short list so it deserves its own slot. Besides, I can’t even remember the last date I had.” It didn’t matter if Jensen knew this about me; we’d already established a friendship line.

“None of the meathead college guys who train at the athletic center have hit on you?” he said skeptically.

“Sure they have. I ignore them. If they get persistent, I impart my dating rule and they back off because they realize the futility of even trying.”

“What rule is that?”

“I don’t date athletes.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. It’s ironclad. No exceptions.”

He cocked his head. “Meaning . . . you don’t date college athletes. To avoid the potential conflict of teacher/student involvement?”

“No, I mean no athletes. Doesn’t matter if he’s an amateur, a pro, a competitor in the senior games or in the Paralympics. No athletes. Period.”

“Harsh stance, Ro.”

Ro. I liked his use of my family nickname as much as I’d liked him calling me Coach Michaels. I shrugged. “Once burned . . . one thousand times smarter.”

“While I understand your logic, and the egotistical part of me wants to demand a chance to change your mind about athletes—football players in particular—I’m not the guy to take up the challenge.” Jensen smiled and held out his beer bottle for a toast. “It’s a good thing we’re sticking to being friends, Coach.”

I touched my wineglass to his bottle. “Very good thing, Lund.”

“So . . . friend. Wanna watch a movie with me?”

“Only if it has lots of gratuitous violence and sex, an abundance of dirty words and explosions . . . and not a single animated character.”

Jensen snatched the remote. “Deadpool it is.”

•   •   •

Somehow, I ended up spending Saturday night hanging out with Jensen too.

Friday night after I learned he had excellent taste in movies, we swapped cell numbers. On Saturday afternoon when I’d gotten a break to check my phone, I saw two text messages from him.

JL: Movie nite part 2. Have you seen the latest Judd Apatow flick?

JL: Or Transformers?

I texted him back.

Me: You can find something better than those! I’ll be done around 8.

He responded immediately.

JL: Picky woman. Fine. Nothing cool. Just knock.

I didn’t show up until nine.

He asked me how tryouts went, as if he was genuinely interested.

This friendly neighbor thing with him . . . I liked it. A lot. He wasn’t an egomaniac—we didn’t discuss his football career. I didn’t talk incessantly about my son. We just jokingly bickered and had normal, adult conversation. I couldn’t even compare it to hanging out with Daisy. With Daisy I wasn’t distracted by things like massive flexing muscles, a deep, masculine laugh and dimples bracketing a perfect pair of full, smiling lips.

Yes, Jensen Lund was one hundred percent prime alpha male and one hundred thousand percent off-limits.

Although he’d slip in sexual innuendo given the chance, it caused me to roll my eyes, not feel creeped out like with some guys. He had no problem voicing his opinions or questioning mine. I liked his oddball sense of humor. Every once in a while I’d get a glimpse of his cockiness, but not as much as I’d expected from a man like him who literally had it all—and what he didn’t have he could buy.

My level of comfort with him was such that I conked out during the movie.

Rough-skinned fingers caressing my cheek roused me. I awoke to see Jensen stretched out a mere foot away—not on the opposite side of the couch where he’d started the evening.

His lips curved into a sinful smile. “I hated to wake you, but woman, you snore like a bulldog. There’s no way I could catch up on my beauty sleep with that racket, so I hafta toss your cute butt outta my crib.”

I snickered. “Catch up on your beauty sleep? I oughta do womankind a favor and keep you up all damn night, because the last thing you need is to look better than you do right now.” As soon as the words fell from my mouth, I chastised myself. I started to blame my lapse in judgment on sleep brain, but he reached out and gently placed his finger across my lips.

“Don’t.” His eyes had lost their teasing sparkle and burned with intensity. “Don’t take it back or explain it away. Let me have that one thing from you tonight.”

Not what I’d been expecting at all.

But Jensen didn’t back away. Instead he feathered his thumb across my lips. “You’d better go before I give you a reason to stay.”

He moved his hand when I started to speak. “Cocky much?”

“Only when it’s warranted. I’m very good at two things that begin with the letter F, Ro. The first is football. The second . . . doesn’t have a damn thing to do with being friends.” He bestowed that dimpled grin on me. “I’ll leave that one to your imagination.” He rolled across the couch and did the one-armed dismount thing. Then he offered me his hand.

“Pass.”

“Don’t be suspicious of my motives, friend.”

“You flatter yourself. My leg fell asleep and if I tried to stand right now I’d fall at your feet, and dude, I’d never live that one down.”

Jensen laughed. “I never know what the hell is gonna come out of that sassy, sexy mouth of yours. That’s why I had a great time hanging out with you this weekend, Coach.”

The pins-and-needles feeling had subsided, allowing me to scramble over the edge of the couch. “Back atcha, Lund.”

“So we’ll do it again sometime?”

“Sure.” I didn’t know what else to say so I left it at that.

Jensen stood in the doorway and watched as I unlocked the door to my apartment.

I turned and said, “Good night, Jens.”

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart. See you soon.”