Two

ROWAN

Jensen Lund didn’t have the first freakin’ clue who I was.

Not that I should’ve been surprised. He was exactly like every other high-achieving jock I’d dealt with: exuding an air of entitlement and ignoring the “little people” outside his sports stratosphere.

“Who are you?” Jensen demanded again.

I’d had a crap day and all I wanted was a few moments of peace while my son watched Netflix. I didn’t owe this man anything. Especially given his rude behavior.

“I’m none of your damn business. Don’t bother me again or I’ll call the building manager and report you.”

I slammed the door in his face.

It felt good. Maybe more dramatic than the situation called for, but good nonetheless.

Still . . . it did surprise me that The Rocket lived in this apartment complex.

Maybe he’s slumming while construction on his mansion is under way.

That had to be it.

Besides, my brother would’ve told me that the lauded Vikings tight end was his neighbor. Then again, my rocky past with another football player might’ve convinced Martin not to even mention it to me.

No matter. We’d probably never see each other, and that suited me just fine.

As a single mother with two jobs, I needed a mental reset at the end of my workday to switch from dealing with college students to becoming Mommy to my six-year-old son. I felt zero guilt for letting Calder watch cartoons for fifteen or twenty minutes while my transformation took place.

After I slipped on my wireless headphones and hit play on my cell phone, I opened the sliding glass doors and stepped onto the balcony. Spring had definitely arrived in Minneapolis. Buds on the trees. Tulips, crocus, hyacinth and peonies poking up from the ground. Grass greening up. Birds twittering. I drew in several deep breaths. Music. Fresh air. I could feel the tension seeping out from my pores.

I’d already started dinner when Calder finished his TV show and scrambled onto the barstool, setting his elbows on the breakfast bar. “What’s for supper?”

I finished chopping the onions and slid them into the pan. “Right now it’s just cooked hamburger so the options are endless. Spanish rice, goulash, tacos, beef and rice or sloppy joes.”

“Sloppy joes.”

“Excellent choice, Chef Michaels.”

He giggled.

That sound always made me smile. I glanced up, noticing for the first time what he had on. “Why are you wearing that?”

He shrugged. “I was playing ninja-samurai.”

“With who? Alicia?” Alicia worked for me as a nanny during the week, picking Calder up from school and staying with him until I got home.

“Didja know these pants make a cool flapping noise when I run really fast?”

“I imagine so, but where were you running really fast?”

A beat of silence. Then he answered, “Uh, around.”

“Around where?” This apartment was much smaller than our last one and there wasn’t room to run.

When my son avoided my eyes, I knew something was up. “Calder Adam Michaels. Tell me where you were. Right now.”

His words rushed out. “Alicia was on her phone again and I was bored so I went out into the hallway and ran the whole thing like three times. Then the last time this giant came around the corner and I ran into him with my head—bam!—right in his pee-shooter. He yelled a bunch of grown-up words and closed his eyes real tight. So I ran to the end of the hall and hid behind the door to the outside but he didn’t find me so I musta hid real good, huh?”

There were so many, many, many things wrong with this scenario I didn’t know where to start.

Stay calm. Do not yell.

“Did Alicia know you were gone?”

Calder shook his head.

All sorts of worst-case scenarios ran through my head, and I fought back my panic. How could I let it slide that she’d ignored Calder—he’d snuck out and she hadn’t noticed?—when her only job was to watch him?

“Oh, and the guy called me a girl too,” Calder added.

“What do you mean he called you a girl? I thought you ran and hid?”

“Umm, after I started to get away from him he said, ‘Hey little girl’ and I turned to tell him that I wasn’t a girl.”

“What did this guy look like?”

“A giant. With lots of muscles.”

“Light hair? Dark hair?”

“Light hair. Long, kinda like mine.”

No wonder Jensen Lund had knocked on my door looking so pissed off. “Did you apologize?”

Calder lowered his chin. “I forgot.”

“Did you happen to see where he lives?”

“Right across the hall.”

“First thing after supper you’re going to apologize to him.”

“Okay.”

“Second thing: Is being bored an excuse to break my house rules?”

His head dipped again. “No.”

“We’ve lived in this apartment building a week, Calder. Everyone is a stranger. You know better than to go anywhere by yourself.”

He glanced up at me, his pale brown eyes full of remorse. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“We’ll figure out your consequences after we eat. The last question . . .” I paused. “Since when do you call your penis a pee-shooter?”

“Uncle Martin said to call it a pee-shooter when I’m a little dude because all it’s good for is shooting pee. He said when I’m a big dude, I can call it a love gun.”

Jesus, Martin, really? You had to break it down that much for your nephew? “In our house, it is not called a pee-shooter.”

Calder’s eyes took on a defiant glint. “Uncle Martin said you’d say that. He told me that since I have one—and you don’t—I should get to call it whatever I want.”

Seriously. Martin had to have been high during that conversation. But now wasn’t the time to argue terminology with a hungry six-year-old. “We’ll talk later.” I pointed at the hallway. “Wash your hands.”

Sagging against the counter, I considered my options with the Alicia situation. Did I call her now or wait until I’d calmed down? Would I be calmer before or after I marched my son across the hall to face Jensen Lund?

I wasn’t looking forward to that.

•   •   •

Calder and I both dragged our feet until we reached Jensen’s door. I knocked briskly four times.

A minute later the door swung open.

He seemed as shocked to see us as I was to see him. Half-naked. He’d answered the door bare-chested, in just a pair of athletic shorts.

Holy crap.

Every day I worked with athletes and their honed physiques, but this man’s upper body was on a whole different level of perfection. Every inch smoothly sculpted from hours of repetition to get the maximum benefit of those massive muscles.

Thankfully he hadn’t noticed me staring slack-jawed at his killer chest. He was too busy eyeing Calder and placing one knee over the other as protection from another groin shot.

Calder blurted out, “I’m sorry that I ran into your pee-shooter and ran away.”

Jensen’s focus moved to me and his eyes narrowed. “Slamming shit without explanation or apology must be a family trait.”

I raised my chin. “I tend to get annoyed when a stranger knocks on my door demanding to know who I am.”

“Your door?” His gaze flicked to our apartment then back to me. “When I left a little over two weeks ago, Martin and Verily lived across from me.”

“I’m subleasing their place.”

“Does Bob know?”

“Bob the apartment complex manager? Yes, he knows.”

He frowned. “Why didn’t Martin tell me he planned to move out?”

“Martin hates saying good-bye. It’s a thing with him. He’s always been like that.”

“How do you know Martin so well?”

“He’s my brother.”

“Seems there’s a lot I didn’t know about Martin.” He took his hands off his hips and scrubbed them over his face before running a hand through his hair.

I watched the flex of his biceps and triceps. Talk about arm porn.

Knock it off, Rowan.

But my gaze dipped to that gorgeous eight-pack. I swallowed a sigh and a tiny puddle of drool that’d formed in my mouth.

“Can we come in?” my snoopy son asked.

Jensen absentmindedly stepped back to allow us access.

A small entryway funneled into the living area, which was completely filled with the biggest couch I’d ever seen.

“This is totally cool,” Calder exclaimed. “Do you ever jump on it like a trampoline?”

I’d bet Jensen has tested the bounce factor of every piece of this couch multiple times, but not in the same way Calder was thinking, I thought snarkily.

When I glanced up and caught Jensen looking at me, I swore he’d just read my mind.

The damn man smirked at me. He snatched a wadded-up T-shirt off the back of the couch and slipped it on—shame, that—then spoke to Calder. “A tall guy like me would hit the ceiling on the first bounce, so no jumping. You can hop over, though.”

“Cool!” Calder whooped and scaled over the back of the couch like the little monkey he was.

I’d have no problem getting a leg over . . . if I hadn’t been wearing a dress.

Right after Calder had performed a couple of exuberant bounces, Jensen pulled the back section out, creating a crack wide enough that I could slip through.

“Thanks.” As soon as my butt connected with the cushions, the couch sucked me in like I was being swallowed by a marshmallow.

Jensen flopped closer to me than I expected. He thrust out his hand. “Let’s start over, okay? Jensen Lund.”

Did I tell him I knew who he was because he’d walked past me every Sunday during football season for the past four years?

I shook his hand. “Rowan Michaels. That’s my son, Calder Michaels.”

Calder had already stretched out on his belly, facing away from the gigantic TV, set on a sports channel.

“So what’s going on with Martin?” he asked. “He and Verily didn’t break up, did they?”

“No. They had a chance to go backpacking through Europe with friends, so they took off.”

“How long will they be gone?”

“Four months, maybe more. My lease was up on my apartment, so we’re subletting. It gives them a place to come back to and me more time in the housing search.”

“It’s just you and Calder living over there?”

“Yes.”

“Not to be a dick, but it sucks that Martin is gone. I’m gonna miss him. We hung out all the time.”

I frowned. “You did?”

“Yeah. Why? He didn’t mention me?”

I shook my head. “Did Martin ever talk about me?”

Jensen was quiet for a moment. “Actually, no. I wonder why that is?”

I knew exactly why—it was my little brother’s (misguided) way of protecting me. “Martin keeps his life compartmentalized. Keeping his clients separate from his time spent snowboarding. Keeping his family separate from his friends. He hangs out with Calder at least every other week and we get together with our folks probably once a month—more if they’re not in season.”

“Wait.” Jensen held up his hand. “This is going a little fast for me. First of all . . . Martin has a job? Besides snowboarding?”

“Of course he has a job. He’s a freelance website designer.” I paused. “See what I mean about him keeping things compartmentalized? You didn’t even know what he does to earn a living.”

“Makes me wonder what compartment he put me in.”

“It depends on what you do when you’re with him.”

“We play video games, watch TV, play cards, drink beer.” He looked at Calder and dropped his voice. “That’s all I can get buzzed on because of . . . testing for my job.”

Martin was a pothead. He never hid it from me or our parents. It didn’t make me naive to call him a “responsible” stoner, but he’d finished college. He had a job and supported himself. He didn’t cause problems. He lived his life the way he wanted. He was a good person, and that said more to me about who he was than what vice he chose to indulge in. “My life is so hectic that not even . . . herbs mellow me out.”

Jensen laughed.

Damn. He had a great laugh.

I scooted to the edge of the couch. “Sorry your gaming buddy won’t be around.”

His gaze intently roamed my face. “You look really familiar to me. I thought you did earlier before you slammed the door in my face, but it’s probably the family resemblance.”

Or maybe I look familiar because we have met . . . oh, at least six times.

Yeah, my self-esteem took a knee. Not that I had the ego some of the cheerleaders on the squad did, but I knew I rocked this thirty-year-old body. I glanced over at my son, who was practicing his break dancing arm movements as he stared at the ceiling. I nudged his foot. “Time to go.” I gave Jensen a totally fake smile. “It’s a school night.”

Calder crawled over the edge of the couch. I propelled myself upright and moved to stand behind him.

“Thanks for apologizing,” Jensen said to Calder. “Takes guts to admit you were wrong.”

I smoothed the static from Calder’s long curls when he ducked his head.

Jensen looked at me. “I’m glad to hear Martin’s off on an adventure and he’ll be back at some point.”

“Since someone else had an adventure today”—I playfully tugged on Calder’s hair—“I still have to call my nanny and find out why she wasn’t aware that Calder had left the apartment and was running unattended in the halls.”

“I’d wondered about that.”

“She’s always been responsible and reliable even when I have to work late.” Had I said that to convince him? Or myself?

He shrugged. “Everyone screws up sometimes. No harm, no foul. I’d give her another chance because I bet it won’t happen again.” He launched himself over the edge of the couch—one-handed like he was dismounting from a pommel horse.

God. Why did jocks always have to show off their athletic prowess? I looked at Jensen, expecting to see smugness on his face because he knew he’d executed a hot and sexy move and he also knew I’d watched him do it.

But he’d focused on Calder. “I have no problem tattling on you to your mom, ninja-boy, if I see you running amok in the hallway again.”

Jensen was joking—and yet not—and he came across completely charming about it. “I’d appreciate it. My schedule is erratic so I’m not always home from work at decent hours.”

“Where do you work?”

“At the U of M.”

“Hey. I went to school there.”

I know. So did I. I even cheered for you.

Calder yawned and nestled the side of his face against my stomach. “I’m tired.”

Jensen sidestepped us and opened the door. “It was great meeting you, Rowan. And Calder.”

I said, “Same. See you around, neighbor.”