Four

ROWAN

Calder woke up in a grumpy mood. Normally he was a sweet, easygoing kid so I wasn’t sure if he just didn’t get enough sleep or if he dreaded something at school. When I asked him about it, he mumbled into his cereal so I let it go.

I dropped him off at school—thank heaven for all-day kindergarten—and then backtracked to the University of Minnesota campus. This weekend we had tryouts for next year’s squads, and last year we’d had a thousand students try out for eighty spots. The dance routine was the same as last year’s; we changed it every other year. That one small thing made the tryout process easier—the current cheerleaders were familiar with the routine so they could help teach it to newcomers.

I helped with the choreography of the dances and cheers, but mainly I served as an athletic trainer, advisor and coach to the stunt groups. In middle school, I’d spent three years as part of competitive club cheer group, four years in high school as part of a traveling competitive cheer squad, and four years on the U of M elite all-girl competitive cheer squad. After discovering my pregnancy the last semester of my senior year, I had to quit the squad.

I’d been lucky to get hired by the U of M athletic department as a trainer after my college graduation. The other benefit of my job was the onsite day care during the school year.

As challenging as training was, I missed the actual cheering at a sporting event. Dante, my former mentor, had scored a job working for the Vikings, and he suggested I try out for the Vikings cheerleaders.

Right. Those women weren’t “real” cheerleaders. They were models. Probably empty-headed models, or dancers whose real job involved nightly pole work and lap dances. The supposed “pro” team didn’t even do stunts! What kind of a cheer squad couldn’t at least throw up a liberty a couple of times a game?

Dante checked my attitude. He reminded me of how hard cheerleaders had worked to overcome stereotypes and the dismissive attitude that we weren’t considered “real” athletes. I’d needed to get knocked down a peg. My driving purpose with the collegiate athletic department was to ensure that all athletes—male and female—received equal training opportunities.

Spending eight or more hours in the gym every day demanded that I keep up with my students on a physical level. I’d stayed fit during my pregnancy, and within four months of Calder’s birth I’d returned to my prepregnancy body. Even after Dante convinced me to attend an open practice session at the Vikings cheerleading camp, I doubted the organization wanted someone like me—a single mother with a one-year-old baby—to represent them.

Had I ever been happy to be proven wrong.

The cheerleader roster included women from age nineteen to thirty-four. From all walks of life—students, hairstylists, teachers, homemakers, nurses, personal trainers—all women who’d spent their lives cheering or dancing or both and hadn’t been ready to give it up. Were the women beautiful? Absolutely. But that almost seemed to be a secondary concern; the cheerleaders’ fitness mattered above all else.

I’d never been as nervous as I was the day I showed up for the first open practice. So many hopefuls had applied that they’d had to split it into five sessions of one hundred women in each session. I’d been sitting by myself, practically in the corner, when a brash blonde plopped herself down beside me and struck up a conversation. That turned out to be the best thing that had happened to me. Daisy and I became fast friends, and I wouldn’t know what to do without her in my life.

We both made it past the preliminaries and the semifinals into the final round. We squeed appropriately when we both were selected as Vikings cheerleaders and celebrated by polishing off a hundred-dollar bottle of wine Daisy had been saving for a special occasion.

Although I was confident in my qualifications to cheer and dance, part of me couldn’t help but wonder if I’d been chosen partially because I was a single mother and it created interesting PR. But I hadn’t cared then—or now. I was proud to be a Vikings cheerleader.

Auditions were held every year, and being on the squad the previous year didn’t guarantee a spot. I had a sense of accomplishment that I was about to start my fifth year on the team. Besides Marsai, who had an extra season on us, Daisy and I had been there the longest. I’d know in my gut when it was time to hang up my pompoms, but I felt I had a couple more seasons in me.

Today I had a meeting with Heather, the head of the cheerleading staff. I’d scheduled a longer lunch break so I could drive to the Vikings corporate offices and training center in Winter Park. While we were a few months away from the unveiling of the new U.S. Bank stadium, the excitement over the near completion of the billion-dollar facility was palpable everywhere.

With this expanded stadium, the cheerleaders were given a new set of expectations. To be honest, the pay to cheer for games is crap—none of us do it for the money and there’s no such thing as a full-time cheerleader. The Vikings organization needed the cheerleaders to mingle in the skyboxes during the games, providing a more personal touch to those who could afford to shell out hundreds of thousands of dollars for the prized box seats. So in addition to the fifty cheerleaders on the field, they’d auditioned and hired fifty more women as “ambassadors” meaning they paraded around in uniforms similar to ours, chatting with fans and corporate sponsors while we sweated our asses off, dancing and cheering for all four quarters.

Heather hadn’t decided whether these new ambassadors would have to learn all our dance routines and cheers, and she wanted feedback from the half dozen of us who’d been cheering the longest. Since the Vikings big bosses were also in the same offices, I’d had to change out of my usual athletic clothing into a business suit and heels. I rarely wore makeup to my day job, so I’d had to put on my game-day face and hairstyle.

My smart-ass students whistled at me as I tried to duck out of the gym undetected.

On the way to the offices I downed a protein shake and an apple. I never counted on a free lunch.

The meeting wasn’t very productive. All six of the cheerleaders were opposed to bringing an additional fifty women into our practices. The corporate bosses wanted it to appear as if the ambassadors had just wandered off the field and were real cheerleaders. Even Heather had bristled at that. But she’d been prepared for it—she handed the CFO’s assistant the revised costs for the ambassador program. Daisy and I exchanged a look, doubtful they were willing to fork out more money. But football coaches didn’t work for free; why would they expect cheerleading coaches to work additional hours without additional pay?

The meeting ended shortly after that.

Daisy and I lingered in the main entrance. Unlike me, Daisy didn’t have to change into business clothes for this meeting since she worked in the actuarial department of Wells Fargo Bank and lived in a suit and heels.

I said, “Well, that was a cluster.”

“I suspected it might be.”

“I overheard Rebecca say the ambassadors have to deliver food. I’ve done my time serving nachos and buffalo wings to half-drunk sports fans, thank you very much.”

“I never served food. Cocktails for a while.” Daisy lowered her voice. “Until I figured out stripping paid a helluva lot more.”

I laughed. Daisy’s stripper days were far behind her, but they had paid for her MBA—not something she freely shared.

“You mentioned something weird happening last night,” she said.

Before I answered, loud male voices echoed to us. A voice I recognized. My face broke into a huge smile. I hadn’t seen Dante in three weeks; he’d been off on official team business. My smile faded when I saw who accompanied him.

Jensen Lund.

Daisy said, “Dante’s moving up if he’s working with The Rocket.”

I kept my cool even when Dante picked me up in a bear hug and spun me around.

“Heya, gorgeous! I was just thinking about you. I’d planned on popping in to the U of M training center and seeing what’s what.”

“Same old grind. We’re down to two weeks before the seniors’ graduation, so anyone in particular in that class you want to wish well, you’d better get in there next week.”

“I’ll do that.” Dante’s gaze winged between me and Daisy. He grinned at her. “Daisy, baby, when you gonna wise up and go out with me?”

“Never.” She patted his smooth face. “But it is precious how you just keep trying.”

“I will catch you in a weak moment.” He remembered he wasn’t alone. “Ladies, you know Jensen Lund.”

I’d yet to meet Jensen’s gaze—although I’d felt his boring into me, as he tried to figure out why I was here.

“Jensen, I’m sure you recognize two of the Vikings’ finest cheerleaders.”

That was when I looked at Mr. Oblivious.

His jaw tightened and he gritted out, “You’re joking, right?”

Dante seemed confused. “Why would I joke about that?”

I locked my gaze on Jensen’s as I spoke to Dante. “Because then The Rocket would have to admit that he doesn’t pay attention to anything as trivial as cheerleaders when he takes the field, isn’t that right?” I broke eye contact and looked at Dante. “He’s run past me . . . a dozen times each season. We’ve attended the same corporate events every year since he was drafted. Oh and here’s another irony . . . I also cheered for him at the U of M. So imagine how awkward it was for me last night when he introduced himself as if we’d never met.”

Silence.

Daisy stepped between us and addressed Dante. “I’d suggest in addition to scheduling physical therapy you make an appointment to get The Rocket’s eyes examined.” She took my elbow and led me away.

She didn’t release me even when we reached the parking lot. “Daisy—”

“Not a word until we’re inside my car.”

Great.

Daisy’s “car” was an enormous Lincoln Navigator. I fought the tight fit of my pencil skirt as I clambered into the passenger seat.

“Buckle up. We’re getting out of here so Dante doesn’t get the bright idea of running interference between you two.”

“It’s not like Lund plans to chase me down.”

She peeled out and pulled into a Caribou Coffee drive-thru. We were quiet until we had our drinks—iced coffee with a splash of cream and a shot of sugar-free caramel syrup—and she’d parked. Immediately she faced me. “Please tell me meeting Jensen Lund was the weird thing that happened to you.”

“Of course it was.”

“Spill the deets.”

I told her all of it.

“Wait. I thought Axl Hammerquist lived across the hall from Martin.”

“He did.” I sucked down a big sip of coffee. “But I guess Axl moved out last year when he married Jensen Lund’s sister.”

“I remember reading about that wedding. It was like the social event of last summer.”

For me, reading the paper took a backseat to reading books to Calder. “If you say so. At first I thought Martin hadn’t mentioned it because of my aversion to football players. But now, I suspect he didn’t say anything because Lund doesn’t really live there. It’s probably his place for hookups instead of at his bajillion-dollar mansion.”

“Maybe. But his ego’s really so huge he doesn’t notice the people who’ve been on the sidelines his college and pro career?”

“Apparently.”

Daisy tapped her icy-pink fingernails on the side of her drink cup. “So what are you going to do?”

“About what? If I happen to run into him in the hallway I’ll be polite. I don’t want Martin to have to deal with ‘why is your sister such a bitch?’ questions just because it stung my ego that Jensen Lund doesn’t know me.”

“It goes beyond ego, Rowan. At least yours anyway.”

I shrugged.

“How tight is Dante with him?”

“No idea. Dante doesn’t discuss any of the players he works with, which is smart. Some trainers are eager to make themselves look important by dropping names, then they’re surprised when those clients fire them for being a blabbermouth. Although it is different with Dante—all the guys he works with on the team are somewhat famous.”

“I can’t imagine that Dante isn’t ripping The Rocket a new one right now.”

“Hopefully Dante won’t chew out a franchise player and put his job in jeopardy. I really hope he doesn’t stop by the training center today because I’m done talking about this.”

Daisy raised her hand. “Say no more.” She dropped me off at my car and I headed back to work.

Thankfully the rest of my afternoon was drama free—or as drama free as it can be when dealing with eighty members of the spirit squads.

•   •   •

My son was in a much better mood when I arrived home.

Alicia provided a detailed breakdown of how they’d spent their after-school hours. I appreciated her promise that yesterday’s events were a onetime error that wouldn’t happen again.

After finishing supper, Calder and I watched Dancing with the Stars because my boy loved to dance. Although I’d attended dance classes from age four until I switched to club cheerleading at age twelve, when it came to choosing an activity for my son, I’d enrolled him in kendo—the Japanese sword discipline similar to fencing—instead of dancing. Maybe I had picked it because it was macho, but I remembered how cruel other boys at school could be when they discovered a male classmate studied dance.

Six months into his kendo classes, Calder had begged to join jujitsu. Since jujitsu had no formal katas, students were allowed to create their own. Seeing Calder performing a kata like a ballet made me realize I shouldn’t force him onto a path he didn’t want to take. So he quit both martial arts programs but kept the gi and the hakama. I enrolled him at a dance studio with a separate track for boys, and the kid had been in heaven ever since.

After his bath, we read the books he’d chosen during library day. I knew our nightly reading time would change next year in first grade when he could read by himself, so I cherished this time with my sweet boy.

“Mommy, what made you happy today?”

I kissed the top of his head, breathing in the scent of the baby shampoo I still used. “This. Snuggled up and seeing your excellent choices in books.” I smoothed his hair from his eyes when he tilted his head back to look at me. “What made you happy today?”

“Chocolate milk at lunchtime.”

I laughed. “You do love having a chocolate milk mustache. Was there something else?”

His forehead wrinkled so adorably I just had to kiss it.

“Well . . . we got to play with the big parachute in gym. Don’t you think it’d be awesome to jump out of an airplane with a parachute?”

“Not awesome at all. I’d never do anything like that.”

“Someday I’m gonna do it. I’ll spin and do backflips in the air over and over until I’m dizzy and float down through the clouds like a rainbow snowflake.”

“Hmm. When you put it that way, I might consider it. When you’re a grown man of thirty. All right, future daredevil parachutist, let’s get you tucked in.”

“Do I have to go to bed? Can’t I stay up a little longer?”

“Nope. Tomorrow’s your busy day. You’ve gotta be rested up because Grammy and Pop-pop are picking you up for the weekend, remember?”

I clicked on his nightlight and kissed his forehead. “Good night, sweetheart. I love you.”

“Love you too, Mommy.”

The one thing that I’d been blessed with was that Calder had been a good sleeper from the first day I’d brought him home from the hospital. Sure, he’d had his fussy times, but nothing like the horror stories I’d heard from other moms.

I cracked my laptop to double-check the tryout schedule. Working weekends was part of the gig in college athletics, but luckily, it wasn’t every weekend. I’d just settled in when I heard three soft raps on my door.

Gee. I wonder who that could be.

He’d knocked softly enough that I could ignore it. He had no way of knowing that I hadn’t already crawled in bed for the night—I glanced at the time on my computer—at nine o’clock.

That was almost worse, him believing I went to bed the same time as my six-year-old son. I crossed to the door to peer through the peephole. Even the fisheye view didn’t distort his attractiveness.

Why was he here? I opened the door and held my finger to my lips. “Calder is asleep.”

“That’s why I waited. I thought it’d be better if we talked alone.”

“Talked about what?”

For a moment, his confidence faltered. His gaze scoured my face as if he were trying to commit every feature to memory.

I bristled at his scrutiny. “What did you want to talk about, Lund?”

His sheepish smile brought out his dimples.

In addition to his slamming body and his stunning looks, he had darling dimples? So not freakin’ fair.

“Maybe talk was a bad word choice. I want to apologize”—he reached behind his back and pulled out a stuffed animal—“for being the world’s biggest jackass.”

He held out a donkey with its head cranked around to stare balefully at the word EM-BARE-ASSED spelled out across its ample backside.

I laughed—I couldn’t help it. This was so not what I’d expected from him.

Jensen took a step closer, dangling the donkey as a peace offering. “Rowan. I’m sorry.”

A door slammed down the hallway. I preferred our conversation wasn’t grist to fuel the Snow Village gossip mill, so I grabbed his wrist and said, “Come in, but keep your voice down.”

“Thank you.”

After shutting the door, I turned to see him settling on the couch.

That was presumptuous. Or was it a habit from when Martin lived here?

Jensen placed the donkey on the coffee table.

“Where did you find that?”

“There’s an All Apologies store in Roseville. Anything you need to apologize for, or ask forgiveness for, they have something to fit the occasion.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“I hadn’t either but it popped up on my Google search. So I checked it out.”

“What else did you find besides a stuffed jackass?”

He leaned closer, resting his forearms on his knees. “All sorts of shit I couldn’t believe. Like a box of chocolates with a card that said, ‘Sorry I fucked your sister.’”

“Get. Out.”

“Swear to god that’s what it said.” He paused. “As I was debating whether to take a picture of it, the clerk came over to warn me that was the last one and they had a hard time keeping that item in stock.”

I laughed. Then I clapped my hand over my mouth because it shouldn’t be funny.

Jensen smiled. “I know, right? The place was a freakin’ trainwreck but I couldn’t look away. But that wasn’t even the worst thing they had that a guy needed to offer an apology for.”

“Now you have to tell me what could possibly be worse—yet somehow a man believes is actually forgivable.”

“A card that said, ‘You lured me in from the moment we met . . .’ on the front and then the inside read, ‘and I’m sorry I missed the birth of our child while I was on my annual fishing trip with the guys.’”

“That is the worst. But given this is Minnesota, I imagine they have a hard time keeping that one in stock too.”

“Yep. Anyway, the store had that one”—he pointed to the stuffed animal—“and another one that said ‘I’m a jackass’ every time you pulled the string. I actually liked that one better, since it was the same orange color as the Denver Donkeys uniforms, but I figured it wouldn’t be cool if Calder got a hold of it.”

That was surprisingly thoughtful. “I appreciate that.”

“It is a totally off-the-hoof”—he grinned—“apology gift.”

“You are punny, Lund. So riddle me this: Are you here only because Dante demanded you apologize to me?”

“He did tear into me—no less than I deserved—but I am here by my own choice to make things right.” He paused and angled closer. “Look. I tend to be singularly focused. I’ve pissed off almost everyone I’m close to at one time or another because of that trait.”

I studied his face—for what, I don’t know. Sarcasm or smugness maybe. But he wore a look of resignation. “That’s a lame excuse.”

“It wasn’t meant to be an excuse. And feel free to call bullshit on it, but it was more along the lines of an explanation.”

I honestly wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

“Without coming across as any more of a self-involved dick than you already believe me to be, it wasn’t anything personal. I don’t know the names or the faces of any of the cheerleaders.” His eyes, such a deep blue, searched mine. “You are a stunningly beautiful woman, Rowan. In any other context besides football, I would’ve been all over you, demanding your name and number.”

“Do I give myself a high five for receiving the mother of all compliments from The Rocket?”

Jensen scowled. “Don’t call me that. It’s a media nickname that has nothing to do with the guy sitting here before you now.”

At least he didn’t refer to himself in third person. “Understood. And I appreciate you coming all the way over here and clearing the air.”

“All the way over here? Was that sarcastic since I live across the hall?”

Here was a moment of truth. “You really live in Snow Village full-time?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you’re a professional football player and a Lund heir, and this place is way beneath your pay grade.”

Another scowl.

Why did I find his mouth so interesting? I forced myself to focus on the words coming out of it.

“You thought I was using this place as my secret love nest or something?” He snorted. “Saw the gigantic couch and assumed?”

That annoyed me. “I don’t have to assume anything when it comes to football players, Lund. At one time or another they’re all players.”

His eyes narrowed on me. “Odd that you don’t have a high opinion of my colleagues when you’re on the sidelines cheering for us.”

“Maybe I don’t have a high opinion for that exact reason. I know what goes on when that door to the luxury hotel suite closes after the game.”

“That’s not fair. How would you react if I said all cheerleaders are empty-headed mean girls?”

I opened my mouth to argue. But I realized he had a point. “Fine. Not all football players are that way.”

“Thank you. And how did we end up arguing when my whole reason for coming over here was to apologize and make it easier for us to be neighbors?”

“Maybe because I’m a little argumentative.”

“So you aren’t anything like Martin.”

“Funny. You needn’t worry I’ll egg your door for not recognizing me.”

“It’d be worse punishment if you sent your son careening down the hallway to head-butt me in the nuts again,” he teased.

I smiled at him. “I am sorry about that.”

“He had no idea I was even there. With that intense focus the kid would be a great tackle.”

“Calder is six. It’s a little early to be fitting him with shoulder pads, a helmet and instilling that aggressive attitude. Besides, he’s a dancer. That’s what he loves.”

Jensen studied me and I braced myself for the “dancing is for pussies” response. So he surprised me when he said, “You ever bring him to the games with you?”

“It’s not like I could keep an eye on him. We’re busy an hour before and after the game, not to mention we’re in constant movement during the three hours we’re on the field.”

“Get someone to take him. Like Martin. Cheerleaders get guest passes for every game, right?”

“Uh, no. Not even one.”

“Seriously? That’s not fair.”

I lifted a brow. “You really don’t want me to go off on a tangent about the unfairness of that, do you?”

He held up his hands. “Nope. Let’s change the subject.”

And he was scrutinizing me again. “What?”

“Are you sure you’re not a gamer?”

“I’ve never had time to play. Martin has promised to show Calder the ropes when he’s older so he isn’t video game illiterate.”

“Lucky for Calder. Martin constantly kicks my ass. The only game he can’t beat me at is Madden.”

“You weren’t bullshitting me about hanging out with Martin all the time.”

“When I took over Axl’s place, I was in recovery mode from surgeries and had a shit ton of free time. Verily was gone a lot competing, so we ended up hanging out.”

“Now it makes sense why he wasn’t calling me three times a day complaining of boredom.”

“You never visited him here?”

“He always had bongs sitting out, or his rolling station. I don’t get the appeal, but this is—was—Martin’s sanctuary. Asking him to hide all that . . . not cool. It was easier for him to come to our place.”

“What did they do with all of their stuff?”

“It’s in storage.” I didn’t tell Jensen that Martin had opted for the six-month plan with the option to renew for a year. Part of me wondered if he planned on coming back. “I just realized that I told you why I was at the Vikings corporate offices today, but you didn’t tell me why you were there. Training camp doesn’t start for a while.”

He reset the professional distance between us. “They wanted a status update on my injury since I spent a week in Florida with the doctor’s team. Everything is still inconclusive and will continue to be until training camp.” He stood. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time.”

“It’s okay. I was just going over last-minute schedule updates.”

“For what?”

“Collegiate cheerleading tryouts are this weekend. I’m coordinating the stunt groups, which can be a challenge if we’re out of balance on the number of bases and side bases to flyers, not to mention rotating guys in for the coed squad. It’s two and a half days of cheer drama.”

“That long?”

“It’s super competitive and intense.” I launched into an explanation of the different squads and the level of experience the athletes needed to have for intercollegiate competition.

He’d paused in the doorway during my spiel. “You bring Calder along?”

“I’m too busy to watch him. My mom and dad pick him up from school Friday and take him for the weekend. I don’t see him until Sunday night, which sucks, but tryouts only happen once a year.”

“Do your parents live in the Cities?”

“Two and a half hours northwest in Fergus Falls. They have apple orchards, so Calder gets to ride on the tractor and run wild.” When he didn’t respond, I realized I’d been babbling instead of letting him leave. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Going on and on and boring you.”

His eyes darkened and his gaze dipped to my mouth. “The last thing you are, Rowan Michaels, is boring.”

When he loomed over me and I caught the scent of his skin—his cologne, or shaving cream, or even his laundry detergent, whatever it was I just wanted to find the source and breathe him in.

What is wrong with you?

I stepped back. “Thanks for the gift jackass.”

That blue gaze turned sharp.

Dammit. “I meant, thanks for the jackass gift.”

“My pleasure. Now that we’re being neighborly, remember, if you need anything, a cup of sugar, or even eggs”—he grinned—“I’m right across the hall.”

“Good night, Jensen.”

“Sweet dreams, Rowan.”