chest.
Without knowing what to say, I picked him up and carried him to the couch. He continued to cry, great big racking sobs. Poor kid. I wanted to fix this for him ASAP. Call up one of those expensive private learning centers and demand they send over their best kindergarten tutor right freakin’ now.
After he’d stopped hiccupping, I said, “That’s why you had a rough day at school?”
He nodded.
“Did you tell Alicia what happened?”
“I told her someone was mean to me.”
“She might’ve been able to make you feel better.” Better than this lousy job I was doing.
“I didn’t want her to think I’m dumb. That’s what Tiara called me. A dum-dum.”
“Well, as my babysitter Maria used to say, ‘Consider the source.’” Maybe that was too far over his head. “Did you tell the teacher?”
“I don’t wanna be called a tattletale either.”
“How can I help you?”
Calder shifted and looked up at me. “Can you help me read?”
What could I say to that? No. Sorry, kid, you’re on your own with this whole reading thing. Just because I read doesn’t mean I’m qualified to teach you.
Instead, I said, “Sure. Whatcha got?”
He bounded over the edge of the couch, grabbed his backpack and bounded back. From his backpack he pulled out Go, Dog. Go!
“I remember this book.” The cover indicated it was for early readers. “Have you read it?”
“Mommy reads something to me every night.”
“Lucky you. My mom read to me every night too. So how about if we make a deal? If you read this book to me? I’ll read Harry Potter to you.”
His eyes widened. “For real?”
“For real. I never joke about Harry Potter.”
He bit his lip. “I don’t wanna get in trouble for breaking the house rules.”
“Your mom said you couldn’t watch the movies. But she didn’t say anything about someone reading the books to you, did she?”
“Nope.”
“Then we’re in the clear.” I smiled. “Start that tale—tail, get it?—of Go, Dog. Go!”
“You’re funny.” Calder read slowly, not that I had any idea what constituted speed reading for a six-year-old.
After he stashed his book, I grabbed the hardback edition of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. We snuggled into the corner of the couch and I started to read.
We were so engrossed in the story that neither of us noticed someone knocking at the door until it turned into pounding.
I vaulted over the edge of the couch and opened the door.
Rowan tried—and failed—not to seem annoyed. “I’ve been texting you for almost forty-five minutes.”
“I think I left my phone on your kitchen counter when we went over to get food. Anyway, Calder and I are fine. We’ve been reading and lost track of time.”
She walked past me and stopped in the living room. “What are you reading?”
“Harry Potter!” Calder yelled, and bounced over the edge of the couch to run at his mother. “Isn’t that so cool, Mommy?”
“Yes, it is.” She smiled and tousled his hair. “I missed you today.”
“Did you know that Harry Potter had to live under the stairs?” he demanded.
“I remember that.” She glanced over at the dark TV. “You guys aren’t watching Chopped?”
Calder looked at me. “Uh-oh. We forgot.”
I sent Rowan a challenging look.
“You’ll never hear me complain about him choosing to read a book over watching TV, Jensen.”
“Good to know.”
“Grab your backpack, boy-o,” she said to him. “Bath time, then bedtime, because you have to be up early tomorrow.”
“Why?” Calder complained.
“Because I have to work in the morning and Talia is coming over to watch you. She hasn’t been here before, so you’ll have to show her around.”
“Who’s Talia?” I asked her.
“She’s a former student of mine. Since she’s enrolled in summer classes and only wants part-time work, she agreed to babysit Calder.”
“But I thought Alicia was your nanny?”
“Just during the school year. Alicia’s still in high school and her family travels a lot in the summer. I need a babysitter that’ll be around.”
“Rocketman could be my babysitter,” Calder declared. “Then we could read Harry Potter every day!”
I grinned at him and then locked eyes with Rowan. “While that sounds great, I’m sure your mother would get tired of seeing me every day. That happens sometimes with friends.”
Her cheeks turned bright red.
“I’d play with my friends every day if I could,” Calder said.
“I’m with you there, Calder. It’s fun to play with your friends until you realize maybe one of them is toying with you.”
“That’s not true—”
“I’d share my toys if you’d let my friends come over,” Calder said, oblivious to the underlying conversation.
“How about you, Coach? Got any friends you want to invite over to play?”
Rowan seemed anxious to get away from me as she herded her son toward the door.
Hmm. Too bad, sweetheart. Patience is a virtue but persistence has a better chance of payoff.
“I’ll tag along,” I said. “Last place I remember having my phone was over there.”
“You could bring the book and read more after my bath,” Calder suggested. He walked backward, facing me. His mother had him by the backpack as she practically dragged him away.
“We’ll save it for another time, okay?”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Inside their apartment, Rowan disappeared with Calder into the bathroom and I heard their voices—but not what they were saying—until the water kicked on in the tub.
I found my phone by her stove. Then I parked myself at the end of the hallway, waiting for her to emerge.
Her cheeks were flushed. Red wisps of hair stuck to her face. She looked so damn cute and frazzled. She squinted at me. “You’re still here?”
“Yep. Waiting for payment for my babysitting services.”
“Okay. Let me grab my purse—”
“Rowan. I was kidding.”
“Oh.” She slumped against the wall, leaving about a foot of space between us. “Thank you so much for watching Calder tonight. Seriously, Jensen, you were a lifesaver.”
“My pleasure.”
A beat passed. Then two.
I said, “You all right?”
“No. You fluster the hell out of me, Lund.”
There it was. Finally. “Are you expecting an apology, Coach?”
“Would you give me one?”
“Hell no.”
She laughed. “You are the very definition of cocky.”
“And you are the very definition of stubborn.”
“I don’t know that it’s being stubborn as much as it’s a habit.”
“What’s a habit?”
“My default reaction when a man hits on me.”
I fought a grin and lost. “You’re willing to admit you know that’s what it was?”
“Yes. And the end result of my default reaction is to put it—him—in a box. It’s the same box I’ve been using for years.”
“It’s probably pretty crowded in there by now.”
She snickered. “Of course you wouldn’t know that because you refuse to be labeled and neatly compartmentalized into my box.”
“While I’m happy you recognize I don’t fit, it sounds as if you’re pissed off about it.”
“I am.”
I shrugged. “Guess that sucks for you.”
“See? That’s what I’m talking about. It’d be easier if you didn’t have such a sly and charming sense of humor. If you acted like an entitled billionaire. If you were rude and impatient. If you weren’t so awesome with my son.”<
br />
I cocked my head to look at her, but she avoided my gaze.
“It’s hard to be friends with a guy like you.”
“Explain ‘a guy like me.’”
“A guy with that body and that face who is so genuinely thoughtful. A guy with that body and that face who makes me laugh and feel good every time we hang out. A guy with that body and that face who hasn’t ever given a woman like me a first look, let alone a second glance. So when I realized that yes, a guy like you with that body and that face is interested in me, in that way, I had no idea how to handle it. Besides embarrassing the hell out of myself by pretending you misunderstood because I didn’t want you to know how lame I actually am when it comes to recognizing this attraction stuff. Then going out of my way to ignore you this past week as I obsessed about it and tried to figure out what to do.”
My lips curled up slightly. “Have you come to any new conclusions?”
“That I’m horrible at this and a shitty friend.”
“That’s not news, Rowan.”
She sighed. “I know. So I’ll . . . try harder, okay?”
“Try harder to be a better friend?” I said with an edge to my voice.
“Mom!” Calder yelled. “Come here.”
“Just a second, honey.”
“Mommy, I got soap in my eye and it stings!”
Rowan spared me a quick look. “Can we—”
“Go. It’ll keep.”
As soon as she disappeared, I did too.
Neither patience nor persistence seemed to make a bit of difference when dealing with Rowan. She hadn’t decided whether to take that next step over the friendship line with me. Didn’t matter how I felt about it, or her, or what I wanted, and that sucked. This was a clear reminder that I was better off keeping my focus trained on things in my life that I could control.
In my apartment, I grabbed a sparkling water and my keys before I headed out.
Best option for distracting myself from the oh-so-tempting Rowan Michaels was to keep myself busy and out of the building this week.
Thankfully, I had friends and family members to help me out.
Thirteen
ROWAN
“I hate Saturday practices,” Daisy said under her breath.
I sat on her feet as we did partner sit-ups and I silently counted each rep.
“Hate”—she said as her chin touched her knees and rolled back down, only to repeat the motion—“hate” as she pulled herself up again.
Hate rhymes with eight . . . and dammit, I lost track of her reps. Because she was close to done, I said, “Time.”
Daisy flopped on the mat and groaned.
I nudged her hip with my knee as I lowered myself to the mat beside her. “Rest while you’re spotting me. Coach’s bad mood means I don’t want her yelling at us or adding more reps.”
“Fine.”
Tightening my stomach muscles, I began the exercise. I focused on breathing, trying to ignore my friend’s probing stare. “You are keeping track of these?”
“I’m supposed to keep track? Shit. I was daydreaming about polishing my silver,” she said dryly.
“Good thing I’m keeping track.” That was the truth. Call it OCD, but I’d been partnered with others who didn’t bother to count, so it’d become a habit. When I still felt Daisy staring at me, I closed my eyes.
“Time,” she said, but I’d already stopped.
“Ladies,” Coach said into her megaphone. “Push-up rotation starts now. Get into position and we’ll do this on my count.”
Another muttered “Hate” sounded beside me.
I kept my focus on form as Coach barked out numbers to twenty-four. Then we did gator crawls for two dozen reps, followed by clapping push-ups for a dozen more reps. We did five sets of holding plank for a minute and half plank for another minute. By the time she told us to take a break, the muscles in my arms were nearly spasming. I flopped face-first on the mat next to Daisy.
“My mom used to be a cheerleader. She claims they only had practice so they could ogle the players without getting into trouble. She swears they never ran a single lap—not that any of them could’ve made it around the track even once, since she and her fellow cheerleaders smoked.” Daisy sighed. “Where do I sign up to be that kind of cheerleader?”
I snickered.
“Do you think we’re done?” Daisy continued. “Coach has inflicted all the usual torture and then some.”
The woman was such a talker. I’d learned early on in our friendship that her chatty style of communication didn’t always require a response.
The first coaching assistant blew the horn that officially ended practice.
Daisy popped to her feet like she’d gotten a second wind and offered her hand to help me up. “Let’s go to Sebastian Joe’s and gorge on ice cream.”
“That defeats the purpose of the past two hours, doncha think?”
“You are a real Debbie Downer, Michaels.”
I had child care covered for another hour and a half, which gave me a little wiggle room. “Ice cream on the condition that we don’t shower.”
“A whore’s bath it is.”
Raina, the first alternate, overheard that and wrinkled her nose. She’d been a pain about every little thing because of her resentment for not making the cut. As first alternate she had to attend every practice, but that didn’t guarantee she’d get to cheer at any games this season. Daisy and I joked that if any “accidents” befell other squad members, we’d suspect Raina had pulled a Tonya Harding, since she’d do anything to be on that field.
I felt a sharp sting on the back of my thigh and turned to see Marsai gripping a twisted towel. “Dammit, Marsai, that’s gonna leave a mark!”
“Aw, poor baby. I’ll kiss it and make it better,” she cooed and blew me a kiss.
“Hey ho,” Daisy said to her. “If you’re puckering up to kiss anyone’s backside, it’d better be mine.”
Marsai propped her hands on her hips. “I’ll tag-team you, sound fair?”
When I Need You Page 18