What You Need(71)
I mopped the sweat from my face, surprised to see Jensen strolling toward me. He’d topped out at six foot five his freshman year of college. He’d gone from a beanpole with a four-foot vertical jump, who could also run a twelve-second hundred-yard dash, to a beast that maintained his speed and agility after adding thirty pounds of muscle to his frame.
To say he was a big guy was putting it mildly.
But I still saw him as my baby brother. The funny kid in the family, prone to practical jokes. The kindhearted soul who picked up strays—both the four- and two-legged varieties. Even when he’d outgrown any need for my protection, I felt more protective of him than ever. Pro athletes were magnets for scam artists, gold diggers and shyster agents. Pro athletes who looked like Jens—he’d inherited Mom’s model genes, angular Nordic features, glacial blue eyes and wavy blond hair—were an even bigger target.
“You’re here early,” I said, and he looked up, startled.
“I didn’t hear the usual shitty music, so I didn’t think you were up.”
I shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Yeah? Me neither.”
“Too pumped after the amazing game yesterday?”
He flashed his crooked smile. “Partially.”
“Let me guess. In your celebratory mood, you brought a girl back to your place last night, and she’s still in your bed, so you bolted, hoping she’d get the hint and leave.”
“Inviting her over seemed like a good idea at the time. But when I got up in the night to use the bathroom, I saw she’d brought a suitcase with her.” He scraped his shoulder-length hair into a ponytail. “Fuck, B, I don’t even know her last name. Why would she think it’d be more than just a one-off?”
“Did you—”
“Use a condom? Yeah. And when will that stop bein’ the first thing you ask me? Christ. I’m twenty-six, not fifteen.”
“I’ll stop asking, Jens, when you stop picking up random chicks who think they’ll win your love through blow jobs and kinky sex.”
Jensen dropped onto the bench. “You’re right. Man, I hate that you’re always right. But it sucks being alone.”
“Says the guy who’s surrounded twenty-four/seven by teammates and trainers and coaches and the media.”
“Not the same. I meant to say there’s a difference between being lonely and alone.”
“So get a dog.”
“Smart-ass. Maybe I should just sell my apartment and move in with you. A single dude doesn’t need this much space.”
“I like my space. And you are a slob, bro. Isn’t that why Drew moved out?”
He scowled. “Drew moved out because he’s pussy-whipped. He bought Brianna an engagement ring and he’s gonna propose on the Jumbotron at halftime during the Green Bay game. Original, huh? Besides, Drew has been off his game all season. If he doesn’t get his shit together—” He stopped. Shook his head. “Enough football talk. I came here to get away from it.” His eyes gleamed. “Let’s spar.”
“What kind of shape are you in?” Sometimes he was so banged up the day after a game that he spent hours alternating between hot and cold therapy.
“I’m good.” He lifted his tank top. His ribs were dotted with bruises. “I get hurt worse during practices.”
“Fine. Get your gear.”
Jensen could outrun me, outcatch me, outlift me, but he rarely beat me in sparring. Except I wasn’t up to sparring this early, so I’d work with him on technique rather than power.
Once we were in the ring, Jens held the practice mitts and I started to strike.
“So you seemed mopey at the after-party last night.”
“Cover your face,” I warned and threw a left-hand jab.
“Mom said you brought someone to the game.”
I struck low and he blocked. “Yeah.”
“Why didn’t she come with you to the after-party? I would’ve liked to meet her.”
“You will meet her. I believe she’d had enough of the Lund family after the cool reception she got from most of them yesterday.”
“I don’t know why you expected something different.” He turned the mitt to block a forearm strike. “You never date anyone and the first woman you bring to a family deal is a coworker?”
I stopped and propped my gloves against my hips. “She’s not a coworker.”
“So you don’t work on any projects with her at all?”
“It’s one project.”
Jensen grinned. “Then you are coworkers, bro.”
I released a flurry of combinations that tired me out before I tired of pounding on my little brother.