"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?"