Or maybe the lenses of his fake glasses were flashing a false reflection. "Thank you," I managed. "I'll have to remember that trick."
"Don't try it solo," he warned. "You tense up again, find me. I'm great in a tight spot."
I'll bet you are. I'd also bet you could loosen me up in no time at all.
He lowered his hand. Slowly. Almost reluctantly. "You didn't answer my question."
Question? What question?
"How much input you have on who makes the final cut on the various squads?"
"Honestly? A lot. If a candidate is difficult, and I mean a serious pain in the ass to other candidates, that's not someone we want to deal with several hours a day, five days a week, plus game times, for the next school year. We have an abundance of qualified candidates; why would we choose someone who doesn't understand teamwork?"
Jensen nodded. "Wish that attitude carried over to the pros. So freakin' many glory seekers. It's ‘what can the team do for me?' rather than them being part of the team." He shot me a sideways glance and a wry grin. "And no way am I naming names."
"You don't have to, Lund. I'm on the inside, remember? I hear more team gossip than most."
"What do you hear about me?"
"Talented. Cocky as hell, but you've got the stats to back it up-or at least you did the last year you played."
"Any of your insider sources react with surprise that I'm still on the roster?"
"No more than anyone else who's been on the injured reserve list this long." I shook my head. "How'd we get off on this tangent? Anyway, thanks for coming today."
When I moved to stand, he clamped his hand on my thigh. "You're leaving?"
"It's been a long day and it'll be an even longer one tomorrow."
"But I still have a ton of questions."
I looked at him skeptically. "You do?"
"Yeah. So I could ask my questions over dinner. Either we could go out someplace or we could order in."
I leveled my best "you're up to something" evil eye at him
He laughed. "Man, you are hard-core with that suspicious mom glare. I swear, I have no nefarious plans. I just thought we could share a meal and conversation. If either sucks, you can bail and be home in two seconds."
Spending the night by myself wasn't appealing. Looking at Jensen Lund wouldn't be a hardship. "Fine. Want me to grab takeout?"
"How about you bring a bottle of wine and I'll deal with the food. Lebanese okay?"
"Sounds great." I stood. "So an hour?"
"See you then. Just knock."
I made my way to the bottom of the bleachers and back to the coaches' area.
Bree, one of the new student assistants for next year, said, "Is that weird-looking dude you were talking to your boyfriend?"
"No." I packed up my stuff. "Just a friend. Why?"
"It's creepy how he watched you. His eyes never left your butt the entire time you were walking away from him."
"He could hardly be looking at my face since I had my back to him, now could he?"
"Whatever. Old-people lust is gross."
I froze. Old people. Really? She thought I was . . . old? I whirled around to chew her ass about rude assumptions, but she'd already taken off. Probably a good thing.
But as I drove home, I had to wonder whether I had really been any different at age nineteen. Anyone out of college seemed old to me. And a thirty-year-old woman with a kid? Ancient.
Dealing with college students every day had made me grateful that part of my life was over.
I wondered if Jensen had many normal college days or if everything had revolved around his ability to catch a football. What degree had he earned before getting drafted into the pros?
Guess if we ran out of normal dinner conversation that was something I'd bring up.
• • •
It's not a damn date, Rowan. Just pick something to wear.
I'd rummaged through my closet for the past ten minutes searching for an outfit that said friendly, but not sexy.
No dresses.
So . . . jeans and a T-shirt. But not like I tried too hard, wearing a hipster T-shirt with an emblem of an obscure band or brand of beer or clothing-which I had a drawer full of thanks to my hipster/stoner brother. I opted for a Justin Timberlake concert tee, black skinny jeans and no shoes. I'd just kick them off at the door anyway.
I'd called Calder before I left the apartment. But as usual, he'd been almost too busy to talk to me. I briefly spoke to my mom and she encouraged me to get some rest while I had the chance. I didn't tell her about having dinner with Jensen, because it was no big deal.
I knocked on his door, bringing a bottle of wine and two of the turtle brownies I'd baked earlier in the week.