So I knocked louder.
No response after several long moments.
Rather than returning to my apartment, I used both hands, rapping my knuckles against the wood in staccato bursts-machine-gun style.
I heard the chain on the inside of the door rattling and couldn't stop my enormous grin, or from saying, "It's about fucking time, man," when the door started to open.
But my grin vanished when I realized the person framed in the doorjamb wasn't Martin, but a redheaded woman with fire in her eyes.
What the hell? Who was this chick answering Martin's door? I gave her a very thorough head-to-toe inspection-lush lips, killer rack, curvy hips molded by a tight black skirt and bare toes-before my gaze zoomed back up to meet her angry eyes.
I said the first thing that popped into my head. "Who the hell are you?"
Two
ROWAN
Jensen Lund didn't have the first freakin' clue who I was.
Not that I should've been surprised. He was exactly like every other high-achieving jock I'd dealt with: exuding an air of entitlement and ignoring the "little people" outside his sports stratosphere.
"Who are you?" Jensen demanded again.
I'd had a crap day and all I wanted was a few moments of peace while my son watched Netflix. I didn't owe this man anything. Especially given his rude behavior.
"I'm none of your damn business. Don't bother me again or I'll call the building manager and report you."
I slammed the door in his face.
It felt good. Maybe more dramatic than the situation called for, but good nonetheless.
Still . . . it did surprise me that The Rocket lived in this apartment complex.
Maybe he's slumming while construction on his mansion is under way.
That had to be it.
Besides, my brother would've told me that the lauded Vikings tight end was his neighbor. Then again, my rocky past with another football player might've convinced Martin not to even mention it to me.
No matter. We'd probably never see each other, and that suited me just fine.
As a single mother with two jobs, I needed a mental reset at the end of my workday to switch from dealing with college students to becoming Mommy to my six-year-old son. I felt zero guilt for letting Calder watch cartoons for fifteen or twenty minutes while my transformation took place.
After I slipped on my wireless headphones and hit play on my cell phone, I opened the sliding glass doors and stepped onto the balcony. Spring had definitely arrived in Minneapolis. Buds on the trees. Tulips, crocus, hyacinth and peonies poking up from the ground. Grass greening up. Birds twittering. I drew in several deep breaths. Music. Fresh air. I could feel the tension seeping out from my pores.
I'd already started dinner when Calder finished his TV show and scrambled onto the barstool, setting his elbows on the breakfast bar. "What's for supper?"
I finished chopping the onions and slid them into the pan. "Right now it's just cooked hamburger so the options are endless. Spanish rice, goulash, tacos, beef and rice or sloppy joes."
"Sloppy joes."
"Excellent choice, Chef Michaels."
He giggled.
That sound always made me smile. I glanced up, noticing for the first time what he had on. "Why are you wearing that?"
He shrugged. "I was playing ninja-samurai."
"With who? Alicia?" Alicia worked for me as a nanny during the week, picking Calder up from school and staying with him until I got home.
"Didja know these pants make a cool flapping noise when I run really fast?"
"I imagine so, but where were you running really fast?"
A beat of silence. Then he answered, "Uh, around."
"Around where?" This apartment was much smaller than our last one and there wasn't room to run.
When my son avoided my eyes, I knew something was up. "Calder Adam Michaels. Tell me where you were. Right now."
His words rushed out. "Alicia was on her phone again and I was bored so I went out into the hallway and ran the whole thing like three times. Then the last time this giant came around the corner and I ran into him with my head-bam!-right in his pee-shooter. He yelled a bunch of grown-up words and closed his eyes real tight. So I ran to the end of the hall and hid behind the door to the outside but he didn't find me so I musta hid real good, huh?"
There were so many, many, many things wrong with this scenario I didn't know where to start.
Stay calm. Do not yell.
"Did Alicia know you were gone?"
Calder shook his head.
All sorts of worst-case scenarios ran through my head, and I fought back my panic. How could I let it slide that she'd ignored Calder-he'd snuck out and she hadn't noticed?-when her only job was to watch him?