My eyes searched his. "Why aren't you running the other direction?"
He laughed. "I have no fucking idea."
I laughed too. At least he was honest.
"Do you want me to go?"
Did I? I wasn't naive. Things had changed between us tonight, but I wasn't ready to embrace all of it. Maybe that was the problem. I wanted to compartmentalize everything just like my brother did. I would've thrown myself into a wild night of sex with Jensen, but I balked at the idea of him falling asleep and waking up with me in my bed in front of my son. That wasn't fair. Maybe I had to send him away until I could accept all of what was growing between us and not just the easy, obvious parts.
"Rowan. Sweetheart, that wasn't a trick question."
"I know. I just . . ."
"I'll go. Do me a favor. Shut down that hamster wheel in your head. Whatever is spinning in there will keep." He pressed a lingering kiss to my forehead. "Try and get some rest. If you need anything, call me or text me. I'll have my phone right next to me." Then he gave me a little head-butt. "Don't be stubborn."
"I won't be. I promise."
Jensen turned toward the door. But then he turned back. "Oh. One more thing."
"What?"
"This." He slanted his mouth over mine and brought me flush against his body. He kissed me with all the fire and finesse he'd shown me earlier, but this kiss had a sharper edge to it. As if to remind me that he could be helpful, thoughtful Jensen, but he was also one hundred thousand percent a hot, hungry male who would bide his time, but in the end, he would have me.
"Lock the door behind me," he murmured against my mouth when we came up for air.
Then he was gone.
Eighteen
JENSEN
I hadn't heard from Rowan, so I assumed Calder had settled down for the rest of the night.
Although I'd been up late, I rolled out of bed at my usual time and met with Dante at the training center. None of my teammates had shown up, so it was a quiet but intense workout. Especially since Dante seemed more preoccupied than usual.
Legs wobbly, arms aching, I parked myself in front of the industrial fan in the locker room, letting the sweat drip off my face and hair onto the towel between my feet.
"What's going on with you lately?" Dante said, startling me.
I didn't bother looking at him. I'd grown tired of defending myself at every turn. I'd proven myself to anyone in the organization who'd demanded it of me, whenever they'd demanded it. "I more than kept up today and you damn well know it. The amount of speed I've lost since the surgeries is nominal and will have zero effect on my ability to run the ball. I'm stronger, more agile, so I can block faster. I've never been in better shape so I seriously don't know what you want from me, Coach."
Silence.
Dante laughed. Not a nice laugh either. "Coach, huh? Guess you put me in my place. So much for my belief we're friends outside of me being your trainer."
I said nothing, because knowing Dante as I did, he wasn't finished.
"To clarify, Rocket, when I asked what was going on with you, I meant in your life outside of football training. In the past month, I don't hear from you aside from texts asking about the workout schedule. We used to hang out. We used to go out. Now, it feels like you've cut me out." He paused. "I'm not the only one who's noticed. When was the last time you spent time with your teammates? You used to make an effort. Hell, Jensen, you used to be fun. Clubs, parties, women, you were up for anything, anytime. What happened to that guy?"
"That guy doesn't exist anymore." I finally met Dante's gaze. "And good fucking riddance to him. What I find interesting is that you noticed after our Florida and Mexico trip that I'd changed. Know why? Because you kept your distance from me after my injury. You and everyone else on the team. There's no reason to invest time in a former player and teammate, right?"
"Not true, bro."
"Totally true, bro, because I lived it. There's no need for a ‘feel sorry for me' conversation, and I've never brought it up for that reason. My family hired the best doctors to fix me. My family aided in my recovery. My family rallied around me. My family reminded me that I was more to them than a football player. Somehow along the way, I'd forgotten that.
"Ever since I was drafted, I get the superstar treatment. While it's great, it's not real. And my teammates, as you pointed out, always counted on me to be part of the posse. Booze, women, elite clubs. These players have multimillion-dollar contracts. So why did I end up footing the bill for most of those wild nights? You know why? Because I'm a nice guy. I'd rather just pull out my credit card than bicker about who had how many shots of Hennessy. Not a single one of them noticed . . . until I stopped going. It wasn't me they missed as much as my wallet. Like I said, I'm not whining. I'm not bitter. What I am? Is wiser. That doesn't change the fact that I will go to the dirt for these guys when we're on the field. But as soon as that uniform comes off, I'm not The Rocket. I'm finally grasping the fact I have a lot more to offer the world than my celebrity-as fleeting as that may be."