Read Online Books/Novels:
When I Need You (Need You #4)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:
0451477588 (ISBN13: 9780451477583)
Rules are tossed aside when a pro football player join forces with a spitfire cheerleading coach in New York Times bestselling author Lorelei James’s brand-new romance…
Heir to Lund Enterprises and ladies’ man Jensen “The Rocket” Lund has three conditions when it comes to dating:
Rowan Michaels didn’t pass the rigorous requirements to become an athletic trainer and Vikings cheerleader in the hopes of landing a pro athlete: been there, done that, and she has a young son as proof that football players and fidelity don’t go hand in hand. When Rowan learns her new neighbor is Jensen Lund, the smoking-hot tight end who takes being neighborly to a whole new level, she’s grateful for the team’s strict “no fraternization” policy because the sexy man defines temptation.
But Jensen is intent on rushing straight to the goal line to prove to Rowan he’s much more than just a player…on and off the field.
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Getting a head-butt to the groin was the perfect capper to my crap day.
I stepped off the elevator on the second floor of my apartment building, pulling my roller bag behind me. When I turned the corner—wham!—a hard head connected with my crotch.
Grunting, I crumpled against the wall for a moment, thighs clamped together to try to block out the pain.
Motherfuck did that hurt.
When I didn’t hear a “Gee, mister, I’m sorry,” I glanced up to see my crotch smasher sailing down the hallway, long brown curls bobbing as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
That pissed me off.
“Hey, little girl,” I yelled.
The figure spun around and glared at me. “I’m not a girl.”
“With that long hair I assumed—”
“You have long hair,” he pointed out.
“I’m not wearing a dress,” I shot back at him.
“It’s not a dress. It’s a hakama.”
“Looks like a damn dress,” I muttered. I closed my eyes and silently willed the throbbing pain in my groin to go away.
Stupid visualization exercises never worked.
Sighing, I pushed off the wall and opened my eyes. I said, “Look, kid, we . . .”
But he was gone.
Where the hell had he disappeared to so fast?
He’d probably slipped into an apartment. But I knew everyone who lived in my building, and no one had kids.
Maybe in the two weeks you’ve been gone someone new moved in.
That’d be an issue since Bob the building manager was supposed to restrict families with kids to the other building.
Did this kid’s parents know he was running the halls unattended? Did they care?
If I ever ran into them, they’d get a piece of my mind about their son’s behavior.
Why don’t you shake your fist in the air too, you grumpy old man?
I’d cop to being grumpy, but I wasn’t old. No matter what my body felt like some days.
I shambled down the hallway to my apartment. After unlocking the door, I dragged my suitcase inside.
The piney scent lingering throughout the space indicated the cleaning service had been here recently. When I snagged a sparkling water out of the refrigerator, I noticed my personal chef had delivered this week’s meals. Now that I wasn’t on vacation, I had to get back to healthy eating. Training started in roughly eleven weeks, and I already had enough to overcome without showing up looking like a lard ass.
My damn balls throbbed, so I grabbed an ice pack out of the freezer and hobbled into the living room. As soon as my butt connected with my square-shaped sofa, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. God I loved this couch. Sort of pathetic that I’d rather have it beneath me than a woman.
I heard my phone buzzing in the outside pocket of my suitcase, but I ignored it. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. I needed time to chill. Yeah, I’d just returned from vacation, but only the last week had been flop-on-the-beach-with-a-beer time. I’d spent the previous week at the clinic in Florida with the doc who’d done my surgeries. He and his sadistic outpatient review team had performed every stress, mobility, agility and functionality test ever invented on my body to gauge the success of my surgeries last year.
They marveled at the progress I’d made since my last visit. They told me I’d surpassed their initial expectations for recovery. They listed all the medical milestones I’d passed. But they hadn’t told me the one thing—the only thing—I wanted to know: Would I ever play football at the same level as I had before the injury?
An injury that had kept me off the football field all of last season.
Actually, it’d been a combination of injuries. A late hit had knocked me out. So in addition to getting a concussion, at some point during the play I’d dislocated my kneecap—not that I’d been aware of that injury at the time. When I’d finally come to in the hospital—that had been freaky as hell—I hadn’t been able to feel anything from the waist down due to paralysis.
Even now I can’t wrap my head around that word.
When I think back, it seemed as if it’d happened to someone else. My neck in a cervical collar. My arm in a sling. As I lay in that hospital bed, I felt nothing. I’d wanted to scream but I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs to even speak.
Then the drugs kicked in and I drifted back into the black void.
Upon awaking several hours later alone in my hospital room, I tried to wiggle my toes, roll my ankles, shift my thighs, force any kind of movement, but I just ended up sweaty and frustrated.
And scared. Holy shit I’d experienced fear in that hospital bed like I’d never known.
Sleep became my refuge. For twenty-four hours the doctors watched me for signs of improvement or decline. When I groggily complained about the throbbing pain in my right knee, the doctors did another full, thorough and painful examination. They determined the hematoma on my spine had caused the temporary paralysis. When the swelling decreased, so did the paralysis.