“I can be a hot head.”
“You think?” I blurted out, shaking my head. “Shit. I'm sorry.” I held up my hands. “I won't interrupt again.”
His eyes danced with humor, the earlier anger in them long gone. “You're right. I am a hot head more times than not. I am sorry for reacting poorly. It bothers me you didn't think to ask or tell me about your classes. From now on, unless it's a game day, you can leave around three, if you need to. Is that something we can agree on?”
I nodded, pressing my lips together, so I didn't say anything rude or out of line. He wet his bottom lip, continuing. “Good. That's settled then. Now, let's talk about last weekend.”
“I would prefer not ever.” I closed my eyes, squirming. “Not my best weekend, I'll say that.”
“The rest of your weekend bad, too? I'm sorry I haven't been around much this week. I'll admit I kept my distance.” He frowned.
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. I might've noticed that, but I know it's my fault. I'm sorry—”
“Don't apologize, Grace. You spoke your mind. I like that about you. It's refreshing.” He grinned sheepishly. “I take a long time to apologize. I'm working on it.”
“Well, I won't stop you if you want to apologize. I can always use a nice groveling,” I joked, the tension leaving the table.
He smiled and took a slow sip of his coffee.
“Grace, I am sorry that you overheard a conversation between a bunch of assholes. To clear the air, you are not too young or too high maintenance. You are more mature than most people my age, and you get along with everyone you meet. I have a hard time letting people in, and I try to push people away.”
I nodded, appreciating his words. “Thank you for the honesty, and everything is good. Clear air and all that.”
He grinned, the one that changed his face. “You're real laid back about this.”
“Brock, we get along more or less. Excuse my frankness, but you're a dreamboat, and I was having a moment of being a girl and felt hurt. But trust me, I'm done worrying about men for at least three months.”
His eyes widened, my words having a different meaning. I held up one hand, shaking my finger at him. “No. No. Not that, I like men. I really like men, but I'm done letting them affect my mood. Does that make sense?”
“Is this because of what you heard me say?” he asked once he wiped the smirk off his face, a frown replacing it.
“No. My date that night was like a two out of ten.” I ran my hand through my hair, knowing I looked dramatic but not caring. “It was cringe-worthy at best.”
“Damn. At least it wasn't a one?” he said, looking pleased with his comeback. I flipped him the middle finger, causing him to bark out laughing.
“It wasn't a damn one because he bought the meal even though he insulted me at every chance.” I made a face of disgust then took another sip of my coffee. “I deleted that awful profile. Never again.”
“He insulted you? I don't like that.” He narrowed his eyes and leaned over the table.
“Calm down, Rambo. I will never see that ass weasel again.” I laughed, thinking about the entire date. “Have you ever seen The Office?”
“Of course,” he scoffed, his eye roll looking cute as hell in his big glasses.
“Well, you know how Jim Halpert always looks at the camera and makes that face of defeat and shock when something crazy happens? That was me, the entire two hours. I looked off into the distance, like someone set me up with this guy as a joke.”
Brock laughed, his face transforming into pure beauty when he smiled. “I can picture you doing that.”
“Yeah, it was like this.” Then, I looked off toward the bathroom and pressed my lips together. I must've done it well because he laughed again, harder this time. “Make me feel better. Tell me a crazy date story.”
“Besides the shit you pulled with Anna?” he asked with a raised voice, one eyebrow up and all. He looked like a detective.
I stuck my tongue out at him.
He shrugged me off and frowned. “I don't date a lot. But, once a girl tried taking pictures of me when I was sleeping.”
“Ew. Boundaries. Some people don't have them.” I would die if someone did that. I'd punch them and burn their phone. I was so not part of this sexting generation.
“Yeah. She didn't.” He stuck his tongue out and pretended to gag before sipping his coffee again. “If this is any consolation, when men insult women, it's usually because they are intimidated. And if a guy is intimidated by you, then screw them. You don't need someone like that.”
“Can't believe you just made sense saying that, but thanks. I think.” I tilted my head, copying his move. “Are we good, now? You’re way more fun when you're like this.”
He bit back a smile and just nodded. “We're good. I'll try to be more fun as you said.” He used air quotes. The asshole used air quotes.
“Don't mock me. People love you, boss. You're respected and run such a good program, but, you rarely show people this fun side. It makes people feel more comfortable.”
“You know, no one speaks to me the way you do.”
I groaned, putting my head in my hands. “Shit. I ruined our truce, didn't I? I'm an idiot.”
“No. I didn't mean it that way at all.” He looked at me with an intensity I hadn't seen before. “People talk to me like they know about my accident. They feel bad for me. They pity me. They see me as a young star who lost it all.”
“That's ridiculous. You lost a professional sports career, not your life,” I scoffed, damn well knowing that injuries are a reminder that you didn’t die.
“I know that, now. It took some time. But, I appreciate how you talk to me. You don't hold back or aren't afraid to say something that might offend me.”
“Look, I don't know if your compliment was front-hand or backhand. Could you be clearer?”
He laughed. “See, that? I need more of that. It's a compliment, albeit an odd one.”
“I'm an odd duck, bro.” I shrugged, noticing a binder he had with him. “What's the binder for?”
“Oh, uh, I'm exploring the option to apply for some NFL positions. Maybe. I want to volunteer with some youth programs first though.” He refused to meet my eyes, a light pink tinging his cheeks again. “I don't know if I'll do it.”
“Why the hell not? Brock, you would be amazing at any level. You know the sport back and forth. You played it really well from what I hear. I have no idea. I don't care, honestly. I can totally see it.” My voice rose, my words slurring together because I spoke so fast. Brock would be an amazing NFL trainer.
His face didn't look convinced, though. His serious look was back, his eyes pained and clear blue. “I'm not sure.”
“Brock Anderson. You better not be feeling self-conscious right now. You are so great with the athletes. I've seen you interact with them. You have real life experience, and you love the sport. I know it's not my place, but hell, I don't have a filter, so it came out anyway. You have my vote, boss. Don't let the fear hold you back. I can see it on your face.”
“How do you know?” he asked so quietly, I wasn't sure I’d heard him right. But his face looked so damn vulnerable.
“How do I know you'll be amazing, or how do I know the fear?”
“The fear.”
“Because everyone has things that have happened to them in their life and only a few people have the tragedies that shape their view for the rest of their existence. I had one, and I use that experience in every choice I make. I can see it in your eyes.” I shrugged, knowing I’d opened a can of worms.
But, he didn't push. He sat there, a serious expression on his face and hand rubbing back and forth along his jaw. “It’s a different level, the NFL. I’m not sure I’m ready for it again. Being back in that world, not able to play.”
“You can talk about what-ifs for the rest of your days. Just do it.”
He smiled, shaking his head at me. “Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
I gave him an exaggerated nod. “Oh yeah, all the time. I like to bottle up emotions until they overflow, and it's awful for everyone around me. I’m bilingual—English and sarcasm.”
“You're such a trip.” His warm voice practically purred at me. It was smooth, soft, and spoken with praise and without a trace of cynicism. “I’m really glad I chose to come here tonight.”
“I am too, but if I don’t study for at least an hour, I’ll hold it against you.”
“You know, I did exceptionally well in that class. I can help you.”
“Why would you do that? We've had truce for, oh, thirty minutes, tops.” I looked at my watch, tapping the face of it.
“First, because you make me laugh. Second, because I can be a semi-decent guy. Third, if I do this, then you owe me a favor, and if the washer breaks again...” The bastard winked at me.
“Hell to the no. I still smell like soap,” I said but didn't really mean it. I would do anything he asked at the stadium because I freaking loved it. “How do you plan on helping me if I decide to take your offer?”
“I know you have a presentation you’ll have to do. You’ll need a real life example to use as your resource, and if you have Thomas as your professor, I may have old notes.”
I eyed him. I did have Thomas and would love help, but my pride didn’t want me to accept it. I wanted to do it myself. “How about we see what happens? I have this whole pride issue going on. I’m working through it, but if it gets real hard, I’ll ask.”
“I expect nothing less from you,” he said, his eyes soft again. “Do you mind if I work here with you?”
I bit back a grin at his expression. He looked so unsure. For somebody with his confidence, looks, skills, and attitude, the vulnerable look did him wonders. “Sure, boss. But, I will physically harm you if you interrupt me once I get into the zone.”
“I’ll do my best.” His mouth curved into a panty dropping smile. “You are kind of a dork.”
“I came to terms with that years ago.” I held up my hand with my fingers split into two, giving the live long and prosper sign from Star Trek. “Loud and proud, baby.”
He chuckled, pulling out papers from his folder. I followed his lead and dove back into one of the books. Despite his proximity, my racing heart, and exhaustion, I completed two brutal chapters from the book without acknowledging Brock sitting across from me. My colored highlighters sat aligned by rainbow order because how else would anyone organize their highlighters? It made the most sense.
My coffee turned cold, my nose scrunching when I took a sip. I took the time to study Brock, his attention entirely on his laptop. His brown hair curled up at the end, one curl falling onto his forehead. I had the urge to pull it or name it. I did neither and continued the perusal of him. His teeth poked out, lightly biting his bottom lip as his long fingers flew across the keyboard. He made the simplest tasks look good.
“Are you done studying me, Grace?” he asked, not looking up from the computer.
I blushed, thinking of the first thing I could use as an excuse. “You have a booger.”
His gaze shot to me, widening in disbelief. “Really?” He scratched his nose, his fingers attempting to clear something that wasn’t there. “Did I get it?”
“Yup,” I lied. I lied so hard, embarrassed at something so stupid. I looked down at my notes and sighed. It was nine, the need to sleep hitting me hard. I yawned then caught Brock staring at me. “Do I have one, too?”
“Nope.”
“Thank God,” I said and began putting my stuff away and stood up. “I should head back. I’m exhausted.”
“Yeah, me too.” We packed out stuff in silence, the peace between us comforting.
“Did you walk here?” His low voice came from right behind me, his chest almost touching my back as we headed out of the place.
“Yeah. My class is just a block away or so.” I frowned, knowing it was semi-late to walk back to my apartment, but the path I would take was well-lit. “It’s a beautiful night.”
“Come on, I’ll drive you back.” He walked to his car without waiting for my response. I couldn’t decide if it was presumptuous, bossy, or kind. Maybe it was a little of all three. “Grace, get in the car.”
I sighed, rolling my eyes. “Sure, boss man.” I walked toward the car and bit the inside of my cheek to prevent a smile. He opened the passenger door of his Jeep, jutting his strong chin at me to hop in. I took a deep breath once inside. It smelled like him—masculine, tough, clean, and if bossy had a smell, it was him.
“Thank you for not fighting me on this. I feel better knowing you won’t walk home.” His large body took up almost the whole front of the jeep. His arm grazed against mine as he started the car. We drove in silence, not an uncomfortable one either. It let me relax and enjoy the cool air. It wasn’t more than a couple minutes before he pulled onto my street.
I went to grab the door handle when his hand reached out, stopping me. I sucked in a breath, turning to look at him. His face went from laughing seconds earlier to serious. Ah, shit. Another mood swing. My brows came down. “What is it?”
“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.”
“A really great way to begin any sentence,” I said, preparing myself for the worst.
His frown deepened with two dimples popping on the sides of his face. He opened his mouth, releasing a breath before closing it.
My nerves doubled.
“I still don’t feel right about what you overheard last weekend. I’m not a great liar, but more, I want you to understand why I said those things.” He looked like he would rather eat dirt after fertilizing it, but I waited him out. “Shit. I’m bad at this. Okay. This doesn’t mean anything, okay? I need to make sure you know that.”
“Okay?” I said more as a question. “You’re freaking me out, by the way.”
“I don’t mean to. Look, Grace. I said that shit to the guys because if I showed even an inkling of interest in you, they would make our lives hell. So, I lied.”
My lady parts woke up ready to party all night. Did he say he was interested in me? Did I hear that correctly? No way. I tilted my head, my lips pressing down hard. “You lied about what?”
“About you. I hope you realize how beautiful you are. You’re so happy, and I didn’t want you to continue thinking I thought you were anything but amazing. That’s all. But, this means nothing, okay? It’s just a compliment,” he rambled, his words blurring in a rush.
“Thank you.” I avoided his eyes, looking at my hands instead. “Thanks for the ride, too.”
“You’re welcome. Have a good night, Grace.”
Sure, yeah, okay. I’d have a good night all right, thinking about his sweet words and heated eyes.
Chapter Ten
It was an away-game day. Fritz gave me a pep talk and made sure I packed everything I needed for the weekend. He even dropped me off at the stadium with players scattered everywhere. I didn’t know what to do. Did I find Brock? Logan?
I glanced around, deciding to stand off to the side and wait and see what happened. Nerves danced down my spine, sweat pooling right above my waistline. Great.
I didn’t wait long when Brock walked up to me, serious as hell with a frown plastered on that angelic face. He looked like someone had stolen his breakfast burritos.
I thought about it for a second and decided I would be grumpy, too, if someone stole mine. I went with a cheery smile, waving like a dork. “Hey, boss. You ready for this awesome road trip?”
One side of his mouth twitched, which changed his expression from grumpy to mildly amused. I would take it.
“Four hours. I hate the bus ride.”
I wondered if it had to do with his injury but didn’t ask. I clasped my hands together, whistling the theme song to Friends. I binged watched an entire season that morning.
“That guy, Fritz, is your roommate, right?”
I jerked my head. What a
random question. “Yeah, why?”
“He works with you at the restaurant, too?” The infamous frown came back, somehow deeper and more profound.
“Yeah, again,” I said, narrowing my eyes. My heart picked up, analyzing the reasons he was asking these questions way past the point of being healthy. “I love the question game, but these are random as hell.”
“Are you involved with him?” His voice was even, calm, and nothing like the one I was used to. His blue eyes stared intensely at me, but then again, his eyes only had three moods. They were either soft, angry, or intense. I didn’t know how long I just stared back at him until his brows raised, a little annoyance flaring in them. “Well?”
Instead of answering like the mature person I pretended to be, I burst out laughing. “Me and Fritz? Oh, no, no, no.” I laughed, putting my hand on his forearm, the thought of being intimate with Fritz made me gag. “Hell to the no.”
“Does he always touch you?”
Woah. His sharp tone drew me from my laughing fit. His face was so serious. Mad. Intense. Pissed. And was that a hint of jealousy? No. Couldn’t be. I stopped laughing, finding the words to appease his sudden questioning. “Fritz is a touchy person. I am too, actually. He’s always been that way, but it has never meant anything. Ever.”
“He touches you a lot.” He scratched his jaw, torn at whatever he was thinking.
I gave him a break and kept talking, so he wouldn’t have to. “Fritz and I have lived together, with his sister, for three years. They are, in every sense of the word, my siblings. My family. They are super Italian and super touchy. I got used to it.” I laughed, seeing the lines on his face relax a little. “The thought of kissing Fritz makes my stomach turn a little bit. I mean, sure, he’s good-looking, but I know way too damn much about him.”
He didn’t respond and, instead, gave me a curt nod. Then, he walked away. I closed my eyes, shaking my head at myself. It was always so hot and cold, nice and not nice. Freaking Brock was a head case.
Lips pursed, attitude amped, I waited there alone, like I had all the confidence in the world. Everyone seemed to be busy doing something and standing by idly when I could help didn’t sit well with me.
Internship with the Devil (Shut Up and Kiss Me Book 1) Page 9