Internship with the Devil (Shut Up and Kiss Me Book 1)

by Jaqueline Snowe

  Brock stood there, holding them out.

  My forehead wrinkled.

  “I had a feeling.” His blue eyes were dancing with emotion. They were shining brighter than normal, his face twisted in concern. I took the flowers from him and laid them on the grave. The roses made it look better. Happier. Once I got them situated, I turned back to face him and threw my arms around him. I hugged the living shit out of him, and he squeezed me.

  Time didn’t heal wounds, but Brock’s presence stitched mine back together to aid in the healing process. I spoke to his chest, my voice coming out awkward because my mouth was filled with his shirt. “Thank you so much.”

  “I told you before, there isn’t a damn thing I wouldn’t do for you.” His lips touched my head. If I hadn’t been so sad, I’d have relished the action. “Let’s head back.”

  He tucked me into the side of his arm again, and I sighed in contentment. I was sad, guilty, worried, anxious, but also, content. He fixed the little pieces of me that were broken.

  We walked back to the cars and once we arrived, he cleared his throat. “Are you good to drive right now? We can come back later to get your car?”

  “What about work?” I asked, frowning. “Wait, how did you know I was here? Don’t you have to get back?”

  He looked up at the sky. “You didn’t reply to my texts last night or this morning. You don’t strike me as someone to not respond unless something happened. I uh,” he paused, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “I became slightly more concerned when you didn’t show up to work. I got Fritz’s number. He refused to tell me, and insisted if I knew you, I wouldn’t have to ask where you’d be.”

  That earned a small smile. “That’s Fritz for you.”

  “I looked up some dates and put it together. I’m sorry, Grace.”

  “Did you come straight here?”

  “I was worried about you being here alone.” His voice lowered, his eyes slowly caressing my face with an intense stare.

  I relaxed. “Thank you. That was really nice.”

  “Really nice, eh? That’s a new one.” A light tone entered his voice. “I like the compliment.”

  “Shut up. Don’t ruin the moment.” I gave him a half smile. “Sensitive Anderson is definitely moving up on my list of your moods.”

  “Don’t tell anyone. It would ruin my rep.” He grinned, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “How about we go get coffee and pancakes?”

  My stomach growled more aggressively. “Did I hear my second favorite word?”

  “Coffee?”

  “No, pancakes.” Life began flowing back into my veins. I was hungry, emotional, and grateful for his support. “I love me some pancakes.”

  “It’s settled then.” He patted my shoulder with a firm nod. “We’ll get pancakes, and we’ll drop your car off at your place.”

  “Drop it off?” I said, like I couldn’t understand English. “Why?”

  “I’ll drive you wherever you need to go today,” he said, leaving absolutely zero room for any argument. “I’ll follow you to your place, and we’ll go to IHOP.”

  I nodded at him, getting into the car and resting my head on the steering wheel. I. Was. A. Mess. “Sure, Grace. Lose your heart entirely, that’s a great freaking idea. That will surely end up well for you.”

  I about shit myself when he knocked on the window. I looked up at Brock’s face all tight with concern. I rolled down the window, pretending like everything was fine. “I was not talking to myself.”

  “Oh good. It didn’t look like that at all.” He shook his head, eyes wide.

  “I was singing,” I said, turning red all down my neck.

  “I don’t hear a song.” He fought a smile but lost. A beautiful smile, but on the edge of turning into a barking laugh. I recognized the signs.

  “I create my own music. I write songs,” I added, rubbing salt in the freaking wound. “I’ll sing one for you one time.”

  “I cannot wait to hear it.” His body shook from laughter. “Can I have a preview?”

  “I’m shy. I need to practice it.” I groaned into my wheel again. “I need to eat. Let’s go.”

  “I would hate to have you practice without an audience. Sure you don’t want to leave your car here?” His grin took over his whole face, so I pushed him out of the way and shut the window. He waited a second longer than normal before getting back into his car. I focused on driving and not making an ass of myself.

  It was a real challenge.

  Brock scooted across the booth and thanked the waiter. He poured us both a mug of coffee, using the carafe on the table while assessing me with those eyes. I exhaled, giving in to his intrusive stare. “What do you want to know?”

  He pursed those delicious lips and tilted his head. “Was this year harder than others?”

  I gulped, shame returning in my core. I nodded.

  “I wonder why.” He raised a brow, deep in thought.

  I knew why. The guilt had made this anniversary so much worse. “I forgot about it. I hate myself for that.” I sipped the coffee and searched his gaze. “Do you ever find yourself happy or laughing or enjoying life but suddenly remember what happened? It feels like the floor underneath me gives out. I’ve been so caught up in school and the internship. My friends, and well, everything.” I caught myself before saying he had been a distraction. “I’ve been so happy that I forgot about today. I can’t,” I paused, running my hands down my face, “I can’t let myself forget her. Ever.”

  He nodded, running his fingers over the mug. “Whenever something good happens to me, I question it. I analyze the shit out of it.”

  “That’s what happened to me.” His response made me feel a tinge more normal.

  “I’ve learned the past couple years to think of the good moments as signs. You, for example.” His eyes warmed, his teeth grazing his bottom lip quickly before continuing. “My sister always wanted me to be happy. You make me happy. I’m not going to feel guilty for finding joy.”

  I swallowed uncomfortably. His words hit home. I did feel guilt-ridden and ignored his comment about making him happy. Nope. Not enough emotions in the day to deal with that little bomb. I looked down at the table, processing his words when his voice lowered. “You can’t let your guilt rule you.”

  “How are you so good at this?”

  He scoffed. “I’m not good at this. I fortunately lean on my parents and do the same as you…I work a lot.” He chuckled but not with joy. “I’ll go back to being a raging asshole when it’s my turn. The anniversary of their death was the first week you started. Promise me you’ll be there for me then next year.”

  “Oh, Brock.” My already wounded heart constricted for him as his voice took on a slight tremble. I definitely understood this kind of grief.

  “Yeah, I’m sure you remember, I turn into even more of a miserable asshole.”

  “You could’ve told me, said something,” I said, sad about not learning this earlier. “That’s why you were so mean?”

  “Part of it. But next year, I’ll tone it down.”

  “You better,” I said and froze at the realization August was ten months away. Ten months. Would we even still hang out then? Maybe he’d meant because I’d be working for him then. Yeah, that must be it. Brock must’ve sensed my trepidation because he cleared his throat and lowered his voice.

  “What is it?” His frown deepened, and his hand on the table went to mine for a quick squeeze.

  I dared to look up at that beautiful face, and a warmth flooded my body. “Who says we’ll still be hanging out?” I gulped, blinking rapidly. Surely, he didn’t realize how far away that was.

  He sighed, not meeting my eyes.

  I felt stupid. I shouldn’t have said anything because that’s what ruined things. Shit. I cleared my throat, causing his gaze to flick to mine.

  “I trust you more than I trust anyone else. I know today is a rough day for you, so I won’t lecture you.”

  I gulped, feeling the
hurt and mild anger in his voice. He continued, nostrils flaring every so often. “I sincerely hope we’ll still be hanging out then because if not, I’ll be in a hell of a mood. And you know how I can get. It would be your fault, and that’s not really fair, is it?”

  Humor danced in his eyes, his effort to diffuse the tension admirable. “It would be a disservice to society.”

  “Damn straight, woman. Now, enough talk about us not hanging out then. Eat your food, and then we can go anywhere you want.”

  “Anywhere?”

  “Yup. My treat. What would make you happy today? Well, happier than you were this morning? And nothing work related is allowed.”

  “Well, shit.” I realized how sad I was that my first two ideas were, in fact, work related. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you do on off days or when you have free time?”

  I released a long, exaggerated breath. “Uh, watch entire seasons of TV shows. What do you do?”

  He leaned forward onto the table with his elbows almost knocking over the mug due to their size. “I, too, binge watch TV shows. I spend time with my parents. I read. I read a lot, actually.”

  “Really?” I leaned back into the booth, my curiosity taking over. “You read?”

  “I’m slightly offended at your tone. Yes. I read.” He moved to cross his arms, battle stance ready. “Are you stereotyping me?”

  “What do you read?” I ignored his question, excitement taking over. “Romance? Adventure? Mystery? Oh! I know. Young Adult?”

  “Asshole Grace doesn’t have the same ring to it, but you are being an asshole.” He narrowed those cerulean eyes. “That settles what we’re doing next.”

  “What? Reading out loud together?” I goaded, an inexplicable feeling warming me.

  “Going to my favorite used bookstore. You’ll fall in love there.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Here I was, Thursday afternoon, sitting with my feet propped up onto a cooler next to Anderson at the town’s public sports complex. There were baseball fields, football fields, basketball and tennis courts, and even two volleyball courts in the park. The rec league had officially started—Brock and I the trainers on call—and that left us sitting less than a foot apart in the cold.

  It wasn’t the worst.

  “Need anything? I might get some hot chocolate,” Brock said, standing from the chair and showcasing his impressive build. He wore a winter hat and scarf, the look almost too much for me, and I felt smitten. I was smitten over my boss.

  “Uh, you said chocolate. Yes. Please.”

  He grinned before heading toward the concession stand. We had been there an hour already without anything happening. I wouldn’t go as far as to complain because no one wants injuries, but it was less eventful than I’d planned for. Two bags of ice and a sprained finger, that was it.

  “Here you go, Grace.” Brock returned and handed me the Styrofoam cup. Our fingers touched, and it was stupid to feel all tingly about it.

  “Thank you.”

  “What do you think so far?” he asked, mirroring my position, so our legs were inches apart. He repositioned himself deeper into his chair and looked so damn snuggleable, I avoided looking at him. My hormones were almost killing me.

  “It’s slower paced than college football.”

  “No shit,” he said with a laugh. “This is a unique situation, too. If you’re at a school, you’re going to know the kids and their pasts. If an athlete has a concussion, you’ll check in with them. Stretches before a game, warm-ups, taping, and wrapping, too. From my understanding, high school ATs work with all sports, not just football. That’s a hell of a lot of kids now that I think about it.”

  I forgot about my tactic to not stare at him. His eyes seemed bluer in the cold wind. “I like being busy, so the numbers don’t worry me. This is good though. Seeing how they interact with each other, how they move at different ages. It’s interesting.”

  “It is.” He leaned forward onto his knees, making it so our arms touched. “Next kid that comes up is yours.”

  “Wait, are you sure?”

  “Yup. I’m going to be an observer. Won’t say a word.” He held up his hands, like he was surrendering to something, and jutted his chin toward the south. “You’re up.”

  I stood and set the hot chocolate on the small table just as a teenager walked up to us with his arm pressed against his stomach. “What’s going on? You hurt your arm?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Fell on it funny, coach sent me over to you guys.” The kid winced when I reached out to see it.

  “I’m going to feel if anything is out of place, okay?”

  He nodded and squeezed his eyes shut as I carefully pressed my fingers along his forearm, his wrist, and elbow. There was no evidence of swelling, and the kid only winced when I pressed on the bone near his hand. “This hurts, huh?”

  “Yeah. I fell on it.”

  I clicked my tongue and grabbed a bag of ice from the cooler. “Put this on it. I think you knocked it pretty hard and could’ve bruised it. But since you don’t have swelling and it’s not turning any funky colors, I think you’re in the clear. Keep an eye out, though. If it gets worse in a day or two, have your mom take you to the doctor.”

  “You don’t think it’s broken?” he asked, looking at me with wide, worried eyes. It was cute.

  “Nope. Your bones feel strong to me. Do you drink milk, eat a lot of protein?”

  “Yes, ma’am. My parents force me.”

  “Good, make sure you listen to them.” I smiled.

  “Will do, thanks.” He took off back toward the southwest field.

  Brock gave me a smile so warm, my toes curled in my fuzzy socks.

  “Well,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “How did I do?”

  “Excellent. Not a single critique.”

  “Yes!” I twirled around before returning to my seat. “I hate to say you were right, but you were maybe kinda right for suggesting I do this.”

  He wasn’t smug this time. He shrugged. “I wanted you to experience different ages. That’s all. Hey, my dad just got here.” He stood and waved over a man who looked just like Brock, only thirty years older.

  His father had black hair tinged with gray, the same playful smile, and similar blue eyes. Brock introduced him as Ryan, and I jumped to my feet to shake his hand. “Hi! I’m Grace Turner.”

  “Hello, Grace. I’ve heard about you,” he said, clapping Brock on the shoulder. “We coerce him into coming over every Sunday night for some dinner, and under this tough exterior, he likes to talk. Told us lots about you.”

  I blushed head to toe.

  Brock didn’t stop his dad from embarrassing him. If anything, he added to it. “I talk about work a lot. Sue me.”

  “Work? Okay, son,” his dad said. “I’m sure we’ll catch up later, Grace, but I’m going to walk around and watch some games. Holler if you need anything.”

  I wanted to ask Brock about his father’s comments, but I didn’t. Was it fear? Fear that he would deny it and make me feel stupid, or fear about what it would mean if it was true?

  Thankfully, a stream of kids showed up with pulled muscles, sprained fingers, bruises from falling, and we were busy on opposite ends. The rest of the time flew by, and Ryan returned to help us pick up the materials. Brock brought a handful of items from the stadium for us to use, and we went through all of them.

  One of the kids who sprained a finger returned just as the crowd started leaving the complex to their cars, but this time, the kid was with a woman who I assumed was his mother—only she wasn’t dressed for a windy evening. She wore tight leggings with an even tighter sweater and waltzed up to our tent. “Mr. Anderson? Could I have a word with you?”

  “Sure?” he said, giving me a helpless look. He followed her a couple of steps outside the tent.

  Who wore Stiletto boots to a sports complex? I fisted my hands on my sides. I wanted to hit her smug face as her hand went straight to Brock’s arm. His injured one. />
  “I have to agree,” Ryan said, making me jump.

  “Shit. I didn’t realize I said anything out loud.” My face blushed.

  “You didn’t. I was commenting on your facial expression.” He smiled, nodding in the direction of the woman and Brock. “It won’t go away, but it will get easier.”

  “What will?”

  “Dealing with leeches and people who always want a part of him. It sickens me, seeing people use him. They see money, or fame, or an NFL player.”

  “Sure, he might have all that, but none of it defines him. He is so much more than what people might assume.” I squinted in their direction, sensing Ryan’s gaze on my back. “How does he handle it?”

  “Hell of a lot better now.” His eyes looked down, the instant grief shadowing the conversation. We both knew what he was referring to. “I heard you defend him.”

  “Well, yeah. He’s—he’s a really good friend,” I said, biting down on my lip to prevent myself from saying anything else. I avoided his gaze and chose to admire the parents in the bleachers. With all the avoiding tactics I had exerted that day, I could recreate the scene at the park from memory alone. Maybe I would put on some Bob Ross and do just that rather than analyze my emotions.

  “He’s told me quite a bit about you. In fact, he’s never talked about anyone else as much as he has about you the past couple months. I see the worry in your eyes, but don’t worry. Timing is everything sometimes, don’t you think?”

  I turned, Ryan giving me the same half smile Brock gives me when I do something dorky. I swallowed, the uncomfortable feeling in my throat having nothing to do with the cold. I nodded at him. “Timing is important.”

  “You strike me as a patient girl. Be patient.” He patted my arm, and the urge to hug him struck me as odd. He was so genuine and kind. His words were cryptic and had some hidden meaning. “I’m going to bring the equipment into the car.”