“Are you friends with Chip?” Sunglasses hid his eyes.
I hesitated, not sure where he was going with this. “Chip? Why?” I faced him, crossing my arms. Chip was one of the tight ends if I remembered my research.
“He's bad news.”
I almost laughed. Bad news? Who said that? Bad news were the druggies in high school. “Stay away from him.”
“Woah.” Talk about inappropriate. “I can make my own decisions. Thank you very much.” He didn’t need to know I had never spoken more than a hello to Chip.
His assumption and warnings were rude. I did not say anything when I went to go drop off the supplies to the cleaning area to finish after lunch. My stomach growled, and I hopped in the front seat. I loved my new cart. But, Anderson chose that moment to jump into the passenger seat. “Uh, need a ride?”
“I'll help you clean.” His tone was clipped.
I whistled. If he wanted to be a grump for no reason, he could be my guest. So, we drove in silence. I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel, Logan waving at me as we passed the coaches. I smiled, earning a grunt from Anderson. Jeez Louise, he was cranky.
I pulled into the parking spot and began unloading the large coolers first.
Anderson flicked his wrist for me to get out of his way.
“Why must you do that? It is so damn rude.”
“What?” he asked, his voice turning high. “I'm helping you.”
“This motion.” I mimicked his wrist flick. “It is rude. It's dismissive, and people do it at the restaurant, and it makes me see red. I'm not a dog.”
His brows furrowed, the dark lines coming together. He ran a hand over his strong jaw with his mouth twisting. I wasn't in the mood to hear some bullshit excuse about him being a dick, again. So, I grabbed the water bottles and took them to the washer. I rinsed each one, then placed it in the rack. I shook my head, releasing a frustrated breath. I went back, grabbing the rest of them and noticed all the coolers were already taken care of. At least the big oaf had helped with those.
“Grace.” His voice broke my trance. He was leaning against the wall of the kitchen area.
I lifted a shoulder as a way of reply. He removed his sunglasses, putting them on his forehead in a way that only athletes could pull off. His blue eyes were sharp, cold, and dangerous.
“No one has ever told me that before.”
“That you're rude?” I scoffed, somehow braver than before. I had no problem speaking my mind now. “I doubt that.”
“No, I've been told that.” He sucked in his bottom lip, slightly, before continuing with his harsh unblinking eyes. “I meant no one has told me that hand gesture was rude. I do it all the time and think nothing of it.”
“It's dismissive and insulting.” I crossed my arms, daring him to argue with me. “No one has told you probably because you're scary.”
“Scary?” His eyes widened, a brow raising up in the process. Then, his tone turned all sugary sweet and soft. “I scare you?”
I sighed, releasing my arms and leaning back against the counter. Maybe I shouldn't have said that, but I wasn't one to back down. “You're intimidating with your muscles and blue eyes that don't blink. You're intense, and that intimidates most people.
His frown deepened. “I'm not scared of you, not like you'd hurt me physically or anything.”
His nostrils flared, and his hand stroked his jaw again. He took a breath, shaking his head, then he said something that shocked me. “I'm sorry.”
My mouth opened, my brows disappearing into my hair. “Uh, what?”
“I'm sorry I gestured to you like that. I never thought about it being rude before. I didn't want you to pick up the coolers. Your knee looks swollen still, and I wanted to help you.”
My voice left and flew out the window. Mr. Asshole Anderson apologized, tried to help me, and was concerned about my knee. Color me pink. I stared at him, now being the creepy unblinking one. One of his lips quirked up, a small dimple popping out on one side. Damn that dimple.
“Did you bring lunch?” He fought a smile. “I have a couple of sub sandwiches back in my office. Come on.” His hand twitched, like he wanted to do the wrist gesture, but he stopped.
“I like sandwiches.” I broke out of the weird spell he put on me. Sure, I still hadn't forgiven him for being a total dick, but he’d gained some points back. “Also, calm that wrist down. I saw you almost do it.”
“I told you, I always do it.” I walked side by side with him, leaving the cart in its spot. “But, I appreciate your honesty. You can speak your mind around me, you know.”
“I'm surprised I'm still here, actually. I thought for sure I would be gone after insulting you.”
“I found it refreshing.” He glanced at me. “Have you heard back from your advisor?”
My heart picked up. Shit. Did that mean he wanted me to transfer? A sinking feeling took over. “No. Not yet.”
“Good.”
Well, that settled that. We entered his office, and he bent over to get the sandwiches from the fridge. I did not have enough self-control to not look at his ass.
He pulled out a long sub and set it on the table.
“Thanks for the food.”
“Generally, I feed my interns.” He took a bite on his own sandwich, watching me again with those hard-blue eyes. They narrowed at my neck, and I hoped I didn't have food on my face.
“What?” I asked, unsure. I only had taken one bite so far. “Is there food on me?”
He shook his head and took something from a back cabinet. “Put this on after eating.”
It was aloe vera. I sighed, the forgotten sunburn now on the forefront of my mind. “Thank you. I got a little burned today.”
“I see that. You need to put sunscreen on.” He used the same commanding tone, but the harshness of it was gone. It was more a demand to help me. I could take that.
“Will do, sir.” I took another bite of my sandwich, my thoughts drifting to this man in front of me. He was a freaking puzzle. He knew every player, coach, worker there by name, something I spent time after hours doing. Athletes respected the hell out of him, all of them loyal.
“Did my secretary, Jen, email you the schedule?” he asked between bites, the silence somewhat comfortable.
“Yes. I got it.” I inwardly groaned. I was going to have no life. Zero. Except for Sundays and maybe a Saturday night if we had a home game.
“Any conflicts I should know about?” He wiped his mouth, the gesture causing me to shiver. His mouth… mmm. I needed to take care of this sexual tension tonight because I was totally not thinking my boss was hot.
“None that I could think of.”
“Most interns take a three-day weekend to go home at least once. Do you think you will take any time off?” It was a simple question, but it hurt to hear. That question insinuated many things—one being I had a home to go back to, the second being I had family somewhere to visit. I had neither. I shook my head.
“No. I'll be here.”
“Good. It drives me nuts when people don't take their commitments seriously.” He finished his sandwich without having any idea how my mood plummeted.
It wasn't his fault. He didn't know.
Very few people, besides Gilly and Fritz, knew that I didn’t have any family, anywhere. It was just me. Grace Turner, party of one. It took me a year to fully accept what happened and get my shit together. Hence, why I was older than most college seniors. I thought I had the grief under control, but sometimes it snuck up on me.
The radio crackled, one of the coach’s voices coming through. “Anderson, we need you on the field. We have blood.”
He snatched it from the desk, his commanding tone assuring them he'd be right there. I wasn't sure what to do, but he stood, head raised. “Let's go. This is how you learn.”
He didn't flick his wrist. He didn't bark orders at me. Progress.
I followed, excitement replacing the sadness that took over, however brief it was. He picked
up a first aid box from the corner of his office and answered the question brewing on the tip of my tongue. “I have about ten of these all over the stadium. You never know when you'll need one. I'll show you where the rest are hidden later.”
We then jogged, him significantly faster than me, to the field. One of the coaches was kneeling next to a player, the radio on the ground next to him. I couldn’t see his face, but the red jersey meant he was a quarterback, which wasn’t good at all. When I got closer, the pain and anguish on his face was evident. It was Q, the starting quarterback. I gulped. Blood didn't bother me, but I didn't like it. I wasn't a damn vampire.
“Brock, Q got cleated bad. Dumbass didn't follow the play, and Louie stepped on him, all three hundred pounds,” the coach with a headset barked. Everyone barked at each other as the severity of the situation was assessed.
“All right. Q, let's see it.” Anderson bent down, the fanny pack he wore hanging low on his hips. Anyone else besides him would've looked stupid. But no, he wore that fanny pack like it was his job.
I bit back a laugh because it was his job. Not the time, Grace. Not the time. I stood off to the side, watching.
Anderson lifted his head, meeting my eyes, and nodded in the direction of the player. “Q, this is Grace. She's working here this season.”
He lifted Q’s lower leg. Yuck. Blood poured down as he removed the soaked sock. I put on gloves from my own fanny pack, handing second pair to Anderson. He thanked me, put them on and continued to check out the injury. “Grace is going to start cleaning this up. I'm going to run back and get the cart.”
Q grunted, slamming his eyes closed. “Thanks, Anderson.”
Brock then took off running. I stood there, the cleaning kit on the ground with Q looking at me. Coaches looked on, nervous and concerned.
“So, Q, is that your entire name? Just the letter?” I asked, spraying the wound with disinfectant. It stung, so, the best way to distract him was with questions.
“Quentin. Everybody calls me Q, though.” He hissed as the spray hit the wounds. I unwrapped gauze, wiping the injury up and discarding the mess in a red plastic bag.
“Q sounds pretty good. My friends call me G sometimes, G-thang, OG, but Q is way cooler.” I rambled, not caring if the coaches heard.
Q laughed through clenched teeth. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Shit. G-Thang. That's funny.”
“Sorry, Q, but I have to clean the rest of the blood up. It will hurt. Can you tell me something about you when I do this? Focus on that.”
“What should I say?” He grunted when I placed the gauze on the wound.
“What is your favorite TV show? I like The Office. I could quote it every day. Have you seen it?”
“Funny shit.”
“Hell yeah, it is.” I finished cleaning the wound as I continued to ramble on about the show. I quoted it at least ten times, making Q laugh. Once I was done, I noted he hadn't cursed or yelled out. “Nice job, champ. You're cleaned. Anderson will cart you back and look at the damage. I think it's a surface wound, honestly. The cuts are deep, but not enough for stitches or scarring.”
He opened his eyes, looking at his calf and at me. His tanned leg was covered in a handful of shallow gashes, despite the amount of blood that had covered it minutes earlier. “This don't look that bad.”
“Sometimes the blood makes it seem way worse. You handled it like a pro, though.” I took off the gloves and threw them in the red bag, too.
Anderson walked up with the coach.
I raised my brows at him before turning back to Q. “I'm glad this wasn't your arm. Take care.” I squeezed Q’s shoulder and stood.
Anderson had smiled at me. He freaking smiled.
“Nice job on the clean.” His blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight. It couldn't be with pride. That would be stupid. Then he laughed. A belly laugh that reached my heart. I decided right then that as much as I wanted to hear his laugh again, it would be a terrible idea. “Follow us back to the rehab room, G-thang.”
Chapter Five
“Thanks, ass wipe.” I hit the back of Fritz’ head.
He’d done an impression of me falling on my ass after I mentioned what happened with Anderson, and I flipped him off right when Tony, the restaurant manager, marched up to me with a stupid smile on his face.
“Why are you grinning like that, Tony? You seem suspicious,” I said, eyeing my manager.
“Head home, Grace. Brandy and Fritz can handle your shift. It's dead. You have bags under your eyes. Go rest.” He then, out of total Tony character, patted my shoulder. Twice. “You have a lot going on, kid. Take a night off.”
And I did. I only made thirty dollars that night, which wasn't an entire waste, but it wasn't worth my while. I had two choices at that point. Go home, and go to bed, or text Gilly, and grab a drink. Her coffee shop job closed around this time, and due to sleeping so much the day before, I wanted a beer. A tall one. Then, I would pass out like a baby.
I texted her, asking her to meet me at one of my other local favorites. Curly’s. It was off campus, more downtown than on campus. For a small Midwestern town, Foxhill was a great town for families and college students. Situated in central Illinois, we were a combination of rural and small city. We never ran into students at Curly’s, and that was fine with us. She responded almost immediately. I grinned, waving to Fritz. He winked, and I blew him a kiss.
“I owe you, Fritz.”
“Yeah, you really do, G-baby. Have fun.”
I drove to the bar, the location on an old, beautiful street downtown. The trees had lights hanging from them year-round, giving it a hipster look. I parked, thankfully finding a spot almost immediately. It must be a quiet Monday night all over town.
Gilly was still fifteen minutes away, so I walked up to the bar to order a tall dark stout. Guinness was my bread and butter. Always had been. The bartender, who was cute but a little too pretty for me, winked and slid it toward me. I thanked him, enjoying that first sip. I had no issues sitting at a bar alone. There were other single people sitting around the bar, lost in their own thoughts and enjoying a drink, too. I had a couple of sips and felt, more than saw, someone's gaze. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, an awareness coming over me but for what, I had no idea. I turned around, looking for the source of the discomfort, but didn't see anything. I shrugged, probably imagining it.
I remained alone until a rancid smell hit my nose. A man reeking of alcohol, sweat, and vomit, leaned against the bar next to me, waiting for me to make eye contact. I didn't.
“Can I buy you a drink, sugar?” he asked in a croaky, gross voice. I cringed, pissed that Gilly was late. I hated this sort of confrontation. My pulse raced, and my palms sweated.
“No, thank you. I'm meeting someone here.” I still hadn't looked at him, instead focusing on the bar in front of us. “I'm good alone.”
“Come on, one drink won't kill you.” He leaned closer.
I backed away, now looking at him. His eyes were yellow, his hair greasy. I gagged.
“I said no.” I made a face of disgust at him, getting up to head to the bathroom or something when he reached out to touch me. Hell. No. I was a half a second away from punching him when a strong, demanding, very familiar voice barked at him with a fury that scared me.
“She said no. Leave now.” Anderson’s voice had a ring to it. A ring that told anyone they were stupid as hell to disobey it. He stood behind me, one of his hands on my shoulder. His grip was strong as his fingers dug into my skin.
The drunk widened his eyes, stuttering an apology and backed away. He tripped over a stool but didn't look back. I closed my eyes, making a raspberry with my mouth. Anderson released his fingers as anger came off him in waves.
I turned to look at him, his blue eyes lethal and his jaw clenching every two seconds. He was going to yell at me, so I spoke first. “Thank you for doing that. I appreciate it.”
He opened his mouth and closed it, his throat bobbing. Those hooded eyes glowed with a
nger, but for the first time, I wasn’t sure it was all directed at me.
I braced myself.
“Are you here by yourself?” His voice wasn't what I expected. It was soft, controlled, yet still dangerous.
I nodded. “My friend is on her way. I’m meeting her here.”
He gave me a brisk nod, his nostrils flaring again. “This isn't the best spot for you to be alone.”
Hold up. Was that anger now being directed at me? His eyes looked back and forth between my green ones. He was searching for something, so I masked my face. “I come here every once in a while. I've never had a problem before.”
He nodded, briskly again. His eyes searching around the bar, presumably for the drunk. “Will you be okay on your own?”
“Uh, yeah. I'll be fine,” I said, a little attitude seeping in. Then, I felt bad. I had no idea why he was there, but I was really glad he was. I reached out, putting my hand on his strong forearm, smiling sincerely at him. “Thank you for doing that. Again. I'm not used to people doing things for me.”
At the contact, he tensed. But, he gave me something of a smile with tight lips before saying, “You're welcome.”
Then, he walked away toward the other side of the bar.
I shook my head, confused, per usual when it came to Anderson. I didn't know if he left or what, but I didn't see him the rest of the time I waited for Gilly to arrive. Her laugh cued her entrance. She totally rocked her barista outfit. “Gillyweed.”
“G-Spot. I see you started without me.” She pressed a kiss to my head because she was even more touchy-feely than I was. “Sorry, I was late. My boss is an ass. Kind of like yours, but ugly. Actually no, yours is more of an asshole.”
I nodded, taking another sip. “What did Pablo do?”
Pablo was short, crude, and cranky. His eyebrows were long and bushy, his face old and crabby. Both Fritz and I told her to find a different part-time job, but no. Gilly liked the place, her coworkers, and secretly had a soft spot for the old guy. She flagged down the bartender with a wave, not a snap or a wrist flick. Anyone with eyes was drawn to Gilly. Her face radiated happiness. She let out a long groan, dramatic as hell before telling me what he did.
Internship with the Devil (Shut Up and Kiss Me Book 1) Page 4
