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

by Jaqueline Snowe

  “Pablo made me count sugars. Literally, counting the individual sugar packets at every table. Then, take inventory of all of them. Do you want to know how many sugars there are at every table? Fourteen. Sweet and lows? Fourteen, and oh, the other one that is fake sugar? Fourteen. It took me twice as long to close.” She sipped her beer, taking a large chug. “Then, he tells me he's cutting back my hours. I'm one of the only ones who does all the work without bitching. But me. Less hours.”

  “Sorry, Gil. With school starting though, you'll be able to get ahead,” I added, still not understanding her and Fritz’s need to work despite their inheritance. I admired them for it. Money was not a part of who they were, and while they had a large nest egg, they were determined to earn their way through life.

  “On the other hand, I didn't have to carry seven three-gallon coolers with blisters on my feet or be insulted. God, if Pablo called me incompetent, I would walk out on the spot.” She shook her head and held up her beer. “I admire the hell out of you, G, for putting up with Asshole Anderson. I'm glad you're sticking it out.”

  I was going to correct her, tell her that things were better. But, she kept going. “Are you going to tell him your classes overlap his schedule? Please tell me you are. Those classes are important to you, and you don’t need to be suffering like this for some prick.”

  I bit my lip, my stomach souring at the thought. I hoped I didn't have to tell him because I refused to show weakness. Just because he helped me last weekend and drove away the drunk man, it did not mean I trusted this new behavior. “I reached out to my teachers, and they are okay with my late arrival.”

  She made a humming sound as she searched the patrons around us. Then she elbowed me like we were in high school again and her crush winked at her. “Ohmigod. How is he so good-looking? Shit. It’s not fair, really, to be that attractive and awful.”

  I turned to look to see who she was talking about. I sucked in a breath, shaming myself. I should've known it was Anderson. He sat at a back booth, his arm loosely hung around the back of it. His tight thermal shirt stretched across his impressive chest. Did I think about that chest often? More than I should.

  He laughed, the sound carrying across the bar, and it hit me in the solar plexus. Then, his gaze met mine. The blue, that sweet sky blue, set a shiver down my spine. This wasn't good. It was a shiver of attraction, warning, and unknown. I couldn't see who he was with, but his eyes stayed a little bit too long on me.

  Gilly squealed. “Ohmigod, he just checked you out. Oh shit. Gracie, he's so hot.”

  “Gil, there’s no—”

  “He's walking over. Right now. Holy shit.”

  She hit me. Then, she hit me again.

  I looked up and saw, in fact, that he was walking over toward us. His hand was clasped to a woman, a drop dead gorgeous woman. Her legs were long. Her perfect hair flowed. My stomach dropped from the stool to the floor, and that made no sense. None at all. I didn't like the guy. Why did this bother me?

  His attention stayed on me the entire walk toward the stool, and he stopped. His jaw tensed, the blue eyes dark now. Shit, this wasn't good. “Grace, I'm sorry to interrupt, but Anna wanted to meet you.”

  “Uh, hi.” I gave him a puzzled look, smiling awkwardly at said Anna. “I'm Grace.”

  “Nice to meet you. I'm sorry to ask this of you, but I didn't quite believe Brock here that he had to scare off a drunk guy from you.” Her pretty eyes softened, making her look adorable. “Is that true?”

  I looked at him, trying to read his face. It was a mask. It was a vault, giving nothing away. Just the nostril flare. I shrugged, hearing Gilly gasp. “Yeah. It happened before my friend got here.”

  “What?” Gilly yelled. “You weren't going to tell me?”

  “I might've. It wasn't a big deal, Gillyweed,” I told her, not taking my eyes away from Anderson and his date.

  “The guy ran out of here, so it worked,” I said, hating how his intense stare made me nervous all of a sudden.

  Anna smiled, relief in her eyes. “Damn. I'm so sorry that happened to you, hon. So, you work with Brock?” Her voice was sweet, sickly sweet, and endearments like hon were one of my pet peeves. It was condescending, letting me know she thought I was a young kid. I bit back a mean response. Two scenarios ran through my head. A, I could tell the truth and ease the poor insecure woman's mind. For whatever reason, she didn't trust Brock. The thought made me laugh. Or B, I could make this hard for Anderson.

  Goals. Put my goals first. Being an athletic trainer. Rehabbing athletes.

  It was difficult, but I swallowed down all the retorts going through my brain. “Actually, I work for him.”

  “Aw, how cute. Isn’t he just the best?” she said, snuggling into his bad arm. He winced, but he made no move to adjust her position.

  “Sure,” I said, making sure to not meet Anderson’s eyes.

  “I was telling him how I wish I could work with athletes. I have a knack for helping those who get hurt, you know? I’m really friendly and not afraid to get down and dirty. You are so lucky you get to work with him. How did you get selected?”

  It took so much effort not to roll my eyes. Why was this lady saying this to me and how dare she question my position? I gave her my best smile. “I have a gift for recognizing injuries, even when that person is trying to be a tough guy about it. And I know not to put unnecessary strain on an old injury, for instance hanging all over someone’s arm when ”

  Her face paled, and she jumped away from Anderson, issuing apologies in a high-pitched voice that could’ve caused glass to shatter.

  Anderson’s mouth flattened, and he glared at me, but I could only shrug. I wasn’t wrong, and she hurt him. I saw it.

  He didn’t say anything—nor did I—then he ushered his date away back toward their booth.

  I took a long swig before acknowledging Gilly. I was sure she had thoughts. “Well?”

  She pursed her lips, sucking in her bottom one, deep in thought. She always took her time spitting something out, and this was no different. She frowned.

  I made a face at her, looking back toward Brock, but it looked like an empty booth. He must’ve scooted further in, out of view. Fine by me. “Babe, I think he's attracted to you.”

  I paused, waiting for the punchline. Then, I cackled. I cackled so hard I snorted. “Jesus, Gil, there's no way in hell. Why would you say that? He dislikes me.”

  “I don't know. I saw the look beforehand. And, if he came and helped with the drunk? Most men wouldn't do that.” She pursed her lips, her eyes lightening with an idea. Great. I hated, and I mean hated her ideas. They bordered on crazy, sometimes illegal, and often something we would regret the next day. “Tell me about last Saturday. Every detail.”

  So, I did. I told her about the carrying, the ice, the medicine, the change in attitude. She pursed her lips, tilted her head, nodding, and humming. If she paid this much attention in her classes, she would have straight As.

  I finished, and the bartender dropped off the bill. I went to grab it, but she stopped me with her voice.

  “Babe, I think there is something going on between the two of you. Seriously. There is major sexual tension there.”

  “You. Are. Crazy. Did you reread 50 Shades again? I know how you get when you read that. Life is not that way, Gil,” I scoffed at her and opened the check. I offered to buy, as it was my turn, but felt my stomach drop again. Instead of the bill, there was a note written in all caps. The writing was hard, aggressive, and totally Anderson.

  GAME ON.

  I showed Gil with shaking fingers.

  Her mouth transformed into a wild grin. “Told you sister, sexual tension does that to a person.”

  Chapter Six

  Neither one of us brought up the occurrence from the bar Monday night. I didn't know what to expect Tuesday morning, but it wasn't indifference. It was back to that, and for the rest of the week, it was business only. He kept me so busy I fell asleep the second my head hit the pillow
after I waitressed. I spent more time cleaning than doing things on the field, and I hated to think I was being punished for my antics, but, if he wasn't going to bring it up, then I wasn't either. I finished up my assignment before lunch on Friday, my final double shift day, when a familiar pain started in my knee. I’d had knee issues since the accident when I was seven, hence why I wasn't athletic, and if I overused it, it hurt insanely bad. Like right now.

  I checked my watch, knowing my twenty-minute window for lunch would be spent slamming down a granola bar and icing my own knee. I bagged some ice and found an empty weight room, using the weight bench for support. I pulled out my phone and watched a stupid dog video thread and laughed. They were so funny, and always cracked me up. A startling voice caused me to fall off the bench and throw my phone at the same time. “Jesus, a warning next time.”

  Wonderful, blue eyes spewed fire at me. Great. Anderson frowned, cursing, and bent to help me up. His hands were rough, but his touch was gentle as he slid me back to the bench. I went to grab the ice, but he beat me to it. He picked it up, eyeing my knee, the same one from the week before. “Is it still hurting?”

  “It's always sore. It’s not just from last week,” I admitted, my neck turning red. I hated admitting any sort of weakness, no matter how big or small.

  He chewed on his lower lip, that damn hand scratching his jaw. I loved and hated that gesture. He didn't ask and instead put his hand on my knee again. He kneaded it, bending low to look at it causing my heart rate to spike, which was stupid because I've seen him do this to every guy on the team.

  “What are you doing?” I managed to get out in a semi-normal voice.

  “It's inflamed more than normal.” He squeezed the area around the knee cap, where the rod had been placed causing me to flinch. “Right here is where it hurts?”

  “Yes,” I gritted out, my teeth clenching. “I have a metal rod in it. When I overuse it, it gets like this. Ice will help. It always does.”

  His gaze snapped to me, those blue laser beams turning dark with anger.

  “It's no big deal,” I said, hoping he’d let it go.

  “Why do you have a rod?” His voice was too calm, a clear warning sign.

  “An accident from childhood.” I hoped he didn't ask. I hated talking about it and kept the information from my closest friends. “It was a long time ago. I'm fine.” I tried to pull my leg back, but he gripped it, the heavy hands sending tingles up my leg.

  “You’re on your feet too much,” he said. “Do you have to work tonight, too?”

  “Yes. Tonight’s my last night.”

  He stared at me, going between my face and my knee. I had no freaking clue what his mind was reeling with, but I felt exposed, overwhelmed, and as always, confused. He had a way of doing that. Hot and cold, nice and mean. It was a damn headache.

  “You shouldn’t work with how swollen it is. Can you call in?”

  “Um, no. I wouldn't do that. I'm fine. I've powered through worse.” I tried to move my leg out of his grasp again. “I'll take more aspirin, and I'll survive.”

  “You're stubborn.” He removed his hands and stared at me.

  I laughed, snorting at the end.

  “Yeah, I am stubborn. But, you’re bossy, so that's worse.” I stood. The ice had helped a bit, and I hoped I didn't wince. “What's on the agenda for the afternoon?”

  “Go home, Grace.” He stood, his expression softer.

  My eyes stung. I hated pity. I hated the look people gave me when they heard about my childhood, and I refused to deal with it here. “No. Do not send me home, please.” I shook my head, meeting his intense stare. “I’m not sick. I can work. I want to be here.”

  He ran his hand over his hair, the brown shaggy hair that made him look good regardless of how it was styled. He bit down on the inside of his lips, then exhaled. “Fine. Change of plans.”

  “What are we doing?” I asked, hope sprouting in my chest. “Something new?”

  “Yes. You're stubborn, but I can appreciate that. I am, too. We’ll do something that keeps you off your feet.”

  “Don't baby me,” I snapped at him. “I'm fine. I don't need your pity.”

  “Pity? You think I'm pitying you? You stubborn, naive girl.” He shook his head, scoffing at my statement. “I don't pity you. Not. At. All,” he said between clenched teeth. He strode off, waiting for me to follow him.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, my voice on the verge of hysteria. Of course, he didn't answer but walked faster. Damn him. “Anderson, wait up.”

  He turned around, fire in his eyes. Then, the fire went out. His face transformed as he saw me hobbling after him.

  Yes, my knee throbbed all crazy types of pain, but I wouldn't give up. Not ever. I caught up to him, and his cheek twitched again. It must be an annoyance meter. “Thank you for waiting. I'm sorry I can't walk as fast as I normally do today.”

  “Sure,” he said, in a voice so kind I gasped, my mouth open in shock. He shrugged it off, gently putting his hand on my shoulder. “This way.”

  My stomach did not swoop at the contact. Nope. Or the way he kept it on there as we walked to a golf cart. Not. At. All. “Golf cart?”

  “Yup. Technically, the players are done for today. There is a scrimmage tomorrow, the final one, so we actually could leave for the day. But, I doubt you believe me.” He started the golf cart, giving me a sly smile. “I got creative. We're going to do a tour of all the sport facilities, see their training rooms, and you can ask any question you want.”

  “Any question?” My brows rose.

  “Any.”

  “You won't bite my head off or make me feel stupid?” I asked, not willing to meet his eyes.

  He released an exaggerated breath, his eyes burning into my profile.

  “Grace.” That slow, rough voice coaxed me to look at him. “I won't bite your head off. And, I won't make you feel stupid.”

  “Then, coolio.” Yup. I added the use of the word coolio to the list of stupid things I had done in front of Brock Anderson.

  He smiled, his eyes warming at me for a second before driving away. We drove past the tennis court and the campus graveyard, which freaked me out. Did people like their college so much they wanted to be buried there? Why? Who’d want that?

  “What's that face for?” he asked, cruising down the sidewalk. I didn't like how he took his eyes off the sidewalk, but I was busted. There wasn't another human in sight where we were. The southwest part of campus was empty.

  “Would you ever want to be buried in the school’s graveyard? I don't get it. Are they all alumni? What if one parent was, the other wasn't? Are they allowed in?” I asked, not really expecting an answer.

  “You know, I've never thought about that.” He hummed, gazing at the cemetery. “Those are good questions. But, no, I wouldn't want to be put there.”

  “Me neither.” I thought about my mom’s funeral, the lowering of the casket to the ground. Nope. I hated the ground, the tombstone, all of it. I hadn't been back. I had enough memories of her in my head and heart. My mom was religious, but I wasn't. I went through the process for her, not for me. “Have you ever lost someone, Anderson?”

  “Call me Brock. It's time.” His reply wasn’t happy or angry. Just another command.

  I rolled my eyes, but then he added, quietly, “Whenever you say Anderson, I automatically hear Asshole in front of it now.”

  I laughed, somehow the sad mood leaving again. Man, today was an emotional one for me. I blamed the lack of sleep. “Okay, Brock.”

  “You said it like my name is poison.”

  “It feels like it is. Brock.” I did it again. I was not flirting, nope, nope, nope. I was not. “But, you avoided the question.”

  Surprise colored his face, and I was glad I asked him instead of assuming everything I read about him online was true—how he lost a sister and niece in a career-ending car crash. The accident played no part in him getting this job, and so I considered it too personal. Too off-limits.


  “Ah, yes I did.” He looked out at the graveyard and slowly nodded. “I have.”

  I forgave him, a little, for that. He had the same look I did at that moment, like both of our souls suffered a great loss that we hadn’t accepted. My curiosity wanted to ask who, when, how, but I knew better. People didn't ask about death. It was too inappropriate and considered sad. To hell with social rules, I blurted out, “I lost my mom about six years ago. I can't go a day without thinking about her. That's why I hate cemeteries. Burying her was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. It was just us.”

  He met my eyes, slowing down the cart. He turned, his hard body facing me entirely, and something passed between us. Understanding? Sympathy? His mouth opened, his tongue wetting his bottom lip quickly before hiding back inside his mouth. “I'm sorry. I can't imagine my life without my mom.”

  “It sucks.” I gave him a small smile. “Some days are better than others. I'm a workaholic. People admire my ambition, which is there, and it's easier that way. Then, I'm tired or busy, and I don't have time to feel sad. It’s worked well so far.”

  He nodded like he understood and kept driving. We pulled up to the baseball stadium, and the place was almost empty. He explained that most of the players were at a boot camp of sorts until next week when classes started.

  “Do you have keys to every building here?”

  “Training facility, yeah,” he said, flippantly. “Come on. Heidi runs a hell of a program here. Maybe you'll meet her.”

  Heidi was the athletic trainer for the baseball team. I had heard about her—anyone in the major had. She was tough, intelligent, and quick as a whip. Anderson had a reputation for himself too but not like hers. Being a woman in the field was pretty badass. Plus, Anderson was one of the bros.