Rinse, soap, scrub, rinse, repeat. And then again, again, and again. My hands had never been cleaner in my entire life, and I wasn’t even halfway done. Good freaking lord.
“This looks miserable.”
I turned around, smiling when Logan leaned against the doorway. “It's not so bad when you get used to not feeling your hands because the hot water ran out. Really, besides the fact I'd rather stick knives in my face, it's fun.”
He laughed, his cackle echoing in the small room. “Want some help?”
“Are you for real?” I asked, sounding all sorts of mature. “It sucks.”
“Anderson’s work, I presume?” he asked, his handsome face twisting. “I'll help for a bit. See if we can't knock out thirty of them.”
“Your call, Logan. But, I'll warn you, you'll get wet.” I blushed. Shit. That sounded bad. I hoped he wouldn't—
“That's what he said.” And he nailed it.
I laughed, flicking soap at him. “I deserved that. Yup.” I turned back toward the sink, feeling his arm touch mine as he joined me on the other side.
He picked up the bottle, not going in the assembly line order I had been doing for an hour already. “No, no, no. Rinse first, then soap, then scrub. There's an art to this.”
“Okay, crazy.” He laughed, eyebrows disappearing into his hair. “Boss me around then.”
I eyed him, not trusting the joy on his face. “You said that like you say it often. I don't like it. Nope.”
He laughed again, nudging his shoulder against mine. It reminded me so much of Fritz that I felt more comfortable with him than I did with anyone else. “So, Grace, how was your day?”
And we talked, cleaned, and laughed. We chatted about his past, his family, his love of football. Then, we talked about his nieces and nephews. Conversation was light and easy, talking about his career and the past couple of seasons. He nodded, asking question after question, and before I knew it, we’d finished the entire shitload of bottles.
“I survived,” I said, looking around the room like there were bottles ready to jump out from their hiding spot. “I didn't know if this moment would ever come. Am I dreaming?”
“Drama queen,” he said, laughing and putting his wet hand on my shoulder, squeezing. “My hands feel so moisturized. They are so smooth.”
I laughed, showing my hands pruned to the bone. “At least you don't look eighty years old.”
“True. Gross,” he teased, winking at me. “You know, Grace, you're all right.”
“Wow. Thanks so much for that raving endorsement. I promise I won't let it go to my head,” I said without missing a beat. I grabbed the towel and dried off my hands best I could. It was like they were permanently wet. “Thank you, Logan. Seriously. I owe you a beer sometime.”
“I'll take you up on that.” He flashed a flirty grin. “Want to grab one tonight? We could head down to Maggie's. It's my favorite place in town.”
I scrunched my nose, ready to tell him about my date that night, but then a familiar figure appeared in the doorway, drawing my attention. “You two heading to Maggie's?”
Logan cleared his throat. “I was hoping she would say yes.”
“A beer sounds good.” Brock walked in, grinning at the stacks and stacks of water bottles. “Nice work, Grace.”
I rolled my eyes and showed him my hands. Logan’s frown deepened, my stomach souring at turning him down. Not just because I had a date, but the electrifying attraction wasn't there. I opened my mouth to speak, but Brock’s strong voice interrupted as he took in Logan’s wet shirt.
“Did you help her?”
“For an hour, and it sucked ass.” He laughed, then shared a look with me. “We had fun though, didn't we Grace?”
Uh oh. Was he flirting again? I ignored the ball of guilt and smiled at him. “Yeah. It wasn't as bad as it could've been.”
Brock’s face tightened, his jaw clenching a little bit. “I see.”
“Bro, she would've been here for hours.” Logan bit back.
Brock turned his eyes to me. They narrowed. Great. We were back to pissed off Brock.
I did what I always did when things got uncomfortable; I tried to break the mood. I held up my hands, walking toward Brock. “Look at my granny hands. Look at them! Please tell me I passed the hazing test. These babies can't take anymore. I'm going to smell like Dawn dish soap for months.” My voice rose, my crazy coming out a bit. But, it worked. Brock’s face softened, his lips curving more than they were seconds before.
“I planned on stopping in here earlier, to help or relieve you of it. But, I should've known. You work hard, kid,” Brock said, jutting his chin out at me in a nod. My blood chilled at the use of the word kid. I hated that word. “So, is Maggie's happening or no?”
I shrugged. “I can go for one drink. I have a hot date tonight, so I have to leave to get ready.”
“A hot date? Oh, do tell.” Logan slung his arm around me. “Did you drive here? I can drive you to Maggie's. But, you're buying.”
I don't know why I chose to look at Brock at that moment, but his expression was so annoyed it sucked the breath out of me. It made no sense. Absolutely nothing would've caused that look of misery. His eyes looked tortured, lost, and sad all for a second. Then, he was back to normal. What the hell?
“I, uh, I drove here,” I answered Logan while looking back at Brock. “I'll meet you both there, yeah?”
“Sure,” Logan said, then mumbled something to Brock.
I didn't hear what Logan said, but Brock’s voice carried down the hall. The words were clearly understandable, and I could hear every syllable, but they didn’t make any sense.
“Leave her the fuck alone, Logan.”
Maggie's was a short drive from the stadium. The lone Irish bar in town was known for their amazing drinks and authentic food. I found some old body spray in my bag and used it to cover the sweat from the day because I had definitely sweated. I was un-showered, sweaty, had prune hands, and no make-up on. But, I didn't care. A nice cold beer was just what I needed to mentally prepare myself for the date. My neck got all tense just thinking about the entire thing, even though it was good for me.
I wiped under my eyes, then about shit myself when someone knocked on my window. “God, Brock, you scared me.”
“I saw you sitting there. I'd figure I'd walk in with you.” He stood, hands in his pockets and not at all looking like the hot mess I was. I locked my car, only taking my phone and wallet with me. “How's your knee?”
“Honestly, no pain today.” I smiled at him, noticing his relaxed shoulders and easy smile. I liked this banter with him. “Now that I'm done serving until the season is over, I'll be fine.”
“I hope so. Tell me if it's hurting though and I'll see if I can help.” He pushed open the door, holding it for me, so I had to walk by and brush his arm in the process. I didn't suck in a breath to smell him. Nope. That would be weird.
“No promises.” I found us a booth. “I probably won't tell you. I hate feeling weak.” I slid into the seat, expecting him to sit across from me, but no. He slid right next to me. His thigh pressed against mine, causing my heart to hammer so hard I swore he could hear it. I took care of my body, I ate well, enjoyed drinking from time to time. Why did she betray me?
“You are anything but weak, Grace.” His low voice hit me in the feels. “You're impressive.”
“Did you just compliment me? Wow. I'll put that in the calendar,” I said, wishing I could take it back. “Uh, sorry. I'm tired, and my filter left for the day.”
“Do I not compliment you?” His brows came down, and his head tilted slightly to the left. It was so endearing and innocent, like he had no idea he rarely gave praise.
I wet my bottom lip before speaking. “I don't need praise. I know I work hard. However, it would be nice to know if I'm doing things correctly. But before you say anything, I know you'd let me know immediately if I did something wrong. I don't know. It wouldn't kill you to say good job.”
&nbs
p; Technically, he was my boss. But, he needed to hear the truth. His response was to rub his hand over his sexy jaw, his fingers coming up to pull at the side of his lip. God, why did everything he do look sexy?
“I'll work on that.” He hit the table a couple of times, nodding to himself. “Grace, you work harder than anyone who's been assigned to us. I kept waiting to see if the girl who wore that black dress the first day would quit or break a nail, but you are so much more than that first impression.”
“Ah, well, technically, boss man, it was at the bar.” I didn't like the black dress and stereotyping he did, but he had admitted he was wrong. I couldn't hold that grudge for long.
“Shit. Yeah, that too.” He turned his head to look at me, a smile breaking out on his face. “You're something—”
“Hey bitches,” Logan interrupted, and a surge of annoyance flashed across Brock’s face. “I ordered us three Guinness’s. That cool?”
I nodded, Brock mumbling a yeah. His timing was awful. I wanted to know what Brock was going to say.
Logan didn't wait long to talk again, the mood from seconds ago gone. “So, you have a hot date tonight, eh? Dish it.”
“I'd rather not,” I said, tight lipped.
“Come on, we're all friends here,” Logan baited, sharing a look with Brock. “You dating someone?”
“No. It's the first one with this guy,” I said with as little as enthusiasm as possible. “You don't want to know this, really?”
“Our lives are boring. Humor us. How'd he get you to agree to the date? You don't look excited about it.”
“It's not that. Well,” I stammered, hating to admit to the online dating, but screw it. I didn't think they would care, but I found both men, good-looking men, staring at me with expectant faces. “My best friend made me an online dating profile.”
“No way!” Logan said, laughing. “You're not someone who strikes me as a Tinder lady.”
My face heated, turning bright red. “This is why I didn't want to say anything. Forget it.”
Logan’s face paled, realizing he upset me, but Brock beat me to the punch before I could yell at him. His tone darkened, genuine anger in it. “Don't be a dick to her man. A lot of people use dating apps.”
Oh.
Oh my.
Brock stood up for me.
Logan’s gaze flew between Brock and me, an apologetic grimace taking over. “Shit. I'm sorry, Grace. I was teasing you. I didn't mean to hurt ya.”
“Thank you for apologizing.”
“So, who is the guy?” Logan had the balls to ask.
“You expect me to answer that, now?” I said, eyes widening. “Yeah, not happening.”
“I'm curious. Sue me.” He shrugged. “I’ll go wait for the beers and bring them back.” He got up, leaving just Brock and me at the table. I wished I’d had my drink, so I could distract myself with that and not this silence. It was maddening.
“If I may ask, how did you end up online? You're young, friendly, and uh, pretty. I'm sure you meet lots of guys.” He kept his face blank, like he was talking to a distant cousin. The ball in my stomach grew, the reminder of his conversation about me still fresh in my mind.
Friendly, pretty, young. I rolled my eyes. “You know, despite you thinking I’m too much work, too young, and definitely not your type, I do meet guys. But, they don't have patience to deal with the fact I’m busy all the time.” My heart rose in my throat, and my palms sweated. I refused to look at his face after that, his neck being a better option. I regretted sitting on the inside of the booth, because now I was trapped there. By his body.
“Look, can I get out?” I asked in a small voice. “I should leave.” I tried to move, but he put his arm out, blocking me. I looked up, finally seeing his face and I gulped. I gulped hard. His face was stone. He looked seriously pissed off. And it was all directed at me.
He stared at me. Nostrils flaring, tightening jaw, and tight lips.
I tried again, feeling uncomfortable, stupid, tired, and so sexually aware of him I wanted to die. “Can I—”
“Shut up for a damn second,” he barked at me, putting his fingers on the bridge of his nose and pinching. “I'm pissed off right now, Grace. Give me a minute.”
I had no idea why he was pissed. Sure, maybe he was annoyed with me. But this goddamn mad? Drama king. “Brock, I don’t have time for your Asshole persona to come out. I'm sorry I said that. It was out of line.”
“You heard us.” He didn't need to specify what he was referring to. We both knew.
I nodded.
“Fuck.” He ran his hand over his hair, looking back and forth between my eyes. I knew they showed how hurt I was. I didn't care. I wore my heart on my sleeve. However, I didn't want pity. “Grace, look— “
“No. I don't want an explanation. There is none needed. I acted out of line to prove a point. I might not be your type, and that's fine. I'm not trying to be. I'm embarrassed about using dating apps, and I handled it poorly.” I laughed, well more like coughed, dramatically. “I really need to go. I won't bring it up again. Thanks for today—it was truly an incredible experience being on the field like that.”
He looked at me, hard. Then, he sighed, getting up from the booth to let me leave. I felt no reason to say goodbye, but he reached out and circled my wrist with his large hand. I had no choice but to turn around. His tortured eyes were back, wreaking havoc on my lady parts. “I'm sorry you had to hear it.”
“But not for saying it,” I finished for him. I knew it. We both did. “I get it.”
“It's not like that.” His blue eyes pleaded with me, but I had no energy for it. I took my hand out of his grasp and left.
Feelings were stupid. Even the little ones, the ones you didn't want and the ones that crept on you. I wanted to put them in a little box and lock that shit up.
But, no. I didn't have that choice. I had to go on a date with a guy who was the wrong height, missing my favorite mix of soft and sweet, and didn’t have amazing sea blue eyes.
Chapter Nine
I preferred working.
I had enough to focus on that had nothing to do with the opposite sex. They made my head spin and my heart hurt.
My date sucked. His comments about my appearance should’ve bothered me, but rather, I counted the seconds until I could leave. Too athletic. Too driven. Not like my picture. Steven was a loser—and to get over the sting of a bad date, I threw myself into my homework.
But, the universe liked messing with me. It was probably my mom, bored out of her mind and wanting a laugh, who sent the massively built, perfect haired, gorgeous eyed Brock into my favorite coffee shop. He had done his best to avoid me all week, and I was okay with that. I rubbed my temples.
He held a laptop bag over his shoulders, the combination of his glasses and messenger bag almost too much to handle. Be still my heart. Nerdy glasses, thick rimmed. I about melted. I accepted I would never be able to control my heart and brain at the same time, so my heart went bonkers. I told my mind to shut the hell up and went back to studying for my two incredibly hard anatomy classes. I had to get A’s to continue one of the scholarships I got. So, I was nerdy, broke, alone, and sporty. I’d clearly RSVP’d to my own pity party and had no plans to leave early.
“Grace?” Brock’s voice had an element of surprise. He seemed just as uncomfortable as I was. Shit got weird between us. Thanks to my mouth. “Whatcha doing here?”
“Studying my face off,” I said, enjoying his small smile. “What about you, Clark Kent?”
“Oh, these.” He touched his glasses, blushing slightly on his upper cheeks. “My contacts dried out. Didn't pick up more.”
“I hate when that happens.” I ran my finger over the mug of coffee, waiting for the end of the conversation.
He lingered then motioned to my book. “I hated that class.”
“It’s definitely not my favorite.” I laughed and showed him my notes. “One day of class and I have hours of homework.”
“Wait,
I thought your internship replaced your classes?” His head tilted, a little bite to his tone now.
“Typically, yes. But, I had to sign up for two on top of the internship.” I scrunched my nose. “It won't affect my work. I promise.”
“No, I know that. You kick ass. But, how do you manage that? What time are your classes?” He frowned, pulling out the chair across from me. Oh. Okay. He was joining my table. Cool.
“One is Tuesday, the other Thursday. Four until Seven.”
“You stayed until four today,” his reply was curt, pissed off. A spark of happiness shot through me that he even noticed I was there today. But, not the time I left. “What's going on, Grace?”
“Hmm. Well. I worked it out with my professor to let me arrive late, and stay late, so I wouldn't have to ask you to leave early.” I stared into my coffee mug, like the words to stop this uncomfortable conversation to end were in there.
He blew out a breath, another verbal slap to come from him, I was sure. “God. Grace. You're killing me.” He put his laptop on the table, shaking his head with a pained expression. “I'm getting some coffee. Then, we need to chat.”
He left me alone, unable to focus on anything at all. I read the same paragraph three times, not getting anything from it. I tried making a grocery list, but I wrote salad four times before giving up. I didn't want to chat. It wouldn't end well. Keep it work related. That’s it.
Brock came back and smoothed down his vintage baseball shirt. “This place has the best coffee.”
“I think so, too. What do you get?” Coffee was a safe topic.
“French press. Only way to drink it.” He raised his mug. “What about you?”
“Roast of the day.” I thought of a random article I read and blurted out, “Did you know if you drink three cups of black coffee a day, you're less likely to get Alzheimer's or heart disease?”
“You know, I might've heard that before,” he said, smirking at me. “Now that we have the awkward small talk out of the way, can we talk?”
“Ugh. Fine.” I closed my book, notes, and put them in my backpack. “I can't focus at all right now anyway.”
Internship with the Devil (Shut Up and Kiss Me Book 1) Page 8
