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

by Jaqueline Snowe

  I found Anderson bent over near piles of luggage that needed to be loaded onto the busses. I watched, not at all being creepy, as he went over a checklist. I hustled over there, dropping my bag on the ground. “Anderson, can I help?”

  “Sure. We can load this into the bottom storage area.” He stood up, giving me a small smile. “Glad you wore comfy clothes.”

  “I own two dresses, max. Why do you think I chose this route for a career? It’s all for comfort and the awesome style.” I picked up the first box and headed to the loading area. “So, Anderson?”

  “We’re back to that, then?” He carried two boxes in his arms and raised his brows.

  “You have many, many names in my head. Anderson is one of the safer ones,” I said immediately.

  He let out a quick laugh before he shoved equipment boxes into the bus. We went back to grab more supplies, water bottles, and first aid kits.

  “What is to be expected during this? I have no idea what to think? Am I sharing a room with someone? Do I get a couch? The lobby? Because I’m a wild sleeper and might draw attention if I’m in public.”

  His lips curved up, his tongue wetting his bottom lip. “You’re ridiculous. You’ll get your own room since there aren’t any other female staff going. Tonight, there is a team dinner, and we’ll eat with them, just off to the side. The players are assigned rooms and are required to be in the room by midnight. They can’t have alcohol, drugs, or girls the night before a game.”

  “Damn, there goes my plan to sneak into their rooms.”

  He froze and gave me a long look before releasing a sigh. “You’re joking.”

  “Ah, yes. Now, you get it.”

  He rolled his eyes in a very unlike-Brock gesture. He put his hands on his trim hips and spoke to the ground instead of my face. “I’m going to get my stuff. Go ahead and find a seat in the front. Go on bus two.”

  I nodded, grabbing my bag and pillow, and headed toward the second bus. No person had ever given me such whiplash before, and it was exhausting. I forced my confusion deep down, determined not to think about him the entire weekend. Well, except about the athletic trainer part. I needed him for that.

  With willpower I was proud of, I walked on the bus and was assaulted with the smell of football players. My heart raced at the attention. Players I had never seen before out of their helmets sat in the back, eyeing the only girl on the bus. Shit. I quickly found a seat in the second row and shoved my stuff into the ledge above it. I squeezed myself as close to the window as possible and hoped no one sat next to me. I wanted to read and nap, all without drawing attention to myself. I got my phone out, picking my playlist filled with old school hip hop.

  Someone spoke my name. One of the players who I treated a couple of times before—Chip.

  I smiled. “Hey.”

  “Want a bus buddy?”

  Anderson walked onto the bus at that moment and looked at Chip like he had a disease. My heart pitter pattered, my stomach somersaulting. His face turned lethal, and his words were sharp as hell. “Nope. Move in the back, Chip.”

  “All right, Anderson.” Chip nodded, respect evident on his face, and gave me a small smile before moving down the aisle.

  Brock took his seat right next to me without uttering a word. Fine, if that was what was happening, then so be it. He smelled nice. Actually, he smelled heavenly, but I shut down that part of my brain. Plus, he appeared to avoid conversation.

  Fine by me. Hello nap time!

  I closed my eyes, resting against my pillow, but the players were so damn loud with their chants and stupid raps. I jerked awake a handful of times before giving up. What was even more depressing was that we hadn’t even left yet. I sighed, accepting the fact I would have to look out the window and remain lost in my twisted, unhelpful thoughts.

  “What was that sigh for?” Brock’s voice interrupted my attempt at daydreaming. I glanced at him from the side to see him looking intently at me.

  “Is it possible to sleep on the bus with all these rowdy guys?”

  He smiled, looking younger, and shook his head. “Not likely. They like to rap, chant, and yell.”

  “Oh, great. Can’t wait.” I held the book in my hands, flipping it back and forth. I could still try and read it, but then, the bus filled with blaring, loud, trap rap music.

  Trap rap was not for the weak. It was intense, loud, offensive, and prevented anyone from focusing on anything.

  Brock met my eyes, raising a brow with a smirk.

  “You knew this would happen, didn’t you?” I asked, but his brows furrowed, and he pointed to his ear. I leaned closer to him as he tilted his head toward me, and my lips were inches from his ear when I repeated my question.

  He nodded and moved his mouth, so I could hear him, goosebumps breaking out on my neck when his breath tickled my skin. “Yup. Hence, I don’t like the bus ride.”

  “You saying hence makes me laugh,” I said, leaning even closer to him, so he could hear me. That was the only reason I pressed my side into his and scooted closer.

  His eyes danced with humor, and the damn dimple came out.

  “How do you deal with it?” I asked.

  He stretched his arms over his head and his large, muscly, bulging, did I mention large, thigh touched min. The casual touch felt like fire. I tried scooting closer to the window to control my urge to climb him, but I had no more room. His massive legs had nowhere to go. “I try to relax. Think about things I have to do. I don’t know. Zone out.”

  “With this noise? I mean, music?” I yelled as the music got louder.

  He bit his lip and nodded. Damn him. That lip. God, it annoyed me how good-looking he was.

  I flirted with a dangerous line when I tilted my torso toward him to talk. “Good luck zoning out. I’m going to try and listen to my music and read if I can.”

  He reached over and put a hand on my forearm before answering. “Good luck.”

  Then, he closed his eyes and leaned back in the seat. His hands rested on his lap, his face so freaking peaceful with his eyes closed. There were no mood swings. It was a pure, sculpted face of beauty. I stared. Stared a little more, the book in my hand not doing its job distracting me. He stirred a bit, making my gaze snap to my hands. I didn’t want to get caught ogling my boss, mentor, and tormentor all wrapped up into a beautiful package.

  I read the first page three times and retained nothing. Fine. I put my book back in my back, annoyed at the music, Brock’s body, and the inability I had to relax. I shifted, crossing my legs.

  That didn’t work.

  I tried a different position, putting the pillow on my lap and resting my face on it. Two trap rap songs later, I lifted the pillow, moving my legs again, and froze when Brock’s hand went out and pressed on my knee. I gasped at his sudden touch.

  “Grace, sit still.” He squeezed my knee before releasing it. “Your squirming is driving me crazy.”

  He still hadn’t opened his eyes and spoke lazily like he had no care in the world. It was so not like him. “I’m sorry. I can’t get comfortable.”

  “Here.” He moved, grabbing the pillow so it leaned against him. We wouldn’t be touching, but, it had a certain familiarity in it. I wouldn’t do this to a stranger on a public bus, but he wasn’t a stranger. “Don’t worry. It’ll be okay. I want to use your pillow, too.”

  “Ah, your hidden motive,” I joked, moving around so my head could rest on the pillow, which rested on him. It was a cuddle by the transitive property, but that was my nerd talking.

  “Pretty much. Now, relax. I promise it doesn’t get better or worse.” He laughed at his own joke, and the action charmed me.

  “You’re a goofball.” I closed my eyes, not taking in his scent or heat at all. Nope. I focused on relaxing and thinking about anything but our proximity. He shifted his position, so our faces were even closer together on the shared pillow. We didn’t need to lean into each other to talk over the music.

  “No one has ever called me a goofball b
efore.” His voice held a tone of incredulousness and a little sadness, too. The fact we weren’t looking at each other made it more intimate.

  “Well, I ain’t a liar.”

  “I ain’t callin’ you a truther.”

  I sat up, wide-eyed and on the brink of laughter. “Did you really just quote back Drake and Josh at me?”

  “Um, yes. Why are you laughing?”

  “Because that’s awesome!” I held out my hand for a high five. Why? I had no idea. But I did. And he looked at it for a second before following through and hitting it. “No one should ever turn down a high five. It’s plain rude.”

  He snorted and blessed me with a beautiful smile. Whatever crankiness he had was gone, and I was proud I had a part in it. I hit the pillow to fluff it up a bit before lying back down. “You just went up a hundred points.”

  “What do the points mean?” he asked, his voice sleepy and husky and dangerous.

  “Absolutely nothing. But they are good points.”

  He didn’t reply but patted my leg with his hand. It was comforting and cute. I fought down the wave of attraction that was coming full force. Only three hours and forty minutes until arrival. I could survive.

  I waited in the corner in the lobby of the hotel as Brock grabbed the room assignments from the head coach. It was freaking packed. The hotel had to be booked solid for the game with alumni from all over coming into town. We had already waited in line thirty minutes to check in.

  Logan joined me moments later with an easy smile that oozed confidence. “You get your room number yet? I’m on the second floor.”

  “I have no idea. Brock went to grab our cards. I still haven’t spoken to the head coach one on one yet. He’s a bit intimidating.” I looked over the head coach. He had dressed in all black and orange, with a pullover shirt that fit the coaching persona and a hard, scared face that told stories. He looked badass, and I was a little glad he was on the other bus.

  “I get it. But ask him about his daughter. He turns into a softie.” Logan winked at me. “I’m probably stuck with Brock, so I’ll see you later.”

  “See ya.” My stomach clenched when I glanced at Brock. His expression. Holy shit. If what I had seen before on him was anger, then this was past that. I went through everything I could’ve done wrong. Did I forget equipment? Sweat broke out on my forehead, and my pulse pounded.

  He walked toward me, stopping a few feet in front of me and fisted his hand at his side. His nostrils flared, his lip curling up on one side as he barked at me. “Let’s go.”

  “Woah, Anderson. What happened?”

  “I’ll explain when we get to your room.” He brushed passed me, going straight for the elevator. “Come on.”

  I followed him, pillow in my hands and preparing for whatever bomb he was going to drop. But, I knew him well enough to know he was stirring. When he was ready to say it, only then would he say it. It didn’t help the situation when we were squished into the elevator, both of us in the back corner. Our arms touched, all fifteen of us pressed together. I swore Brock’s arm tightened, pulling back from me, but there was nowhere to go. Whatever. He was too much head drama.

  Up we went. We were on the seventh floor when he marched out, dropping his bags in front of the first door to the right. He turned to me, nose pinched, exhaling way too deeply from an elevator ride.

  I’d had enough. “Brock, you’re being really weird. What is going on?”

  “Coach misread your name as Grant,” he said, only then opening his eyes to look at me. I waited to hear more, because surely that wasn’t enough to get his panties in a knot. I crossed my arms, raising an eyebrow. He exhaled, staring at the door before looking back at me. “The hotel is sold out of rooms.”

  “Yeah, it looked packed downstairs.” I rolled my eyes, shaking my head in frustration. “What is the damn problem? Spit it out.”

  His eyes widened at my tone, but damn him. He was more dramatic than the old biddies who came into the restaurant and argued over the fifty cent ranch cost. “Well?”

  “We’re stuck rooming together.” He said as though informing me someone had died.

  Oh.

  Oh.

  Oh.

  I opened my mouth to respond, but I had nothing. Instead, I found some badass attitude deep inside me and chose to ignore how upset he was about it. Hands on my hips, I laughed. “You’re all bent out of shape because of that? This isn’t the 1800s, Brock.”

  His jaw tightened, and his cheek twitched.

  I mirrored his stance, making a face at him with wide eyes and an exaggerated chin movement. I repeated it, waiting for him to crack. It went on for a solid minute before he broke down, opening the door. He held it, forcing me to go in first.

  “You know, Anderson, I never took you for being so pure at heart.” I threw my bag on the bed closer to the window and turned to see him, but he was gone.

  “Great. This trip is really great,” I said to no one, falling onto the bed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Life hadn’t prepared me for many moments. One, being orphaned at 18. Two, an injury to my knee that would never heal. Three, having no room key and no idea what to do. After three hours of hanging out in the room alone, my stomach was past the point of being uncomfortable.

  I was downright hangry. And, that was not a pretty look for anybody. The first signs were normal. A grumble here, a grumble there. Then, little things pissed me off. Shit, they didn’t fold the toilet paper into triangles? Rude. No TV guide? Barbaric. No guide to the city with the best food and sights? What kind of third world country was this? We were based in central Illinois, and Ohio shouldn’t be that much different.

  After washing my face, changing my shirt to an old football jersey, and putting on comfy jean shorts, I left the room with my backpack to find food. The hotel had a bar and restaurant that sounded perfect because I didn’t have to leave the hotel. I ordered a tall beer because one, I could, and two, fuck Brock Anderson. My blood boiled over how he had treated me. Why did he throw a bitch fit? I had no idea. I wasn’t awful. But, a grown ass man not responding to a text or giving me any information about what to do? Rude. As. Hell.

  “You look a little young to be here by yourself.” The smooth faced bartender winked at me, sliding a shot my way after I finished my beer. “This is on the house. You’re wearing a Packers jersey, and I respect that about you.”

  I eyed the shot, smelling it and realizing it was straight brandy. “Thanks, I needed this.”

  I threw it back and welcomed the burn. I shook my head, cringing at the awful taste that reminded me of regret. Gilly had stories for days about drinking and regret. I had maybe two stories that were eh at best. But regardless, the bitter memories came with the familiar taste.

  “You wantin’ something to eat? We have some specials.” He slid a menu toward me. “It's happy hour.”

  “Hmm.” I hummed, looking at all the options. I wanted chips, salsa, pretzels, bread, steak. I wanted it all. I also knew the more complicated the meal, the longer it would take. I kept it simple. “Pretzel sticks, boneless wings, and a salad.”

  “Sure thing.” He smiled again, jutting his chin out at me. If I wasn't entirely giving up on men, I would've enjoyed a nice flirtation. But I was hungry, annoyed at Brock, and not willing to make the effort.

  I must've been giving off the signals, the ones that said leave me the hell alone because he didn't try flirting again. I welcomed the silence, devouring the pretzels and wings within fifteen minutes. It was a public service, really, for me to eat. Everyone was much happier when I was good and fed.

  The next problem stemmed from finding a room to crash in because Brock, the gentleman he was, hadn't given me my copy of the room key or responded to my texts. I was roomless, and so not a Grant. The front desk attendant didn’t think I was being honest. Apparently, fans always tried to get into the players hotel rooms. Who accidentally thought Grace was Grant? The head coach, that’s who. Maybe I should introduce myself. />
  Bottom line: I was screwed. I took a deep breath, realizing the situation wasn't as bad as it could've been. I could've been outside in the rain and cold. So, I found my big girl panties and put them on nice and tight. I had to go find Brock, get a room key, and teach him a lesson on manners. Where would he go? The bar?

  No, he wasn't there. He had to be with some of the coaches or players, and the thought of causing a scene made me want to throw up. I hated confrontation, and Brock was a hunky form of pure confrontation.

  Thank my lucky stars, Logan appeared in the lobby, dressed to the nines and freshly showered. I ran up to him, not caring I clearly intruded some of his plans. “Logan, have you seen Brock?”

  “By your tone I guess this isn’t for a good reason,” he said with a smile that changed to a frown when he took me in. “I haven't within the hour, no. You look flustered. Are you okay?”

  “I'm okay. He took off without giving me my room card. I don't really know what to do. The coach had me down as Grant, which would be funny as hell—”

  “If you weren't stranded right now. Yeah, I agree.” He scowled. “At a later time, I'm going to make fun of you for this. But right now, I'm going to kill Brock. God.”

  “Do you know what's going on?” I asked, my muscles all clenching in response. It was a risky move, putting Brock on blast, but come on. I hadn't seen him since we arrived hours ago, and I had no room key. He’d crossed a line. “I hate feeling stupid.”

  “Grace, don't feel stupid. I'm seriously going to punch him.” He sighed then grabbed his wallet from his pocket. “Here, I'm giving you my card. I'm rooming with Chris—you know, that big guy who coaches with us. Use my bed tonight if you don't find Brock soon. Chris is a decent guy, and I probably won't make it back tonight.”

  “You look nice. Hot date?”

  “I got hoes in different area codes,” he said, looking all sorts of confident. “Don’t tell anyone I said that. That was a little disconcerting even for me.”