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

by Jaqueline Snowe

  “Movie? Why?”

  “I’m distracting you. Answer the question.” His tone left no room for argument, and I appreciated the gesture.

  “A Bug’s Life.”

  “Yeah? That’s a good one. Mine was The Lion King. I loved that shit.” He laughed, running his hand up and down my arms again. “It’s sad though. But I loved the music.”

  “Do you still know the words?” I asked, unable to prevent myself from laughing .

  “Hell yeah. Don’t ask me to perform them now, though. I need a drink or three.” He chuckled, turning to face me. “I have an idea.”

  “Okay?” I frowned as he stood up abruptly and rummaged through one of the old boxes. “What is your idea?”

  “Cards.”

  “Cards? Like, war?”

  “No, Grace. Like Egyptian Rat Screw.” He pulled out an old deck and gave me a wicked grin. “Trust me. This is a great game.”

  “That cannot be the name.” I rolled my eyes, pointing my finger at him. “You’re pulling my leg.”

  “Nah, I shit you not. It’s a legit game, and I’m going to kick your ass in it.”

  “Well, yeah. I don’t know how to play it. Not fair, asshole,” I quipped, moving from the couch to the floor. “But, I like games.”

  “I figured you would.” He grinned at me, sitting criss-cross on the rug and somehow looking adorable. “Here are the rules.”

  And we played for an hour. He kicked my ass every time. Every single time. I stood no chance, but when I lost for the consecutive tenth time, I realized it was past ten, and the storm had passed. I sent a quick text to Fritz and Gil, both who were worried about me. “Damn. I hate to admit it was fun, but I don’t like losing that much.”

  “It took your mind off the storm.” He shuffled the deck and put them back in the box. “Mission accomplished.”

  “Thank you. I didn’t realize you were so selfless, picking a game I couldn’t win,” I said, pushing myself off the floor.

  “Yeah. I’m a real stand-up guy.” He stood, stretching and making noises that should be illegal. “Seems there still isn’t power.”

  “I know. Gil said there isn’t any at our place either. Must’ve been a hell of a storm.” I ran my teeth over my lip, debating on what to do. Did I stay? Did I ask to go? I had no idea, and the unease at the situation caused tremors of discomfort to go through my body.

  “Want to go sit on the porch and enjoy the aftermath? I’ll grab ice cream or beer. What would you prefer?” He held out his hand, putting it on the small of my back as we walked to the stairs. God, he was polite.

  “Who says we have to choose between the two? On their own, both are extraordinary. Together, I haven’t tested that theory yet.”

  “Great suggestion.” He laughed, guiding me to a glass door. “Take a seat out there. I’ll be right out.”

  I nodded, going onto the screened porch and admired the view. It was a stunning backyard, fully grown landscape and huge. It was covered with branches and debris—nothing too large, but despite the mess, it was impressive. The brisk after-storm air smelled fresh, and I imagined Brock throwing a football around with some kids.

  Don’t go there, Grace.

  “You look like you’re trying to solve the world’s problems. What’s up?” He joined me on the porch, setting down two bowls of ice cream and two Coronas. “If this combo sucks, I blame you.”

  “Fair enough.” I took a bite of ice cream and moaned into the spoon. “Okay, this is good.”

  “Mm,” he said with a curt nod and narrowed eyes. “Glad you like it.”

  I ate another bite, enjoying the flavor and probably making weird noises, but eating for pleasure had to be the best gift in the world. “So, my professor suggested something to me tonight that has my mind spinning. He mentioned his sister teaches at a high school, doing sports medicine and works with high school kids doing the same things I do with you.”

  I paused, waiting to see his reaction before continuing. He nodded a couple of times, no real emotion showing on his face besides his infamous frown. He had resting-frown-face. The close relative to resting-bitch-face. I guess his was better, but it still wasn’t ideal. I couldn’t read him when he did it. “So, what do you think?”

  “I think the better question is, what do you think?” He raised his beer to me with an eyebrow raised. “This better not suck.”

  He took a long slow, his throat muscles working.

  My legs squeezed together. I waited, not having a damn clue if beer and ice cream would work or not. My guess was no.

  He swirled it in his mouth, narrowing his eyes at me.

  I jutted my chin out, following his behavior and taking a large sip. It took all my power to not gag. The mixing of flavors did not go well together. Not at all. But I wouldn’t cede to him.

  “I think it tastes great.” I held up my beer, taking another sip. “I did good.” I took another, watching his eyes dance with amusement. We were in a stare down. We both knew it sucked, but I refused to give him. “Didn’t you like it, Brock?”

  “Hmm.” His half-assed answer annoyed me. His jaw twitched, those blue eyes locked on my face until he broke out into a grin. “You are the worst actor I have ever seen. Admit it.”

  “Admit what?” I blinked up at him a couple of times, tilting my head to the side to act like I had no idea what he was referring to.

  “It sucks ass.” He clapped his hands, laughing louder. “It totally sucks.”

  “I think it’s fantastic,” I said again, hoping my voice sounded confident. I took another bite of ice cream and sip of beer and cringed. He saw it. “Fine. You win.”

  “Ah, I enjoy hearing that.” He leaned back into the chair, grinning at me way too widely. “I’m on fire tonight.”

  “Asshole,” I mumbled under my breath but gasped when he grabbed the beer from my hands. “Woah!”

  “Did you still want to drink it?” He tilted his head.

  “Uh, I don’t waste beer.” I made a face that hopefully said ‘duh.’ He guffawed at me, sitting back down with those intense eyes watching me. “I know I’m an odd duck. No need to tell me with your eyes.”

  “You are something else. I’ll tell you that.” He sighed, leaning forward on his knees. “Now, about this teaching thing, what are your thoughts?”

  “It rattled me. I never thought about it. Ever.” I deflated, the confusion of the future taking over me again. “I know what I love to do, and teaching would encompass it.”

  “Try it, then. What do you have to lose?” He shrugged, and his gaze had a way of making me feel like I was the only person in the world to exist.

  “Failing,” I said, looking at the ground. My finger clenched around the bottle uncomfortably, and I hated admitting my fears to anyone, but Brock was the right person. He made me feel alright admitting my dark thoughts. “I have no experience with kids. None. What if I suck, and I can’t find another job?”

  I waited for his reply, but it never came. I looked up to see his eyes still on me, assessing whatever the hell he saw. I pursed my lips, but he kept staring. My patience ran thin, and I probed him, “Well?”

  “I have an idea.”

  “I’m all ears.” My heart beat faster, hopeful for some guidance. He wouldn’t steer me wrong.

  “Volunteer with me.”

  “Uh, I’m gonna need more details than that. With what, where?”

  “November has a recreational football league with kids aged seven to fifteen. They play games on Tuesday and Thursday nights, and I volunteer to be there just in case there is an injury.”

  “Uh, maybe?” I said, taking another sip. My racing heart laughed and laughed inside my body. Volunteering with him outside of work? More time with him?

  He chuckled, shaking his head at me. “No pressure. I suggested it because this could be an easy way to acclimate yourself with the youth. It would be similar to a high school football program, I imagine.”

  “Damn that youth,” I joked, getting a s
mile in return. “I guess it depends on my classes.” I frowned, letting some insecurities take over me. “College athletes are different. Younger kids? I might be awful at it.”

  “Grace, you know your shit. You have no problem telling people when they aren’t doing something right. You’re nice, enough. You’ll be fine. Kids need the truth.” He nodded, like he wouldn’t let me turn down the offer. “It’s perfect.”

  “I don’t see how this is perfect, but I’ll consider it.”

  “You should consider it. We get along well. We work great together. Plus, you owe me. I let you stay here during the storm.”

  “Oh, you were going to leave me in the wild then? That’s what you’re saying?” I punched his arm in a playful, not touchy sort of way.

  “I could’ve. Just saying. You owe me.” He stuck his tongue out at me.

  I set my bottle down and pointed my finger at him. “You are bullying me into this.”

  “I don’t care. You want to explore the potential to teach. You’ve admitted you aren’t sure what your passion is besides working with athletes. Teaching lets you work with athletes, teach others how to do what you love, and you’ll fit right in with the high schoolers. You look just like them.”

  “I do not!” I scoffed, eyeing my athletic outfit. The sports bra underneath the sweatshirt gave me a uniboob. “Okay, I might look young.”

  “You look young.” His gaze flicked to my hair, neck, chest before coming back to my eyes.

  “I’m not wearing makeup. With makeup, I look older.” I pouted, hating myself for allowing him to get the best of me.

  “You don’t need makeup, Grace. And there is nothing wrong with looking young.” His blue eyes warmed at me slightly, before he dropped the bomb. “Plus, you could probably sneak into prom.”

  “Asshole.” I gave him the meanest face I could. “Women don’t like to hear how young they look until they are in their thirties. Come on Casanova, surely you knew that? You were a hot shot back in the day before you lost your game, right?”

  He rolled his eyes, slowly licking the fudge from his spoon. “I still have game.”

  “Sure. Sure. Whatever you say.”

  “I do,” he said, looking around the yard. He tapped his pointer finger on his chin a few times before pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes. “Okay, next time I’ll prove it.”

  “I don’t think you can prove having game. You either have it or don’t.” I shrugged, annoying him becoming one of my favorite things to do. “If you have to prove it, you don’t.”

  “Please.” He scoffed before continuing. “I’ll add your name to the list of volunteers.”

  “You’re relentless. I’ll think about it. How about that?”

  “Fine. But, I know you’ll accept it.”

  I stood, collecting my bowl and half full bottle. I arched a brow. “Overconfident much?”

  “I mean, you get to hang out with me on your free nights. I don’t see the problem.”

  “Then you, sir, are delusional.” I laughed, following him into the kitchen. The power wasn’t on, but it was time to head out. He turned to look at me after setting the dishes on the counter, and his eyes smoldered. Like, pure fiery attraction smolder. My stomach danced in circles and circles. Wow, I got hot again, and the need to take off the sweatshirt increased.

  “I’ll uh, drive you back now. It’s getting late.” He cleared his throat, avoiding my gaze. “You ready?”

  “Yup,” I said a little too cheery. “Thank you again for letting me stay here.”

  “Of course.” He shook his head, putting his hand on my shoulder as we walked out to his car. “As I said, it worries the hell out of me to think you could’ve been walking home alone when that hit. Hey, promise me something.”

  He turned around, putting both hands on my shoulders. Gone was the heat, and now some unknown emotion swirled in his eyes. “If you ever need anything or find yourself in a shitty situation, call me.”

  “Okay?” I said, just above a whisper.

  “No, promise me. Say it.” He tightened his grip on my shoulders and a slow understanding took over. His insane need to help people, his helplessness because of his sister, a slow warmth crept down my spine.

  “I promise I’ll call you,” I said, holding his eye contact.

  “You better.” He released my shoulders like they’d electrified him, and we continued the walk to the car. “No matter how big or small, I’ll be there.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  After agreeing to help volunteer with Brock in my free time, the thought of seven hours on a bus with him should’ve scared me. He infiltrated every part of my life, and while each moment was great, when the internship ended, a small part of me would remain with him.

  Fritz dropped me off, so my car didn’t have to sit outside for the weekend, and the difference between this away trip and the last was that I didn’t feel out of place.

  The familiar routine of loading the busses and checking off lists felt normal—almost like a second home with the sounds of engines running and players shuffling their heavy feet. I had my bag over my shoulder and scanned the crowd for a familiar face.

  “Morning, Grace.”

  I smiled as Logan approached me with a large cup of coffee in his hands. “Hey, you ready for this seven-hour trip?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.” He ran a hand down his face and gave me a small hug. “Still got to sit with Anderson?”

  “Pretty sure I do. Ain’t that right, Anderson?” I said, spotting him carrying a cooler a couple of yards away.

  He looked up, searching for the voice, and when his intelligent eyes found mine, they softened. After setting down the cooler and clipboard, he strode over, looking all sorts of delicious in a pullover and jeans. He pursed his lips, hand on one of his hips as he eyed me up and down. To anyone else, it would look normal, but to me, I felt that stare in every cell of my skin. “What did you say, Grace?”

  “You heard me, big guy. Do I have to sit with you on the bus ride?”

  Brock’s gaze flicked to Logan’s arm over my shoulders for a second, and he tightened his jaw. It was slight, but I caught it. He cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow while still only looking at me. “Yes.”

  “Fine, I’ll accept it. But, you brought clothes to go out, right?” Logan asked and made no effort to remove his arm. “We tend to hit some clubs if we win.”

  “Hell to the no.” I frowned and felt Brock’s gaze on my face. “I don’t club.”

  Logan looked at Brock for a second before grinning sheepishly at me. “Well, you’re missing a huge part of being on the team. It’s all about the experience.”

  “She doesn’t need to experience all that,” Brock fired back, showing me a new side from him. I wasn’t sure if it was jealousy, a power statement, or arrogance. I liked it, though. My grin widened.

  “What? The partying? The women?” Logan laughed. “You were quite the ladies’ man, weren’t you, Anderson? Throwing touchdowns, breaking records and hearts.”

  Brock’s expression tightened, and he dismissed Logan with nothing more than a wave of his hand. “Grace, you ready?”

  He’d changed subjects so quickly I bit back a laugh. Someone didn’t want to go down memory lane.

  “See you later, Logan.” I wiggled my eyebrows at Brock, who looked way too serious for this early in the morning. “Everything good?”

  “Don’t listen to him,” he said, his words harsh. “He’s making my past into a bigger deal than what it was.” He put his hand on my lower back, his signature gesture. I went up the stairs to the bus and felt a tug on my long braid.

  “What was that for?” I asked as we took our normal seats in the front area of the bus. “You pulled my braid, right?”

  “I like this. It’s…what’s the word? Cute?” He reached over, tugging it again. His use of the word cute stirred some emotions in me. Unwelcome emotions. I nodded at him, not looking up but rather fidgeting with my hands. I sensed his eyes on me and stif
fened when he stood closer to me. “Hey, look at me.”

  I did, tilting my head. His tongue pressed against his cheek, his eyes searching for something on my face. I made a face, sticking out my tongue. That broke his façade, and a smile cracked out.

  “You know, Logan made me sound like a dog out there. I wasn’t, not really.” He frowned, taking the seat next to me. He was defending his prior life to me. It was endearing. “I’ve always respected women. Always.”

  “You don’t have to defend yourself to me, big guy.” I chuckled, ignoring the inappropriate sour feeling in my stomach imagining him with another woman. “You were a hot, young, starting QB for a major university.” I cringed for dramatic flair. “I cannot fathom how easy it was for you.”

  He sucked in one of his cheeks, chewing on his bottom lip as he stared at me. I had never realized how intense eye contact could be until I met him. “I don’t want you to think of me like Logan or the players on the team.”

  I heard the words, saw the torment on his face, and the need for me to accept his truth in his eyes. For whatever reason, my response mattered to him. I smiled, patting his forearm. He might’ve been a playboy type back when he played, but life had a funny way of changing parts about ourselves that we may not have liked. Or, the opposite could happen. But with him, his maturity, he chose to focus on areas that mattered, and there was no shame in that. I cleared my throat. “Brock, do you think you are remotely the same person with the same wants, desires, needs as you were seven, six years ago?”

  “No.”

  “Then, why would it be fair to judge you or associate you now with that Brock? I don’t hold you in the same category as I do with Logan or any of the players on the team.”

  “Good.” He gave me a stiff nod, tilting his head to the side. “You sure know a lot about life sometimes.”

  “We both have had things happen to us that most people don’t go through. That changes and shapes you in a different way.” I patted his arm again, pinching it at the end. “Also, Logan is pretty. You aren’t pretty.”