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

by Jaqueline Snowe

  “I’m going to head back to my friends. This isn’t working. I’m sorry. Thank you for the drink though.” I squirmed, turning to walk away, but he reached out and grabbed my wrist. Hell. No. “Excuse—”

  “Let go of her. Now.” Brock’s wide frame stood behind me, his chest touching my back. Rick released his hand from mind with his face paling. Brock didn’t wait another second before pushing me out of the way, behind him. “Touch her again and I’ll break your face.”

  His hand went to my back, but this time his fingers dug into me. I understood he was pissed, beyond pissed at that moment. Instead of going back to the table, he directed us outside of the bar. “Brock, where are we going?”

  “Give me a minute, please,” he said, voice tight and pained. It was unlike any tone I had ever heard from him before. He led us outside to the front entrance where a large bench sat away from any other people. He plopped down, dragging me with him. He threw an arm around me, taking deep breaths.

  “Brock.”

  “Shh.” His leg bounced up and down, the tension in his body worrying me. I turned to face him, putting my hand on his scruff. It was the most I had ever touched him, and his reaction was enough to distract him from his thoughts. His gaze darted to mine, his eyes wide with worry and anger.

  “It’s okay,” I said calmly. I kept my hand on his chin, using my other one to put on his bouncing leg. His magical, toned, hard leg.

  Focus. “Thank you.”

  “I wanted to beat his face in,” he admitted, looking at the ground. “Why did you do that?”

  I thought about my answer, removing my hand from his jaw. “I felt like I had to prove myself to you guys that I wasn’t just this tomboy. I don’t know. I feel foolish and regret it.”

  It wasn’t until later that night, after I went up to my room and fell into bed exhausted, that I realized it wasn’t just worry in his eyes. There was more.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The following morning was exactly how I imagined it would be. The football players stumbled onto the bus exactly at the time required, smelling like shit. Coaches turned the other way when a couple of them threw up in the parking lot. The entire ride was silent. No music, no chatter, just silence. I welcomed the peaceful ride, reading a solid ten chapters in my book.

  I forced myself to read a few pages before sneaking a look at him, but when he wore his glasses, it became increasingly more difficult. It went on repeat: read, look at Brock, think about him, repeat. He was gorgeous.

  He was kind, patient, and passionate.

  He was a survivor, something that hit home with me.

  Loyal, hardworking, family-oriented.

  He set my soul on fire. After taking an incredibly relaxing shower and thinking about what transpired at the bar, I came to two major realizations… First, I was falling hard for Brock. I didn’t know what he felt or how much, but those haunted eyes were more than friendly.

  But second, we worked together. He was my boss. He was in charge of my grade.

  I closed my eyes, thinking back to a conversation with my mom when I was a junior in high school about boys and all her fantastic advice.

  “Sweetie, there are two types of people you can fall in love with. The first gives you sweaty palms, heart racing kind of excitement. The passion will fizzle in time. Trust me. The second kind, this kind is the best. Your soul is set on fire, your mind is challenged, and most importantly, you feel safe—”

  “Grace, wake up.” The voice of an angel stirred my dreamless sleep. The angel had soft feathers running down my face. I grinned, enjoying the sensation very much. “Aw, hell. Don’t smile like that.”

  The feather moved from my face to my side, poking me. I didn’t like being poked. I jumped, the harsh reality of sitting on a bus for hours on end crashing down on me. I wiped my eyes, seeing Brock’s incredible blue ones gazing at me with a bemused expression. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “’cause you had this stupid grin on your face in your sleep.” His eyes danced as he jutted his chin toward the window. “We’re pulling into the parking lot now.”

  “Huh.” I followed his gaze and shrugged. “Fast ride.”

  “It was.” He cleared his throat, a small smile tugging on those magical lips. “Did you enjoy using me as a pillow for the majority of it?”

  “Sure did. Sorry about that.” I yawned, stretching a bit and saw his eyes take me in. “You could’ve moved me.”

  “Nah, it was okay. You looked peaceful. It was a nice change of pace to not hear you talk all the time.”

  “Asshole,” I fired back, thankful he let me sleep. “I probably won’t sleep tonight, but it was a hell of a good nap.”

  “Yeah? Why the goofy smile?”

  “I dreamt of my mom. It was a good dream.”

  He nodded, like he knew exactly what it meant when there were good dreams instead of the bad ones.

  “It made me happy.”

  “I’m glad. You have a wonderful smile.”

  “Thank you.” My face warmed. Heart pitter pattered. Stomach galloped.

  He sighed, putting a hand on my knee with a quick squeeze. “Do you need a ride home?”

  I froze, forgetting to text Fritz for a ride. “Shit.”

  “Don’t worry, I got you.” He smirked, clearly pleased at my predicament.

  “I don’t want to keep you from anything.” Pulling out my phone, I began typing out a text to Fritz and Gilly. I didn’t get to press send because his hands went to my phone, taking it.

  “Let me rephrase. I want to take you home.” He paused, a vulnerable look coming over his face. “Could I bribe you with dinner?”

  “If I ever say no to that, kill me.” I joked, my heart and body burning up around him. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Barbeque. There is an amazing hole in the wall place not too far from here. The bread dissolves in your mouth and the meat, oh baby. This place is one of my favorites. It’s always crowded except for early evening on Sunday afternoons. I know that sounds weird, but trust me.”

  “Barbeque sounds great.” I grinned, my stomach growling like it heard us talking about food. She was temperamental and needy, but she was so ready for some barbeque. “Also, when you talk about food like that, it is kind of sexual.”

  “Yeah?” He grinned, slowly dragging the tip of his tongue over his top lip. “Brisket.” He dragged the word out, making it four syllables instead of two. “Barbeque.” His voice lowering to an octave I didn’t recognize. “Corn muffin.”

  “That’s it! Enough!” I laughed, swatting his arm. “Corn muffin? No. No one can make that word sexy.”

  “I thought I did excellent, thank you very much.” The corners of his lips were turned all the way up, his megawatt smile almost blinding me. “You try and make it sexy.”

  “No way in hell. I would look absurd.” I laughed, wiping a tear from my eye. “You are,” I stumbled for the right words, searching the length of his face, “ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.”

  “I think you meant to say charming. Wonderful. Awesome. Any of those words.”

  “No. I meant what I said.” I rolled my eyes, my stomach doing cartwheels at flirty Brock. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, but you are a handful.”

  “Thank you.” He grinned, putting his hands on the seat in front of us. The bus came to a stop, he stood, and I was face to face with his crotch. It was inches away, his arms stretching up to touch the roof of the bus. I gulped, my face turning red as hell. I forced my greedy eyes away. I had never been this tempted. Ever. And now, I was panting like a damn dog who ran in the park all because I was eye level with his magic stick. “Grace. My face is up here.”

  “Asshole,” I mumbled, then flicked my eyes up and met the smug smile that drove me mad. I punched his arm, the good one, earning a small chuckle from him. We got off the bus, carried our bags to his Jeep, and if anyone thought anything of me hopping into his car, no one said a word. I was pretty sure everyone
knew we were friends and hung out. I had no idea why the idea of what people thought bothered me.

  When he buckled up seconds later, his playful tone changed. “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

  My eyes flew to his, but he was focused on the road. I wanted to read his mood. I had no idea if this was casual conversation or something deeper. I exhaled, tapping my fingers on the console. “I can’t imagine living anywhere else but here. If the right opportunity came up, then I would explore it thoroughly with T-charts and pros and cons. It would be totally insane.”

  “So, you’ll probably be here?” he asked, an edge to his voice. “Doing what?”

  “That is the final question, isn’t it?” I said, now studying the cuticles on my hands like they held the answer. “I want to have a stable job with great insurance. I want to work in rehabilitation or athletic training. I don’t know if that means at a high school teaching or at a college or a minor sports team. I need to be on my feet and challenged. I refuse to settle, so I’m still searching for that one perfect opportunity or answer.”

  He hummed for a second, pursing those lips. “You do not strike me as someone who would ever settle for anything in their life.”

  “Thank you.” I snuck a glance at his strong profile, and the feelings I had pushed down for months came out. “I’m stubborn and always searching for that feeling of belonging. I know it’s because I’m alone in the world and have no family to ground me. I don’t want a job that just pays the bills. I want a career, a passion, and a way of life to help ground me. Does that make sense?”

  He didn’t answer. The silence grew in the car, my anxiety annoying me. My leg twitched. I nibbled on my lip so much it needed a severe layer of Chapstick. I’d bared my soul to him, like I had countless other times, and his stoic silence drove me up a wall. He pulled into the parking lot and held up a hand to me. “Wait here.”

  I had no choice, really. I sat there as he got out and walked to my side to open the door. He held out a hand, a small smile on his lips. “Ready?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I took his hand to get out of the car but released it as soon as I was on two feet. “Brock, did I say something wrong in the car?”

  “What?” He gave me a baffled look, an eyebrow raised. “Why would you think that?”

  “Because I told you something really personal, and you remained silent when I asked you if it made sense.” I stared at the asphalt.

  “Grace, look at me.” He stopped walking, just the two of us on the sidewalk near a deserted street. I only looked up because he’d purred my name. My body warmed. “Sometimes, it takes me time to digest things. Specifically, when you say things like you’re alone in the world.”

  “Oh?”

  He brought his hand up to my face, cupping one side of it not different from what I did the night before. My body betrayed me on every level. “You hungry?”

  My poor body was going to have whiplash. He was sweet, then confusing, then swoonworthy, then a typical man, wanting food. I snorted, raising my brows at him. “Yeah.”

  “Good. Me too.” He gave me a wicked grin that I did not return. I was now taking my turn, digesting or whatever crap he’d said.

  We walked up to the barbeque place, and his hand moved from my face to my lower back as he pushed open the door. I walked past him like I had hundreds of times before, but this time his fingers grazed my neck. I jumped, the sensation unexpected and not unwelcome.

  “Hey, now,” I protested, giving him my meanest stare. His face was unreadable except a little tick in his cheek. I rolled my eyes and went back to focusing on the hostess, but his fingers remained on my skin. I tried not to react to the amazing, light touch. “Table for uh, two, uh, please,” I stammered, distracted by his hands.

  “Sure, right this way.” The hostess gave me a weird look, and then her gaze settled on Brock’s face. Her eyes lit up before she walked away.

  “Well this is cozy as hell,” I said, as our legs bumped together.

  His lip lifted up on one side, but other than that, he gave nothing away.

  “Okay then, good talk.”

  “Sometimes, silence is golden.” He picked up the menu, eyeing me over it. I mocked him, putting my menu higher, so he couldn’t see my face.

  “I’m all about free will here, but you must try the platter, Grace. Trust me.”

  I ignored him, keeping the menu in front of my face. It was childish, it was immature, but I didn’t care. I read through the appetizers, not sure what I wanted. I was content on ignoring him until his hand grabbed my calf under the table. I yelped.

  “Oh, good. You didn’t fall asleep.” He grinned as I set the menu down. “Now, as I was saying.”

  “You know, oddly enough I hate when guys order for their dates. It drives me bonkers. But, you know how much I appreciate food, and you would never dare to order me something bullshit. I trust your food order.” I set the menu down, seeing his smug smile. “That was strike number one from that asshat at the hotel.”

  His smile disappeared, and his eyes turned hard. “Let’s not spoil the mood, shall we?”

  “Ah, you’re right. My bad.” Shame consumed me.

  “What’s another strike for you?” he asked, the ice in his eyes melted. “I’m curious.”

  “Hmm, ordering food or drinks without consulting the person is a major strike. Also, judging what a person eats is another strike. You’d be surprised at some looks I’ve gotten from ordering ribs.”

  “I would love to see that. Shit.” He laughed and looked at me warmly. “What else?”

  “I hate mind games or being passive aggressive. The, ‘Are you really going to wear that?’ sort of thing.” I waved my hand about. “Being late, loud chewers. You know, the normal deal breakers and stuff.”

  “Interesting.” He bit down on his lip, narrowing his blue eyes at me.

  I couldn’t read his mood and chose to keep rambling. “I also hate that some people don’t realize that I’m going to put my career first. I can’t let my dream go. I told you before I’ve ruined dates by talking about work or people telling me I work too much. I hate that. I mean, if I want to spend time with someone, I’ll find the time. It’s not my fault the people I dated before were as interesting as an almond cookie.”

  Brock snorted into his hand and cackled. “You are ridiculous.”

  “Hey, you can’t steal my lines.” I pointed at him, my chin jutting out in a challenge. His eyes rolled so dramatically I found myself smiling again. “If you’re stealing my lines, I’m stealing some of yours. Where do you see yourself in five years, and what are your strikes?”

  “Hmm.” He frowned, his gaze turning serious. “Thirty-two. Not sure. I don’t really make plans beyond a year. At least, I didn’t before.”

  “Year by year then. You want to remain at the University and volunteer with the youth of our great nation?”

  His lips quirked, a small chuckle escaping. “Yes. I would like to be exactly where I am in a year. After that, NFL, maybe.”

  “You’re determined and badass, Brock.” I tilted my head in his direction. “You’re going to be successful no matter where you go. You were an amazing teacher to me, still are actually.” A light blush spread on his cheeks, how cute. “You’re very patient after you tuck away the asshole persona.”

  “Gee, thanks for the rave review.”

  His smile grew before he changed his tone to a more serious one. “Thank you, for the compliment. It somehow means more coming from you. Your opinion matters to me.”

  Dinner was incredible. He was right—they had the best barbeque I’d ever experienced. I groaned into my food, getting a weird look from Brock. I didn’t care though. The food was too damn good. He didn’t even glance at the waitress the rest of the night. We talked for an hour about dogs and flowers and storms and weird things to collect. I thought it was odd he collected spinning tops as a kid. He thought it was weird I collected yo-yos. They were totally in style back in my elementary school days. I’d
been the definition of cool.

  “You never walked the dog?” I threw my hands up, unable to believe him. “It is literally the coolest thing.”

  “I beg to differ. I think it’s dorky.” A smile danced on his perfect lips. “You were a dork.”

  “Everyone was a dork when they were kids, Brock. I bedazzled the shit out of my backpack, decorated my pillow cases with puffy paint, and wore monochrome outfits. Don’t act like you were a normal, cool child. My guess is you weren’t.”

  He shook his head, giving me a weird look. “Bedazzled your backpack? You? I can’t see that.”

  “I told you. I went through a princess phase for a while. Then I discovered sports and dirt.”

  “Well, I’m glad you aren’t in a princess phase anymore.” He laughed and stood up. “Want to head out?”

  “What about the bill?” I searched, our waitress nowhere in sight. “We need to pay. Let’s go halvesies?”

  “Already took care of it.”

  “Brock!” I yelled, annoyed at him. “Come on, I hate that.”

  “I told you I feed my interns. Can it.” He motioned for me to head to the door, and I did but with my arms crossed in defiance.

  “I feel bad.”

  “Don’t. I don’t mind, seriously.” He reached out with both his hands and placed them on my shoulders, giving them a light squeeze before releasing them. “Don’t make a fuss.”

  I laughed. No one under the age of sixty used that expression. “Then promise me you’ll let me buy ice cream next time.”

  “Sure.” We got into the car and sat in a comfortable silence that was built on trust. I wasn’t overanalyzing the quiet. It was peaceful. I was content, full, and tired. I leaned against the headrest, smiling with my eyes closed.

  “Don’t fall asleep yet. We’re almost there,” he said softly above the car radio. “This weekend was exhausting.”