“I’ll help you.”
“No, no. Go save him. He might be better at handling it, but he still needs a wingman every now and again. Ask him about the Rodeo night if you ever need a good laugh.”
I chuckled, deciding to go save Brock. With an urge to karate chop the woman, I walked up to them with a big ass smile.
Brock’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “Hey guys, sorry to interrupt, but I need to steal him for a minute. We got a situation.”
The blonde gave me a sickeningly sweet bullshit smile but put her hand on his arm again. “Thank you for the chat. I’m so excited my boy will be in your hands this month. Bye now, Brock,” she purred, sauntering away with hips that couldn’t possibly swing that much. I eyed her, trying not to laugh.
“You owe me, big guy.” I looked up at him to see his eyes directed right at me. I nudged his good shoulder. “I just saved your ass from her claws.”
“I was handling it just fine.” He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the sides. “She asked for my number in case of emergencies about six times.”
“And you said no.”
“Clearly,” he said, not hiding his smile. “Hey, where’s my dad?”
“Loading some stuff into the car,” I said. “I offered to help, but he sent me to come save you.”
“Yeah, he likes keeping busy.” He looked over the complex toward the parking lot to his father’s lean figure carrying a duffel to his black SUV. “How did he look out here today?”
“What do you mean?” I turned to look at him, concern etched on his face. “Physically or emotionally?”
“Being around kids. Dina would be eight now. These kids are a couple years older, but how did he handle it? I tried to keep my distance and focus on the injuries as they came.”
“Your dad was happy with how happy you were helping out. Every time I saw him, he was watching you and smiling. I think he handled it just fine.”
Brock just nodded at me.
I understood. This was an emotional day for the both of them, and I didn’t want to intrude. “Why don’t you go help your dad finish with the equipment, and I’ll make sure we got everything picked up?”
“Sure.” He smiled at me, eyes warming the softest blue before he took off running toward his dad. I felt someone clench their hand around my heart as I watched the two of them. It reminded me of my mom and I, the close unbreakable bond. Damn it, emotions were taking control of my life, and I needed to get them on lock.
After making sure there wasn’t a thing left behind in the park, I headed back to the parking lot to find Brock carrying a large, heavy box from his dad’s car to his own. “Hey, I can help!”
“Shut up, Grace. I got it,” Brock answered with a strained voice.
I shared a look with his dad. Brock was overdoing it. I released a breath, going to Ryan’s trunk.
“Anything else heavy in here?”
“No, he managed to pick up the exact thing I tried to help him with.” He sighed, shaking his head. “He’s going to hurt himself.”
“Stubborn ass,” I mumbled, earning a chuckle from Ryan.
Brock came back, breathing heavier than normal.
I pointed to his chest, “Chill out. Go sit in the car.”
“Excuse me?” One of his lips curled up in a shocked grin.
“Your dad and I will get the rest. Go sit.”
“I don’t think you remember how this works. You don’t get to boss me around.” He crossed his strong, perfectly sculpted arms. “Dad, come on.”
“No, son. She’s right. Go sit your stubborn ass down,” Ryan said, fighting a smile. “Let the strong ones handle it.”
“I don’t like you both teaming up on me. It’s bullying.”
“You’ll get over it, big guy.” I patted his chest before going back to the car. “Now stop chatting. I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry,” Brock mumbled, but he obeyed and went to wait outside his car. Ryan and I loaded the final six boxes into Brock’s SUV, and Ryan shook my hand and hugged Brock before heading out for the day. It was already nine p.m. on a Thursday, and we had a long day the next morning. I planned on drinking warm beverages and relaxing for the rest of the night.
“What was in those boxes, anyway?” I asked as Brock opened the door for me to get in. He insisted on driving me there. He had a thing about driving me places. I needed to find out why.
“Old football stuff from their storage. They want to downsize their house and are trying to get rid of it. I have probably ten boxes of shit there.” He started the car, the familiar route to his house only taking ten minutes. “I don’t know what to do with it, honestly. I don’t want to throw it away, but I won’t use it.”
“Is it old equipment or trophies?”
“Some of it, yes. Old posters, cleats, newspaper clippings and stuff like that.” He exhaled, glancing at me briefly at the stop light. “Were you in any hurry to get back to your place?”
“I’m in a hurry to eat and sleep, but no. I have no plans tonight.” My heart skipped a beat. We hung out all the time. During work, after work, at night, on weekends, but we were not dating. We were friends. Did I want to hang out with him more? Hell yeah.
“How about this. You help me unload these into my creepy basement, and I’ll cook you a late dinner?”
“Deal.”
As soon as we arrived, we each took a couple of boxes down the creepy basement stairs. He chose the far corner to stack the boxes, but when one fell over, all sorts of colored jerseys fell out. “Oh my gosh!”
“It’s nothing. Just old stuff,” he grumbled, already heading back up the stairs. I ran right to the fallen jerseys and picked a couple up.
“You should totally save these for when you have kids! I can totally picture little Brocks running around playing with these. Brock, you have to keep them!” I held up an old jersey, the sheer size of it looking silly on me. “This is so cool. All of your old jerseys? Why would you ever want to get rid of them?”
His eyes widened, staring straight at me burning a hole through my chest. I froze, unsure what I said wrong. “Brock?”
“Sorry. You mentioned kids. I hadn’t—I don’t—”
“Brock, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry.” I blushed so hard even my insides heated. Then, I quickly put the old jersey back in the box with shaking hands. “Ignore me.”
“No, it’s…I always assumed I wouldn’t have any after what happened to Dina. I don’t know. I couldn’t survive if something like that happened again.” He gulped, avoiding my eyes. “Let’s go get the rest of the stuff.”
I followed him up the stairs to the car to get the final, heavy box he shouldn’t have lifted. He bent low, wrapping his arms around it, but I beat him to the other side to help. “Stubborn. Let me help.”
“No, I got it.” He grunted, carrying the way-too-heavy box to the basement. I was pissed, knowing he hurt himself, so when he came up the stairs with a pained expression, I snapped.
“Take care of yourself. I could’ve helped you.” I hit his chest. “God.”
Instead of yelling back, he grinned at me. “I like seeing you fret over me.”
“You’re the worst. Seriously.” I shoved him again without real force and went to plop down on his kitchen island. “I’m ready for my late dinner now. I like breakfast for dinner, don’t you?”
He laughed again, cringing when he moved his arm to the side. His face transformed. The laugh lines disappeared, the strong set of his jaw tensed, and he slammed his eyes shut.
“Damn it, Brock. Go sit on the couch.”
“What?” He opened his eyes, confusion dancing in them.
“You always help me out or take care of me. Now, it’s my turn. Go. Sit. Down.” I found an old bag and put some ice in it. He still stood there, watching me with an unnamed expression. “If you don’t go sit your ass down, I’ll throw knives at you.”
“Damn. Okay.” He laughed, finally heading into the living room. I made an
ice pack, found some Advil and water for him, and snatched a damp kitchen towel from the side of his sink. He sat on the couch, looking relaxed and amused as I approached him. “Take off your shirt.”
“Excuse me?” Amusement was gone, now something else was there.
“Did I stutter, Anderson? No. Follow directions,” I barked and bent over his large knee to look at his shoulder. He took his sweet time sliding the pullover off his chest. I watched, with an open mouth I’m sure, as his chest came into view. It was the mac-daddy of chests. Toned, sculpted into perfection by years of hard work. I gulped. His skin was the perfect golden tan and shit. My fingers trembled.
His wicked, protruding, awful, twisted scar caught my attention. It began above his right shoulder, swirling almost like an “s” all the way down past his armpit and almost to his ribs. It was nasty, angry, red, and irritated.
I touched it without permission. I dragged my finger from the start to the finish, my heart physically hurting at the brutality of it. Millions of emotions traveled through my brain fighting for dominance, and I almost missed the way he brought his hands to rest on my hips. I was amazed, no, flabbergasted at how Brock survived the gruesome injury. His skin broke out into goosebumps as I trailed my fingers down the scar, and his quick intake of breath was the only clue I had at how he was feeling. “Brock,” my voice broke a little as I finally looked into his eyes. They were tortured. “I’m going to put the ice on it, okay?”
He nodded. I knew him well enough to know he would lash out if I showed any signs of pity. So, I masked my face and focused on his shoulder. Treat him like a player. And I did for a full minute without wanting to wrap myself around him and protect him.
“You need some medicine,” I said in a rough voice.
He nodded then put his hands back on my hips. It wasn’t sexual, not at all. But it felt like something more.
I attempted to reposition my body, but he tightened his grip, keeping me straddling his legs. I used one hand to hold the ice and grabbed the bottle to dump out a couple pills. “Here.”
He swallowed them without needing water, and I tilted my head. “I’m used to taking pills.” His voice was hoarse, and his nostrils flared the longer I looked at him.
“I see,” I whispered, looking away from his eyes before I said something stupid. I focused on the scar again. “Your scar is beautiful.”
“Beautiful?” his voice came out in a whisper.
“I know that’s an odd thing to say, but look at it. You’ve survived so much. It shows your strength, not your weakness.” I released the ice bag and let my fingers hover over it. “Can I?”
He nodded with hooded eyes. I ran my hand over it, not just my fingers. It was raised and wicked. I wanted to cry for what he’d gone though. Never in my life had I ever felt so much compassion for another person. He trembled beneath my fingers, and when I opened my eyes again, his blue orbs were swirling with emotion. My heart hammered in my chest, so much it went up my throat to the point of pain.
I wanted to tell him everything.
I wanted to kiss him.
I knew he wanted it, too, but the fear of rejection held me back. I looked at his mouth, hating myself for not taking the chance, and I scooted away. “Uh, be right back.”
I panicked and ran to the bathroom in a total escape. I was being a chicken, but I didn’t care. I leaned against the sink, running some water on my hands to cool my neck down. Thirty seconds of deep, soothing breaths did nothing to calm the pitter-patter of my heart, and I slammed my hips onto the sink when he knocked on the door. “Grace, are you okay?”
“Y-yeah. Are you?” Shame had my entire body heating. He thought I wasn’t okay. Like, I had some wicked scar that cost me everything.
“I know it’s not. I know it’s hard to look at. I put my shirt back on.” His defeated voice felt like a stab completely through my heart. Good lord. He thought the scar made me run away? I whipped open the door so fast my hair blew in my face. I hated the sadness in his eyes.
“Brock. I didn’t run in here because of your scar. I told you, it’s beautiful.” I elongated each syllable, so he would understand. He nodded, slowly, but recognition entered his eyes. “You’re kind of dense sometimes.”
“Dense?” He blinked at my insult.
“Yes.” I turned the light off and went up to him with arms wide. “I know you hate pity. This isn’t a pity hug. It’s an I’m glad I met you hug. That’s all this is, okay?”
“Okay.” He smiled at me, pulling me into his chest with his arms. I closed my eyes, desperately wishing I could change his past. “I’m glad I met you, too.”
We stood there, arms wrapped around each other with feelings left unsaid, and my uncomfortable defense mechanism kicked in. It was too much, too fast, and he was my boss. Crossing that line meant risking my future. “Tell me about the Rodeo.”
“Ah, hell. Did my dad tell you about it?” He pulled away from the embrace, but he kept his arm around me and guided us back to the living room.
“Yup. I’m curious.”
“Fine.” He grabbed the remote and ice and gave me a pointed look. “Get The Office set up, and I’ll start. It’s a long story, and you may never look at me the same again.”
“I can’t wait.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Internship. Class. Football. Sleep. Repeat.
I was so damn tired, I’d thanked elevator doors for opening. God, I needed more sleep. Or coffee. Or both. I yawned, running my hands down my face and digging deep down to find more energy. It was a Tuesday, so I had class right after work, and it was transcript and resume time. If I wanted a job or career after graduation, I needed to kick my ass into gear.
“Grace!” Brock’s voice boomed down the hallway. “Got a minute, or am I interrupting you from talking to someone important?”
“Shit.” I closed my eyes, embarrassment flowing through me. “I have a minute.”
“Do you often talk to inanimate objects, or is this a one-time thing?” He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it.
“Can it, boss man.” I shrugged his hand off and fell into step with him. It was barely noon, and most of the players were watching film. The first high stakes game was Friday, and tension was high. No, it was worse than high. It was almost stifling. The only people not walking around with a stick up their ass were the training staff. Logan looked like he had been trying to hold in a fart as he walked by and barely gave me a small wave. They all had resting-fart faces with the stress of the game. “Are you here to make fun of me, or do you need something?”
“Why limit myself to just one of those?” He chuckled again, motioning me to head into his office. His hand went to my lower back again, the warmth spreading through my work shirt. Damn his large hands and the inappropriate thoughts they evoked.
“I refuse to believe you haven’t apologized to a chair or said excuse me to a piece of furniture before. Everyone has,” I scoffed, taking the seat across from his desk.
His light blue eyes danced with humor. And, it was all directed at me.
“Okay. From your look, I’m taking that as a no. You are much too cool to admit it.”
“I am cool,” he said with a lazy grin. I rolled my eyes and leaned my elbows on the desk. “Anyway, I got an email from your professor with an end of internship assessment. We are supposed to go through it together. I figured today is a lazy day around here, so it would be easy to knock out.”
My heart sunk at the harsh reminder that my time was ending. A bittersweet pang went down my spine, making my smile twist into a grimace. I loved working here, and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to the internship or to Brock. “Okay. Sounds great.”
He tapped his hand on the desk twice and spun around to grab some papers. “Let’s see, first question. Has the intern exceeded, met, or did not meet the job expectations? What do you think, Grace?”
“I exceeded,” I said, giving him a stern look. “Do you agree?”
“Without a doubt.”
He grinned, writing some comments down. “You are one of the hardest working people I have had here. But, did you demonstrate mastery of the course objectives? That is the real question.”
“Does it really say that?” I moved, walking up to stand next to him. I bent down to see the form and shook my head. “Wow. This isn’t a typical evaluation.”
“I thought the same thing,” he said, his voice closer to me than before. “I circled fives for all the previous questions, if you want to take a look.”
“Sure.” I leaned against his desk and scanned the first page. He did circle all fives and added a little comment here and there. I read through his neat, font-like handwriting. Takes initiative. Quick learner. Able to make quick, safe decisions. Earned respect from all staff members. “These are nice, Brock. Thank you.”
“Of course. I know it started off rough, but you really proved yourself, kid.” He elongated the last word, making it sound flirtatious and insulting at the same time.
“Kid?” I whipped around, mouth open. “You did not just use that word on me. Haven’t we discussed this?”
“Yup. Sure did. I ignored your dislike of it.” He smirked, crossing his arms and looking way too damn pleased with himself. I did it without thinking, but I reached out and hit him. He pretended to look injured, but I ignored him and went back to the form.
“Next question, what are areas of strength for the intern?” I read out loud, looking back at Brock. His eyes were not on the paper but instead my face, and a small blush crept up at his attention. I waited until he met my eyes, and he slow, slow, slowly opened his mouth.
“Time management. Charisma. Work ethic,” he said with a lazy, rough voice. “Weakness. I wouldn’t say you have a weakness besides lack of experience. You’ll get there in time.” He took the pen from my hand, our fingers grazing each other briefly. He jotted down some notes and read the next question. “Any additional comments?”
I eyed him. He said the words like a wonderful threat. “Well?”
“None at this time. I’ll figure that out later. What is more important, though, is talking about your end of the year reflection. If I recall from my classes, you have to do an overall summary of all your hands-on experience. I figured we could start at the beginning and come up with some bullet points.”
Internship with the Devil (Shut Up and Kiss Me Book 1) Page 22
