She pursed her lips, sucking in her bottom one, deep in thought. She always took her time spitting something out, and this was no different. She frowned.
I made a face at her, looking back toward Brock, but it looked like an empty booth. He must’ve scooted further in, out of view. Fine by me. “Babe, I think he's attracted to you.”
I paused, waiting for the punchline. Then, I cackled. I cackled so hard I snorted. “Jesus, Gil, there's no way in hell. Why would you say that? He dislikes me.”
“I don't know. I saw the look beforehand. And, if he came and helped with the drunk? Most men wouldn't do that.” She pursed her lips, her eyes lightening with an idea. Great. I hated, and I mean hated her ideas. They bordered on crazy, sometimes illegal, and often something we would regret the next day. “Tell me about last Saturday. Every detail.”
So, I did. I told her about the carrying, the ice, the medicine, the change in attitude. She pursed her lips, tilted her head, nodding, and humming. If she paid this much attention in her classes, she would have straight As.
I finished, and the bartender dropped off the bill. I went to grab it, but she stopped me with her voice.
“Babe, I think there is something going on between the two of you. Seriously. There is major sexual tension there.”
“You. Are. Crazy. Did you reread50 Shadesagain? I know how you get when you read that. Life is not that way, Gil,” I scoffed at her and opened the check. I offered to buy, as it was my turn, but felt my stomach drop again. Instead of the bill, there was a note written in all caps. The writing was hard, aggressive, and totally Anderson.
GAME ON.
I showed Gil with shaking fingers.
Her mouth transformed into a wild grin. “Told you sister, sexual tension does that to a person.”
Chapter Six
Neither one ofus brought up the occurrence from the bar Monday night. I didn't know what to expect Tuesday morning, but it wasn't indifference. It was back to that, and for the rest of the week, it was business only. He kept me so busy I fell asleep the second my head hit the pillow after I waitressed. I spent more time cleaning than doing things on the field, and I hated to think I was being punished for my antics, but, if he wasn't going to bring it up, then I wasn't either. I finished up my assignment before lunch on Friday, myfinaldouble shift day, when a familiar pain started in my knee. I’d had knee issues since the accident when I was seven, hence why I wasn't athletic, and if I overused it, it hurt insanely bad. Like right now.
I checked my watch, knowing my twenty-minute window for lunch would be spent slamming down a granola bar and icing my own knee. I bagged some ice and found an empty weight room, using the weight bench for support. I pulled out my phone and watched a stupid dog video thread and laughed. They were so funny, and always cracked me up. A startling voice caused me to fall off the bench and throw my phone at the same time. “Jesus, a warning next time.”
Wonderful, blue eyes spewed fire at me. Great. Anderson frowned, cursing, and bent to help me up. His hands were rough, but his touch was gentle as he slid me back to the bench. I went to grab the ice, but he beat me to it. He picked it up, eyeing my knee, the same one from the week before. “Is it still hurting?”
“It's always sore. It’s not just from last week,” I admitted, my neck turning red. I hated admitting any sort of weakness, no matter how big or small.
He chewed on his lower lip, that damn hand scratching his jaw. I loved and hated that gesture. He didn't ask and instead put his hand on my knee again. He kneaded it, bending low to look at it causing my heart rate to spike, which was stupid because I've seen him do this to every guy on the team.
“What are you doing?” I managed to get out in a semi-normal voice.
“It's inflamed more than normal.” He squeezed the area around the knee cap, where the rod had been placed causing me to flinch. “Right here is where it hurts?”
“Yes,” I gritted out, my teeth clenching. “I have a metal rod in it. When I overuse it, it gets like this. Ice will help. It always does.”
His gaze snapped to me, those blue laser beams turning dark with anger.
“It's no big deal,” I said, hoping he’d let it go.
“Why do you have a rod?” His voice was too calm, a clear warning sign.
“An accident from childhood.” I hoped he didn't ask. I hated talking about it and kept the information from my closest friends. “It was a long time ago. I'm fine.” I tried to pull my leg back, but he gripped it, the heavy hands sending tingles up my leg.
“You’re on your feet too much,” he said. “Do you have to work tonight, too?”
“Yes. Tonight’s my last night.”
He stared at me, going between my face and my knee. I had no freaking clue what his mind was reeling with, but I felt exposed, overwhelmed, and as always, confused. He had a way of doing that. Hot and cold, nice and mean. It was a damn headache.
“You shouldn’t work with how swollen it is. Can you call in?”
“Um, no. I wouldn't do that. I'm fine. I've powered through worse.” I tried to move my leg out of his grasp again. “I'll take more aspirin, and I'll survive.”
“You're stubborn.” He removed his hands and stared at me.
