My nerves calmed, but I needed to watch what I said to him. He was my boss.
“Anna wasn't entirely fond of me after the bar.”
“No offense,Brock, but if a girl doesn't believe you and needs an explanation, she's not a keeper.” I shrugged and began walking around the room, taking in the differences.
He followed me, silently.
“Have you worked for every sport?”
“Yes. I have a multi-sport degree. But, I played football, so I feel more confident and comfortable with it. Plus, I prefer to be around it.” I wondered if he would talk about the injury, but he didn't.
He cleared his throat, pulling me from my own thoughts, and said, “I spend some time with track and tennis when the season is over. But then it's training in the off season.”
“That's sweet you can pick the sport.” I went over to the window, looking out at the field. “I don't know what direction I want to go after this year. I like football, baseball sometimes, basketball sure. I always wanted the internship to see what happens next. See what my options are. The entire process of rehabilitation is incredible. I met some pretty amazing trainers growing up and want to give back like they did.” I ran my fingers over the window sill, feeling stupid for admitting that. “Anyway, can you show me the place?”
He looked at me with those deep sky eyes again, jaw muscle twitching. “You'll know what to do when the time is right. Don't worry about that now. You're so young. You have time.”
“I'm twenty-four. I'm not that young, old man,” I teased, and his body went stiff. “How old are you, anyway?”
He cleared his throat, leaving the room to hopefully show me more of the baseball facility. He didn't answer until I poked again. “Brock, don't be an asshole. You said I could ask any—”
“Twenty-eight.”
“Psh, you aren't that much older than me, boss man.” I’d already known he was only four years my senior before I took the job, but I wanted to remind him there wasn’t a huge age difference. I followed him out to the field and ignored the attitude he was carrying. It wasn't my fault he was twenty-eight going on seventy. “I don't have that much time to figure shit out. I graduate in December.”
His response was a grunt. Awesome.
I huffed, ignoring him the rest of the walk. I eyed the field, the equipment, and mentally broke down the injuries that happened in baseball. I recalled one class said that it is mainly throwing arm injuries, fingers, and an occasional leg muscle if they don't stretch. Sure, they could get nailed with a hard line-drive, but thankfully that was rare. Football was the most challenging, had the most injuries besides hockey, and they had the shortest season. My mind swirled, not sure what to do.
Anderson found me eyeing the field and talked about the experience he had there. He talked about why baseball was great and how he'd hook me up with Heidi to see what that path would look like.
Then, we went by the tennis courts. I asked tons of questions, unfamiliar with tennis injuries.
He showed me how to tape an elbow so it could move, fingers that wouldn't get in the way of the racket, and how to install a backup brace.
“You just carry these things around?” I asked, eyeing the plastic monstrosity with concern. “It looks like it's from bionic man or something.”
His gaze flicked to mine, his eyes crinkling on the sides with humor. “I don't carry them around often. The majority of ankle injuries are here or baseball. Sometimes at football, but we get more funding, so we have casts and braces. This is only used during the middle of games or matches. Have you not used one before?”
“Nope.” I looked at it, annoyed I had no experience with it. “Can you show me how it works?”
“Sure. Hop up on the table.” He pointed to the bench where athletes get wrapped before games, and I removed my shoe. I hoped it didn't smell, and thank god, it didn't. I hadn't been outside all day, so I was fine, but, then I felt stupid. Anderson spent time with athletes who smelled worse than balls. Balls that were inside jock straps for hours a day. “You've worked with braces before, right?”
“Yeah, basic ones.”
He placed the brace around my foot, only there wasn't a bottom to it. It was just two sides, metal and bionic looking. “So, the point of this one is to stabilize the bone and joint, making sure it remains straight.” He used one hand to keep the brace around my ankle, his fingers touching my bare skin in the process. “When I tape it, it'll be at the base. Going around the heel.”
He wound the black tape around my ankle and heel, his hands working fast and magically. His fingers accidentally brushed against my skin a couple of times, and I considered it a damn near miracle I didn't make a noise. Once finished, he looked up at me with a smug smile. “Now hop down. Can you feel the difference?”
I balanced on it, feeling my ankle unbendable. I smiled, “I sure can. That's awesome and good to know.”
His grin matched mine, a rare moment of truce we rarely had. And of course, I ruined it. His hands ruined it, really, if I was placing blame or anything. They felt too good, and I didn't like the warm, constricting feeling my stomach got at our proximity. We both had a passion for sports injuries, and this shared bond got too real. So, my usual absent filter decided this would be the perfect moment to bring it up. “I can't believe you called me G-thang.”
The truce evaporated, and his eyes narrowed, his mouth twisting up into a grin of sorts. It wasn't a nice smile, more like one of disbelief. “I can't believe you told Q that in front of coaches.”
“Yeah, not my finest moment. But, really? To that kid? I wasn't flirting, not really,” I lied, I lied so hard through my teeth. And, he laughed.
“Bullshit, Grace. You were.”
