“Okay. Fine. It’s like fucking pulling teeth with you.” He rolled his eyes, then laughed when Tony barked his name. Fritz had gotten written up countless times for language, yet, he was never fired. “Tony has ears like a goddamn shark.”
“Do sharks have ears?”
“I think so. Or maybe noses. His ears are like shark noses to smell blood.” He nodded, proud of himself for his comparison. “Did you know someone once told me dolphins had retractable nip—”
“Shh.” I grabbed his lips with my hands. “No. How I haven't throat punched you, I have no idea.” I released his mouth and slowly walked backward. I warned him with my eyes to be careful. It was then, I realized how much he reminded me of a dog. He was loyal as hell, one of my best friends, but he humped a lot, barked, and thought the world revolved around him. Plus, he left messes everywhere.
“So, Grace, are you liking the facility?” Kris, the guy with a thick neck asked as I dropped off beer. His intensity almost rivaled Brock’s, but his attention caused a blush to creep up my neck. “You've been busting your ass from what I've seen.”
“Yeah, you're killing it, girl.” Logan said. God, did these guys just produce testosterone every second of every day? Did girls throw themselves at them every hour? I was sweating just trying to maintain a conversation with them. “One thing concerns me though, Grace. I think it concerns all of us.”
My face blanched. What the hell could it be? I despised blanket statements like that. Like, when Gilly texted me we needed to talk immediately, I thought of every possible thing I could've done wrong. Maybe I loaded the dishwasher incorrectly or burnt the place down with my curling iron. I hated—freakinghated—the lack of clarity. I looked at him, then the other three, seeing furrowed brows. Brock’s eyes were a normal blue, the beautiful shade that didn't have a mood named to it yet. My frown must've spoken enough for me because Logan hit the table, shaking his head. “Grace, you look guilty as hell. I wanted to talk about Chip, that's all.”
Oh. Chip. That's what this was about. I sighed, the tension leaving. For some reason, I feared they knew about the semi,sorta, major crush I had on Brock. I raised a brow. “What about Chip, exactly? That's an odd statement.”
“He's a major player, Grace,” Logan said, his eyes darkening.
I waited for the joke or the rest of the story because that couldn't be it. I looked at Bryan and Chris, both wearing confused expressions. Then, I looked at Brock, and his face was like granite again—nostrils flaring, mean eyes, and tight jaw. He needed to chill out. “Are you warning me? What are you saying, exactly?”
“Don't mess around with a guy like him. He's all fun and games. You're too damn sweet, Grace,” Logan said, patting my hand in the process.
“Thanks for that warning, Logan, but I got it under control,” I said, a small flair of annoyance in my tone. “He’ssonot my type. Don’t worry.”
And we’ve said ten words to each other ever.
“Ah, so you have a type? Do tell.” Logan’s eyes lit up, dancing with mirth.
“Uh, no way. I’m not doing this with you guys. Bye.” I took off, laughing softly. I was used to Fritz taking on that older sibling role, warning off guys and what not. But, Logan? I was good. I punched in their food order, still replaying the conversation over in my head. First, why did Brock look so mad? Second, they were talking about me and a player? That couldn’t be good. I wanted to be respected at the internship, not known as a side piece or something like that. I cringed. I had never beenthatgirl.
An hour later, after I’d delivered their food and avoided more questions from them, I stood at the booth adjacent to theirs. An older couple sat, all smiles and full of joy. I loved those tables. They wanted a nice meal, were pleasant, and they always left me in a good mood. I enjoyed chatting with them, learning they were new grandparents. The guys were talking at the next table, but I couldn't catch the exact words until I dropped my booklet, and it slid underneath the booth attached to theirs. I bent down, sighing as my knee throbbed, and before I picked the black, sleek folder up, I heard them.
Logan’s voice scoffed, his remark stopping me. “Grace is fine as hell. You can't deny that.”
“She's nice to look at; that's for sure. The guys are all digging having her around,” Bryan or Chris said. “Logan here has been after her ass the entire time.”
Logan laughed, saying something I couldn't make out. My heart raced, knowing I shouldn't listen. But, I remained there, on my hands and knees, frozen. “I don't know how you can work with her all damn day. How you do it, man?”
When Brock spoke, my breath caught in my throat. His hard voice was harsh and like a shot straight to my heart. “She’s okay, I guess.” He sighed. “She’s young and is too much work, guys. Leave her alone.”
“I want to ask her out,” Logan said, but Brock’s words pounded in my ears, unwelcome and unwanted.
“Nope.”
“Why, you have a thing for her?” Logan fired back.
“Absolutely not. Not my type.” Asshole Anderson struck again. His deep, masculine tone felt like a slap in the face.
“Then, why the hell can’t I? If you aren’t into her, what’s the issue man?” Logan’s voice rose.
“She works there. That’s inappropriate.”
“She works for you. Not me,” Logan said, ending the conversation.
Not my type.
Not my type. It rolled around my brain like it scorned me.
Why did I hate that expression? Why did I care? Why was my stomach swirling with regret and shame, and why did my heart clench? I somehow snuck out from the booth without them seeing me. My eyes stung from the smoke from the grill, and not at all because of what I overheard.
