It was stupid to be hurt. We weren’t friends. We weren’t anything, really. He was a mentor I was assigned to. I needed to remember that and rid myself of the feelings that snuck in there. My future depended on it.
It wasn’t until later, when we slowed down and the good-looking group of four decided to leave, that my newfound hurt came to life. I dropped the checks off, able to avoid him for the most part.
But Brock was perceptive. I took their booklets, running their credit cards through the machine. I dropped them off when his honey smooth voice forced me to look at him. And I did, because I wasn’t a quitter. “Are you all right, Grace?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.” Shit. Fine was the one f-words that men knew didn’tactuallymean that. I tried adding more to it. “I’m just tired from the week.”
“Mm.” He nodded. That twat. God, I was conflicted as hell. I wanted to confront him, make a scene, and never talk about it at the same time. I was a freaking head case. “It’s your last night. You won’t be working yourself to exhaustion after this.”
“Yup.” I gave him a tight smile that hopefully didn't say I wanted to punch his throat. “It's been fun seeing you guys. I'll see you all tomorrow. Have a good night.” I nodded at them, feeling foolish. It wasn't a cool nod either. It was the tight nod you gave to someone you knew from church but didn't remember their name. And, thankfully, I had another table sit down. I used that as an excuse to not look back at all. After taking their drink orders, I met Fritz by the host stand in the front. He put his arm around me, his fingers going into my long ponytail. “Fritz, what are you doing?”
“Sending a message,” he said so seriously, I felt bad for laughing. “I'm not kidding, Gracie. You work with a bunch of guys, and you're a cute, little thing. I'm putting out the protective vibe.”
“Because you’ll fight all of them off? Please, explain how that would happen.” I goaded him, his stupid face already lifting my spirits.
“I'd bully them. I can be tough.”
“Yeah, like cyber bullying or something,” I mumbled under my breath, eliciting a growl from him. I threw my head back and laughed, loving every moment he was in discomfort. He was too good looking for his own good, and it was Gilly’s and my service to society to keep him in check. My neck suddenly began to tingle, awareness causing me to look up. Brock’s face was way closer than I expected, my heart shooting to my throat.
His blue gaze darkened as it traveled down my face to Fritz’ arm, then he narrowed his eyes at my hand resting on Fritz's hip. His gaze looked like I did him wrong, and I had no freaking reason to feel guilt. It was freaking Fritz, a guy who I saw as a brother. Ew.
“Hi, Brock. Everything go alright tonight?” Fritz asked, his tone way too flirty and light for it to be real. Oh, Jesus. Now Fritz was against Brock?
“Yes.” The one syllable answer barely left his lips before he turned that dark stare at me. “Can I talk to you for a second, Grace?”
“Uh.” I began, biting my lip while looking at Fritz. I gave him wide eyes, not sure if I could leave the restaurant or not.
“I'll run your food, girl. You have the two tables, right?” he said without missing a beat. He still hadn't removed his hand from me.
“Yes. 31 and 33.” Well, that answered that. I had to go have a chat with a brooding Brock. My favorite. “Whatcha need to talk about?”
“Come on. Let's go sit outside for a minute.” He pushed open the door, gesturing me to go first. At least he was chivalrous.
“Where did your group go?”
“They took off a couple of minutes ago.” He pushed the second door open for me, holding it wide enough for me to fit but also tight enough that my arm brushed up against him. His sculpted arms called out to me, toned, muscled, tanned. I wanted to bite into them if I was honest. But that fire burned out real quick as I remembered the conversation I’d overhead. We walked to the bench located right outside the restaurant. It was dusk, and the street lighting made it look romantic as shit.
Great.
“Do you need any more Advil or anything? I saw you limping a little bit. How is your knee?” he asked as we sat, his hand reaching out to touch me, but he stopped.
“No. I'm good,” I said, crossing my arms and nibbling on my bottom lip. His face told a different story than his words, and I didn't know what to do with that information.
“I can run and grab you any ice if you need it.” He tried again, his blue eyes now softer and pleading with me for something. His dark brows lowered, a frown forming on his face. “Did I do something to make you upset? I know I was a dick for a while in the beginning, but I thought we’d moved past that.”
“What makes you say that?” I reversed the question, unsure how to answer. I couldn't tell him I overheard their conversation, could I?
“Your face is an open book, Grace,” he said, no emotion in his voice. “I worry about you. It's ridiculous. It's been two weeks, and here I am, worried about your knee and if you're mad. I don't know what the hell got into me.”
He stood up, both hands in his hair and a weird look on his face. He didn't look at me, more at everything around. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”
I nodded, buckling in for the ride because his thoughts were changing direction like crazy. “Yeah. I'm excited for tomorrow.”
“You're going to get your first look at the game atmosphere. It's one thing to do it with an empty stadium, but with the fans shouting and the field full of people. It's unlike anything in the world.”
“I can't wait.” My excitement took over despite the confusing conversation. “My favorite part about all of it is the sounds and smells. When I did sports medicine in high school, I loved the smell of the fresh cut grass and the smoke from the concession stands. The sounds of the pre-game playlist and the buzzer. It's magical.”
“That's exactly it. It is magical.” He grinned at me, a small smile forming on my own face. “Okay, then. I'll see you tomorrow.” He put his hands in his pockets.
