“Our washer broke yesterday. You're new. It's an easy choice,” he said, humor dancing in his eyes. “Nothing personal.”
“Of course not.” I narrowed my eyes to look scary. I had been told I looked like an angry marshmallow, but I still tried. “If you need me, I'll be cleaning for the next six to eight hours.”
“Sorry, Grace, you can't start yet. There's still thirty minutes of practice, and you need to collect them.” His sorry was worthless. He enjoyed all of this, that sadistic power-hungry man. “Have fun.”
Then he took off in that damn cart. I sighed, rubbing my temples and popping more Advil. I never shied away from work, regardless how much it sucked. So, I watched the rest of the scrimmage, picked up the shitloads of water bottles, and brought them to the cleaning room.
Thankfully, there was an old-school boombox there, and I cranked that shit up. I found a hip-hop station, created a work station with a drying area, and got to work.
Rinse, soap, scrub, rinse, repeat. And then again, again, and again. My hands had never been cleaner in my entire life, and I wasn’t even halfway done. Good freaking lord.
“This looks miserable.”
I turned around, smiling when Logan leaned against the doorway. “It's not so bad when you get used to not feeling your hands because the hot water ran out. Really, besides the fact I'd rather stick knives in my face, it's fun.”
He laughed, his cackle echoing in the small room. “Want some help?”
“Are you for real?” I asked, sounding all sorts of mature. “It sucks.”
“Anderson’s work, I presume?” he asked, his handsome face twisting. “I'll help for a bit. See if we can't knock out thirty of them.”
“Your call, Logan. But, I'll warn you, you'll get wet.” I blushed. Shit. That sounded bad. I hoped he wouldn't—
“That's what he said.” And he nailed it.
I laughed, flicking soap at him. “I deserved that. Yup.” I turned back toward the sink, feeling his arm touch mine as he joined me on the other side.
He picked up the bottle, not going in the assembly line order I had been doing for an hour already. “No, no, no. Rinse first, then soap, then scrub. There's an art to this.”
“Okay, crazy.” He laughed, eyebrows disappearing into his hair. “Boss me around then.”
I eyed him, not trusting the joy on his face. “You said that like you say it often. I don't like it. Nope.”
He laughed again, nudging his shoulder against mine. It reminded me so much of Fritz that I felt more comfortable with him than I did with anyone else. “So, Grace, how was your day?”
And we talked, cleaned, and laughed. We chatted about his past, his family, his love of football. Then, we talked about his nieces and nephews. Conversation was light and easy, talking about his career and the past couple of seasons. He nodded, asking question after question, and before I knew it, we’d finished the entire shitload of bottles.
“I survived,” I said, looking around the room like there were bottles ready to jump out from their hiding spot. “I didn't know if this moment would ever come. Am I dreaming?”
“Drama queen,” he said, laughing and putting his wet hand on my shoulder, squeezing. “My hands feel so moisturized. They are so smooth.”
I laughed, showing my hands pruned to the bone. “At least you don't look eighty years old.”
“True. Gross,” he teased, winking at me. “You know, Grace, you're all right.”
“Wow. Thanks so much for that raving endorsement. I promise I won't let it go to my head,” I said without missing a beat. I grabbed the towel and dried off my hands best I could. It was like they were permanently wet. “Thank you, Logan. Seriously. I owe you a beer sometime.”
“I'll take you up on that.” He flashed a flirty grin. “Want to grab one tonight? We could head down to Maggie's. It's my favorite place in town.”
I scrunched my nose, ready to tell him about my date that night, but then a familiar figure appeared in the doorway, drawing my attention. “You two heading to Maggie's?”
Logan cleared his throat. “I was hoping she would say yes.”
“A beer sounds good.” Brock walked in, grinning at the stacks and stacks of water bottles. “Nice work, Grace.”
I rolled my eyes and showed him my hands. Logan’s frown deepened, my stomach souring at turning him down. Not just because I had a date, but the electrifying attraction wasn't there. I opened my mouth to speak, but Brock’s strong voice interrupted as he took in Logan’s wet shirt.
“Did you help her?”
