“Can't believe you just made sense saying that, but thanks. I think.” I tilted my head, copying his move. “Are we good, now? You’re way more fun when you're like this.”
He bit back a smile and just nodded. “We're good. I'll try to be more fun as you said.” He used air quotes. The asshole used air quotes.
“Don't mock me. People love you, boss. You're respected and run such a good program, but, you rarely show people this fun side. It makes people feel more comfortable.”
“You know, no one speaks to me the way you do.”
I groaned, putting my head in my hands. “Shit. I ruined our truce, didn't I? I'm an idiot.”
“No. I didn't mean it that way at all.” He looked at me with an intensity I hadn't seen before. “People talk to me like they know about my accident. They feel bad for me. They pity me. They see me as a young star who lost it all.”
“That's ridiculous. You lost a professional sports career, not your life,” I scoffed, damn well knowing that injuries are a reminder that you didn’t die.
“I know that, now. It took some time. But, I appreciate how you talk to me. You don't hold back or aren't afraid to say something that might offend me.”
“Look, I don't know if your compliment was front-hand or backhand. Could you be clearer?”
He laughed. “See, that? I need more of that. It's a compliment, albeit an odd one.”
“I'm an odd duck, bro.” I shrugged, noticing a binder he had with him. “What's the binder for?”
“Oh, uh, I'm exploring the option to apply for some NFL positions. Maybe. I want to volunteer with some youth programs first though.” He refused to meet my eyes, a light pink tinging his cheeks again. “I don't know if I'll do it.”
“Why the hell not? Brock, you would be amazing at any level. You know the sport back and forth. You played it really well from what I hear. I have no idea. I don't care, honestly. I can totally see it.” My voice rose, my words slurring together because I spoke so fast. Brock would be an amazing NFL trainer.
His face didn't look convinced, though. His serious look was back, his eyes pained and clear blue. “I'm not sure.”
“Brock Anderson. You better not be feeling self-conscious right now. You are so great with the athletes. I've seen you interact with them. You have real life experience, and you love the sport. I know it's not my place, but hell, I don't have a filter, so it came out anyway. You have my vote, boss. Don't let the fear hold you back. I can see it on your face.”
“How do you know?” he asked so quietly, I wasn't sure I’d heard him right. But his face looked so damn vulnerable.
“How do I know you'll be amazing, or how do I know the fear?”
“The fear.”
“Because everyone has things that have happened to them in their life and only a few people have the tragedies that shape their view for the rest of their existence. I had one, and I use that experience in every choice I make. I can see it in your eyes.” I shrugged, knowing I’d opened a can of worms.
But, he didn't push. He sat there, a serious expression on his face and hand rubbing back and forth along his jaw. “It’s a different level, the NFL. I’m not sure I’m ready for it again. Being back in that world, not able to play.”
“You can talk about what-ifs for the rest of your days. Just do it.”
He smiled, shaking his head at me. “Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“Able to use humor in any situation.”
I gave him an exaggerated nod. “Oh yeah, all the time. I like to bottle up emotions until they overflow, and it's awful for everyone around me. I’m bilingual—English and sarcasm.”
“You're such a trip.” His warm voice practically purred at me. It was smooth, soft, and spoken with praise and without a trace of cynicism. “I’m really glad I chose to come here tonight.”
“I am too, but if I don’t study for at least an hour, I’ll hold it against you.”
“You know, I did exceptionally well in that class. I can help you.”
“Why would you do that? We've had truce for, oh, thirty minutes, tops.” I looked at my watch, tapping the face of it.
“First, because you make me laugh. Second, because I can be a semi-decent guy. Third, if I do this, then you owe me a favor, and if the washer breaks again...” The bastard winked at me.
