“What is to be expected during this? I have no idea what to think? Am I sharing a room with someone? Do I get a couch? The lobby? Because I’m a wild sleeper and might draw attention if I’m in public.”
His lips curved up, his tongue wetting his bottom lip. “You’re ridiculous. You’ll get your own room since there aren’t any other female staff going. Tonight, there is a team dinner, and we’ll eat with them, just off to the side. The players are assigned rooms and are required to be in the room by midnight. They can’t have alcohol, drugs, or girls the night before a game.”
“Damn, there goes my plan to sneak into their rooms.”
He froze and gave me a long look before releasing a sigh. “You’re joking.”
“Ah, yes. Now, you get it.”
He rolled his eyes in a very unlike-Brock gesture. He put his hands on his trim hips and spoke to the ground instead of my face. “I’m going to get my stuff. Go ahead and find a seat in the front. Go on bus two.”
I nodded, grabbing my bag and pillow, and headed toward the second bus. No person had ever given me such whiplash before, and it was exhausting. I forced my confusion deep down, determined not to think about him the entire weekend. Well, except about the athletic trainer part. I needed him for that.
With willpower I was proud of, I walked on the bus and was assaulted with the smell of football players. My heart raced at the attention. Players I had never seen before out of their helmets sat in the back, eyeing the only girl on the bus.Shit. I quickly found a seat in the second row and shoved my stuff into the ledge above it. I squeezed myself as close to the window as possible and hoped no one sat next to me. I wanted to read and nap, all without drawing attention to myself. I got my phone out, picking my playlist filled with old school hip hop.
Someone spoke my name. One of the players who I treated a couple of times before—Chip.
I smiled. “Hey.”
“Want a bus buddy?”
Anderson walked onto the bus at that moment and looked at Chip like he had a disease. My heart pitter pattered, my stomach somersaulting. His face turned lethal, and his words were sharp as hell. “Nope. Move in the back, Chip.”
“All right, Anderson.” Chip nodded, respect evident on his face, and gave me a small smile before moving down the aisle.
Brock took his seat right next to me without uttering a word. Fine, if that was what was happening, then so be it. He smelled nice. Actually, he smelled heavenly, but I shut down that part of my brain. Plus, he appeared to avoid conversation.
Fine by me. Hello nap time!
I closed my eyes, resting against my pillow, but the players were so damn loud with their chants and stupid raps. I jerked awake a handful of times before giving up. What was even more depressing was that we hadn’t even left yet. I sighed, accepting the fact I would have to look out the window and remain lost in my twisted, unhelpful thoughts.
“What was that sigh for?” Brock’s voice interrupted my attempt at daydreaming. I glanced at him from the side to see him looking intently at me.
“Is it possible to sleep on the bus with all these rowdy guys?”
He smiled, looking younger, and shook his head. “Not likely. They like to rap, chant, and yell.”
“Oh, great. Can’t wait.” I held the book in my hands, flipping it back and forth. I could still try and read it, but then, the bus filled with blaring, loud, trap rap music.
Trap rap was not for the weak. It was intense, loud, offensive, and prevented anyone from focusing on anything.
Brock met my eyes, raising a brow with a smirk.
“You knew this would happen, didn’t you?” I asked, but his brows furrowed, and he pointed to his ear. I leaned closer to him as he tilted his head toward me, and my lips were inches from his ear when I repeated my question.
He nodded and moved his mouth, so I could hear him, goosebumps breaking out on my neck when his breath tickled my skin. “Yup. Hence, I don’t like the bus ride.”
“You saying hence makes me laugh,” I said, leaning even closer to him, so he could hear me. That was the only reason I pressed my side into his and scooted closer.
His eyes danced with humor, and the damn dimple came out.
“How do you deal with it?” I asked.
He stretched his arms over his head and his large, muscly, bulging, did I mentionlarge, thigh touched min. The casual touch felt like fire. I tried scooting closer to the window to control my urge to climb him, but I had no more room. His massive legs had nowhere to go. “I try to relax. Think about things I have to do. I don’t know. Zone out.”
“With this noise? I mean, music?” I yelled as the music got louder.
He bit his lip and nodded. Damn him. That lip. God, it annoyed me how good-looking he was.
