“Ugh. Fine.” I met his passionate expression and clenched my teeth together. The small swirl of desire floated in the air between us. We were alone. In a hotel room. The lone lamp the only lighting. It was the perfect scene from a movie. “Yes?”
His eyes danced between mine, only briefly dropping to my mouth. “I’m an asshole, and you don’t deserve it. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you for apologizing. It doesn’t excuse it, though. I don’t understand why.” I crossed my arms, thankful I wore a loose shirt that wouldn’t push my boobs up. I didn’t need to give anything away.
“I, uh—” He sighed, running a hand through that thick mane of curly hair. “I was annoyed we got paired together. I took it out on you.”
“You realize I don’t moonlight as a Grant, right? I didn’t do this.” I raised a brow at him.
“Yeah.” He grinned, quickly before a somber look took over. “I know. I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea or anything.”
“About what?” My nerves were shot to hell with those words. Was he…did he think…wrong idea about what? My spine stiffened.
“Us.” He met my eyes, daring me to challenge him. “Nothing will happen between us. I hope you know that.”
A tinge of embarrassment mixed with fury as it flowed down my spine. I growled in response to him, “Okay? That has nothing to do with this.”
He sucked in one side of his cheek, his eye twitching slightly as he watched me. My jaw hurt from grinding my teeth, but he clearly didn’t care. “You’re interning, and we have this,” he paused, waving his hand back and forth between us, “I don’t know.”
“Look, Anderson.” I sighed, rubbing my fingers on my brows. “Stop.”
“I need you to understand that nothing will happen,” his voice deepened, his gaze dropping to my mouth.
“You made your position clear. Thank you,” I said, lips pressing down firmly. I laid back down and counted to ten. I had no reason to be pissed. None. He was my boss. His role in my life would be over in November, regardless if they made it to a bowl game. My internship would be complete, and he’d be out of my life.
“Are we good?” His trepidation pissed me off more. I wasn’t an overdramatic girl who would cry because her boss hurt her feelings.
“Yes,boss,” I said, ending our fantastic conversation. Sleep soon took over, and I welcomed the mental escape from his mood swings.
Chapter Twelve
I neededto remember that I wanted this as a career—especially when I had to work with Brock and be near him every second of the following day. Every. Single. Minute.
In my analysis of my crazy boss, I came up with two things. One, he had some shit to figure out. And the second thing, I wasn’t going to wait around or try to change him. I had enough to focus on.
We were in the fourth quarter into the game, and we were up by three points. The game was rough, filled with dirty plays and lots of injuries. Brock barked at me over the sounds of whistles and the cheering fans to wrap joints and bag ice. We stood shoulder to shoulder most of the game as our players got beat up. Brock ran off when one of the linemen complained about shoulder pain, and I watched in awe at the intensity of the players.
On our third down, with twenty yards to go, Peter, the team’s punter, ran up to me with an expectant face. “Grace, right?”
“Yeah. You need ice or something?” I asked, not sure if I needed permission from Brock.
“I need you to stretch me out. Anderson is helping Freddie.” I nodded, motioning for him to get on the grass. I had always seen trainers stretch players out, not many of them females, but it was still so freaking cool. It was a rush. “My left leg has been tight lately. I’ve been kicking daily and working on building muscle, but it's tight as hell. If we get in field goal range, I’m going in. I want to be ready.”
“You got it. Lift up your left one.” I lifted his ankle, pushing the leg high and straight. He bucked, hissing at me. “Yeah, you are tight. Push back. You need this looser.”
“Argh.” He groaned, doing so. “This ain’t helping.”
“Tough shit, Peter. If you want to nail that field goal, you need both legs loose. I don’t care that you kick with your right. You need your balance and transfer of weight to be smooth. Come on, push back.”
He did. Then, his leg went to both sides, me using my body weight to push down. It had a slight awkwardness to it because I overthought every position. I pushed it away, focusing only on the part of getting him ready to play. I patted his leg, getting up to grab the net. “Now, I want to see three straight run-throughs. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned, setting the ball on the ground and going through the motions. He did it, successfully, three times. “It feels shit loads better.”
“Good. You’re gonna sink it.” I held out a hand for a high five. He slapped it before heading back to the rest of the team. I bit my lip, smiling. This was my first live game experience, and I freaking loved it. I closed my eyes, savoring the feeling.
Brock joined me in complete business mode. Despite my issues with him, I respected his professional mindset. Game day was game day—no distractions. I needed to model his behavior. Whatever happened with us had no place on the field. I started explaining what I did with Peter. He nodded, sparing me a brief glance.
“Well done, that’s exactly what you should’ve done. How did he look with the net?”
