Fritz, our third roommate and Gilly’s brother, sipped his beer, and nodded along with his sister. They were my chosen family, and their support meant so much.
My email pinged with my new insane schedule. The internship was paid, but, due to Asshole Anderson starting me two weeks early, I had double shifts six days a week. I would work nine hours with him, and seven hours at the steakhouse. Goodbye social life. Goodbye world. It might be near impossible, but the challenge lit me up inside.
He wanted to be a dick?
Game on, Anderson.
Chapter Two
I walkedin fifteen minutes early on my third day because I was that type of person. Anderson checked his watch, twice, and a thrill raced through me.
Regardless of my prompt arrival, he ignored me until the clock hit seven. “How do you feel about ice, tape, and rehab?”
“Confident and willing to do it. Blood doesn't freak me out either,” I said, proud that I hadn't let him hurt my feelings,yet. Sure, he glared at me, refused to acknowledge anything good about me, barked orders, demanded things to be done, but I was still here. And that was what I focused on.
“Can you work with the offense today? I have somewhere I need to be, and someone always needs ice or wrapped.” Brock looked up from his desk, his blue eyes darker than normal. Sue me for knowing that his eyes changed depending on his mood. I had observed three moods: annoyed, pissed off, and super dick. He bordered on annoyed and pissed off, but there was a slight new mood there, too.
“Yes.” I had done that stuff in high school for three years. Plus, this sounded like a big responsibility and another way to prove myself.
“Don't flirt with the players, and stay focused. I've heard reports you're getting too social. Knock that off. You're here to learn how to be a trainer, are you not?” His tone shifted from annoyed to super dick.
I closed my eyes, releasing the negative energy he had the unique talent to evoke.
“I am here to learn, but I thought it was important to establish rapport. Is that so bad?” My voice lost a bit of its normal gusto as I second-guessed everything I’d done.
“It's embarrassing, that's what it is,” he barked at me as his fingers came up to pinch the tip of his nose. His expression told me what I needed to know. I was an annoyance, a pain, a nuisance to him. Shame burned my insides. It started in my neck, creeping down until I was nauseated. His hooded eyes, now a sea shade of blue, narrowed. “You're a reflection of my training staff. Remember that.”
I stared at the floor, nodding.
He stood and tossed me a clipboard. It had the schedule for the morning practice and the highlighted things I needed to do. Before I could ask a question, he walked out the door.
I considered myself a good person, kind to everyone, loyal. Sure, I had a little temper. But I had no idea what I’d done to deserve this.
Anderson ran a well-oiled machine when it came to the program, and that had to be enough to fuel me for the rest of the internship. I scanned the list and chewed on a hang nail.
Water to the fields, bottles to the weight room, and ice for the offensive linemen. I nodded, more to myself than to anyone in particular. Water it was.
I filled all seven water coolers to finish the list. And, one by one, I carried them to the field. I dropped two off, some of the players thanking me.
“Girl, what the hell are you doing carrying those around?” An unfamiliar voice yelled at me. I set the third cooler on the bench, my heart racing from the movement. Scratch those plans to start a workout routine. Between this, waitressing, carrying bags of ice across the stadium, and walking, I did not need to go to the gym. Ever again.
“Can I help you with something?” Shit, that came out rude. Asshole Anderson’s speech about being a reflection of his staff irked me. I had been nothing but polite until now. “I'm the new intern here, so if there is anything I can do to help, let me know.”
“Yeah, I know who you are,” he said, his face emotionless. I had no idea what to do with that response, so I gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Why are you carrying those jugs around?”
“Because I was told to.” I frowned. Shit—had I made a mistake? Did I grab the wrong ones? But no, I was sure I did it right. It was the same thing I had done the past two days. I doubted Anderson would mess with me, right? Not after his little speech.
“I get your job duties. I did my time long ago.” He smiled, for a split second, then went back to the gargoyle. “Why aren't you using the cart?”
“Cart? There's a cart?” My heart kicked up again, hoping, wishing,prayingthat I’d misheard him. If there was a cart or an easier way to do this, I was going to murder Anderson. Twice.
“We have a cart for heavy lifting. There is one for the head AT, then two for the rest of us to share.” He ran his hand over his shaved head, a frown slowly forming on his stone face. “Brock should've told you that.”
“He left that out,” I said, clenching my teeth.
“Shit.” He released a long breath. “What's on the rest of your schedule?”
“I need to finish the coolers. Then I have a short window for lunch before grabbing the afternoon assignments.” I cracked my knuckles, hoping to relieve the tension and anger building up inside of me.
