“Can you do that? Whenever you want?”
“I guess, yeah. There is never a slow day during the season, but it’ll be a film day for the offense and morning practice for defense. I’ll head in and make sure nothing happens. But this afternoon? Hell no. I can leave because no one will be practicing, thus, no risk of injuries happening. Plus, one of the part-timers will be there for ice.” He sipped the coffee, grabbing the nearest book. “You have your sources all listed on notecards, right?”
“Yeah. I think. I left them somewhere.” I pushed my chair out, standing up and looking at the mess on the table. It all blurred together, my eyes straining passed any point I had ever experienced. I reached over Brock’s arms, seeing the stack of notecards buried under textbooks. Our arms brushed, but it was enough to send a thrill through me. Geesh. I was exhausted if an arm touch got me all hot.
With my luck they had probably vanished. “There they are. Everything is starting to look the same.”
“You should get some sleep.” His rough voice quieted, his hand going on my upper back. It made small circles, feeling all kinds of amazing. His large hands worked on players every day. I was no different. “You can get up early, refreshed and with a sound mind.”
“Mm,” I said, sitting back down with my eyes closed. “Damn, that feels good.”
“You’re tense. Understandably so. But, you feel like a board back here.” He continued with his hand, kneading and hitting my muscles in the exact spot where it felt oh so good, and oh so painful. I grounded my teeth, welcoming both sensations. “Face the window for a minute.”
I turned, my back and neck entirely exposed to him as he added a second hand to the massage. One went to my neck, squeezing and rubbing the spot that connected my neck to my back. It. Felt. So. Good.
The other went up and down my spine, pushing into the muscles on either side and began undoing the knots that formed throughout that night. I jumped, the sensationalmosttoo much. Those hands worked on my shoulders, squeezing and rubbing down the tops of my arms. I shivered, a small moan escaping my mouth. He froze and let go within a second.
“Grace, get some rest.”
I cleared my throat, turning around to meet his eyes. Those baby blues gleamed at me. They were easy to get lost in, and words suddenly seemed hard. My thoughts were not coherent as I was exhausted and worried, turned on and giddy. I nibbled my lip, his gaze darting to it with flared nostrils. His eyes remained there for one second, then another. I held my breath, desperate for whatever he wanted to give. “I should probably go. You look like you’re about to pass out.”
I nodded.
Neither of us attempted to move. Our knees touched, his strong and large legs dwarfing mine. His hands slowly cupped my face without breaking eye contact.
My heart beat widely.
He moved his head toward mine, and my lips tingled with anticipation.
I closed my eyes and waited.
Something metal jingled on the table, and I opened my eyes to a small smirk.
His hand reached out behind me to grab keys on the counter, and I deflated.
“Uh, want coffee for the ride home?”
“Sure. It would help not falling asleep at the wheel.”
I pushed off the chair and felt slightly smug at how raspy his voice was. It was the only sign he felt anything around me.Best friend?Please. I never had these types of thoughts about Gilly or Fritz, and they were my best friends. I grabbed an old Harry Potter themed mug and filled it with some java. He watched me with those intense eyes. I smiled as I handed over the mug.
“Thank you.” He held it up. “This will help.”
“If anyone deserves thanks, it’s you.” I gave him a pointed stare just as the front door crashed open. I jumped and slammed my hip into the corner of the counter. “Shit.”
Brock moved to stand in front of me as Fritz wobbled down the hall whistling in a drunken stupor. Fritz stumbled upon us in the kitchen and glared at Brock. “Grace girl, why’s he here?”
“Fritz. How did you get home?” I walked up to him, checking his eyes. He was three sheets to the wind. Great.
“I took a cab, sweet Grace. I would never drink and drive. Nope. Never. Sad. Stupid. Fucking wrong.” Fritz swirled on one foot to point at Brock. “Why are you here?”
“Fritz, look at me.” I directed his attention back to me for two reasons. One, Brock looked pissed at him, and two, I didn’t want Fritz spilling anything to Brock. My crush, for example. “My major project, you know the one I’ve been working on?”
“The pictures and shit?” he slurred, still giving Brock the mean eye.
“Yes. That one.” I stood closer to him, and he slung his arm around me. “It deleted. I have to redo the entire thing.”
“No!” he yelled, almost making us both fall. “How? You’re…Grace. You’re always prepared.”
