“Grace, you’ve been single like a Pringle for a while. Are you still on that babble of switching to the girls’ team?” Logan asked.
Chris spit out some of his beer.
I gave them both a pointed look. “You’re the worst. No. I’m not.” I had nothing to lose. Brock radiated anger. I still had yet to look at him, but his silence and stiff posture told me enough.
“I’m not the worst. What are friends for? To push you. To challenge you. Now go, you butterfly.” He waved his hand in the direction of the good-looking man and shoved my stool out from my ass.
I regretted looking at Brock the moment I did. He had no right to look at melike that.Like I meant something to him as more than a friend. Those haunted, blue eyes pierced my soul, but it was not the time. I smoothed down my jacket, put on a fake smile, and walked over to the guy at the bar. He nodded encouragingly at me as I approached. My shirt felt too tight, and my palms sweat. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself,” he said with a blindingly white smile. “I’m glad you came over here. I have to say, you are with a group of intimidating men.”
I looked back at them, avoiding Brock’s eyes and focusing on Logan’s thumbs up. “Yeah, they are a bunch of intimidating guys. They are goofballs though.”
“I’m Rick, by the way.” He held out his hand. I shook it, blushing at the perusal he gave me. “Do you work for the football team?”
“Sort of,” I paused, awkwardly albeit. “I’m interning for them this year as one of the athletic training staff.”
“Wow. That’s impressive.” He smiled warmly at me, eyeing the bar. “Would you like a drink?”
“Sure. Thank you.” I joined him on the stool, feeling out of my element. “I’m Grace, by the way.”
“Hmm. That fits you,” he said way too smoothly. “You have a face for a Grace.”
“Wow. Did you just come up with that one, or was it waiting on the backburner?” I asked without thinking how that made me look.
He winced for a second, then recovered with a practiced move. Strike one.
“You’re witty.” He ordered me a beer, without asking what kind. I didn’t like that. “So, Grace, is football what brings you to this town?”
“Yes. We just won a game here.” I eyed the pale ale, not a huge fan of them, but I also didn’t know the lines of what was rude or not. I wish I made a signal with Logan to come save me. “What brings you here?”
“Work,” he said, downing the rest of his drink and leaning on the bar with his elbow. The bartender passed him another.
I looked back at the table when Rick took a swig and saw Chris and Logan talking, but Brock’s gaze was on me. I made a face at him, making my eyes go wide and jerking my head toward the bar, hoping he knew that it meant I wanted to be rescued. I hated that I needed an out, but I felt way too awkward to end this. “Ah, beer is the remedy for life.”
“That’s what they say. So, what do you do?”
His eyes kept drifting to my mouth and face, and my stomach soured. He licked his lips with a gross exaggeration.
“I’m in sales.” He took another swig. I twisted my hands, still not taking a sip of the beer because I didn’t feel comfortable and wanted to get the hell away. I sighed, pushing myself off the bar and noticing his eyes widen. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to head back to my friends. This isn’t working. I’m sorry. Thank you for the drink though.” I squirmed, turning to walk away, but he reached out and grabbed my wrist. Hell. No. “Excuse—”
“Let go of her. Now.” Brock’s wide frame stood behind me, his chest touching my back. Rick released his hand from mind with his face paling. Brock didn’t wait another second before pushing me out of the way, behind him. “Touch her again and I’ll break your face.”
His hand went to my back, but this time his fingers dug into me. I understood he was pissed, beyond pissed at that moment. Instead of going back to the table, he directed us outside of the bar. “Brock, where are we going?”
“Give me a minute, please,” he said, voice tight and pained. It was unlike any tone I had ever heard from him before. He led us outside to the front entrance where a large bench sat away from any other people. He plopped down, dragging me with him. He threw an arm around me, taking deep breaths.
“Brock.”
“Shh.” His leg bounced up and down, the tension in his body worrying me. I turned to face him, putting my hand on his scruff. It was the most I had ever touched him, and his reaction was enough to distract him from his thoughts. His gaze darted to mine, his eyes wide with worry and anger.
“It’s okay,” I said calmly. I kept my hand on his chin, using my other one to put on his bouncing leg. His magical, toned, hard leg.
Focus. “Thank you.”
“I wanted to beat his face in,” he admitted, looking at the ground. “Why did you do that?”
