No thanks, my rational brain said. We're good.
“Grace. Quit being stubborn. Look at me.” The commanding tone was back. I did not miss it.
I glanced over at his amused expression. “There. Now, what?”
“I can be a real dick.”
“So you've said, and I've heard before.”
He grimaced, regret crossing his face. “I'm sorry I acted poorly around you.”
“Why did you? Do you?”
“It’s easier, pushing others away. If I've had a shit day, which has happened quite often the past couple of weeks, it’s easier than being nice.” He meant it, too. His eyes were blue orbs of truth.
“That's terrible. And unfair.”
“I know. I'm a dick.” His mouth went flat again. “I have to admit something. I made a bad judgement call. I stereotyped you. I remembered you from the bar, and you were wearing that prissy dress. I thought you were someone's daughter who just got handed the internship. I assumed you were lazy and a bit entitled.”
The sincerity in his explanation wasn’t lost on me, but it still felt like a punch to the gut. Prissy? Entitled? I was none, absolutely none, of those things. Anger rolled down my spine, warming it. I bit the inside of my cheek, but then thought, screw it. I added fuel to the fire. “Don't forget you called me incompetent and said I just wanted attention.”
“God.” He ran his hands through his long, shaggy hair. Sighing for so long, I wondered how he breathed. Then, he nodded a couple of times to himself, his full lips turning down. “My judgement was incorrect. I did some research and chatted with one of your professors. You’ve had a tough bout, losing your mom so young. I’m sorry. No wonder you called me Asshole Anderson.”
Shit. Did I? I must've. No point hiding it now. I shrugged. “AA if I'm feeling lazy.”
His mouth twisted before a small smile came out. “Well deserved, then.”
“Yup.” I turned onto my side, so my knee was in the air, but my ass was still covered by my dress. “Thanks for helping. And for apologizing. I still don't like you, but I don't hate you either.”
“Fair enough. I’m sorry, again, for assuming things that are not true about you.” He stood and patted my leg. “Goodnight, Grace.”
“Bye, Anderson.”
Then, lights out.
Chapter Four
I slept for fifteen hours. Fifteen, long and wonderful hours that put an extra spring in my step the following Monday. Beside the fact I limped slightly because my dumb ass fell onto the ground, the normal trepidation and anxiety I experienced whenever I walked into the stadium bright and early was missing. I waved at the security guards, like I had every day before, and they smiled. “Morning, gentleman.”
“Mornin’ Ms. Gracie. How are you today?”
“Fabulous. Just fabulous.” I waved and turned to head toward the office but ran into a hard, strong wall. No, it wasn't a wall. It was a chest. “Shit.” I clutched my nose, wincing against the stinging.
“Sorry. Definitely thought you heard me,” Anderson grumbled, his voice raspy and deep and just-rolled-out-of bed-sexy. “Let me see.”
He put his hands on my shoulders, pushing me back, so he could look at me. He lowered his face, releasing a deep breath as he scanned my face. I removed my hand from my still-stinging nose. “I'm fine, Anderson.”
I didn't like how close he was to me, or the way my body totally betrayed my brain.
His cheek twitched, right below his eye, but then it went away. “So, Grace, how's your knee?”
“Ah, I rested it all day yesterday. It hurts a bit.”
He nodded and motioned for me to follow him.
“Are we starting early today?”
He kept walking, like he was on a mission.
I tried to keep up, but my knee didn't allow it. We entered the clubhouse area, where vehicles and golf carts were stored. My heart rate picked up.
He rounded the corner and went to a small grey cabinet on the wall, picked out a set of keys, and tossed them to me. “Nineteen is yours. It doesn't matter where you park it, but don't block anyone in. You can take it anywhere in the stadium, except the main entrance area. They tend to frown on that.”
I held the keys in my hand, nodding. He still hadn't looked at me, but his tone was light, kind even, and happy. I followed his voice as he searched for nineteen. He hit the hood of the cart with his hand, the other on his hip when he turned to face me. I wasn’t sure what he saw when he looked at me, but the lines around his mouth grew tight, and his blue eyes narrowed. “Why is your mouth open?”
“Is it? I just, I'm glad I don't have to walk on this thing all day,” I said, looking down at my knee. “What's on the agenda today, boss man?”
His gaze switched back and forth between my eyes, his mouth parting slightly. I didn't know what he was looking for, but I also didn't care. He took his sweet ass time answering my question and took a seat in the golf cart. “We are going to be on the field most of the day. They are scrimmaging. We need to get water out there, first. Let's get on it.”
“Yes, sir.” I hobbled to the driver’s side, grinning like a Cheshire Cat with my new keys. “Let's do this.”
The scrimmage went well. There were no major injuries, just swollen joints and lots of ice. Lots and lots of ice. I had to make four trips to get more, so damn thankful I had the golf cart. I met two other trainers, part-timers, that day—Lisa and Matt. They were both super kind, hardworking, and students at the university. We were all so busy we were unable to talk, but there was a comfort in a group of people working together silently.
The midday sun hit the back of my neck. I winced, having forgotten to put on sunscreen. I went to the water station, wetting my hands to put on the back of my neck. I hissed.
One of the players nodded at me, and I smiled, hoping it came off as professional. He wore a helmet, so I wasn’t sure who he was. I made a note to myself to learn all of the players’ names.
Then, I started the pickup process before sneaking off to grab lunch. I dumped the coolers, picked up the water bottles, and loaded one on the cart when Anderson walked up to me from the edge of the field. He generally worked with the major players, the quarterback, the defense line, the bigger guys. He wore his typical uniform again, somehow pulling off the polo look. I waved, half-assed. “Hey, boss.”
“Are you friends with Chip?” Sunglasses hid his eyes.
I hesitated, not sure where he was going with this. “Chip? Why?” I faced him, crossing my arms. Chip was one of the tight ends if I remembered my research.
“He's bad news.”
I almost laughed. Bad news? Who said that? Bad news were the druggies in high school. “Stay away from him.”
“Woah.” Talk about inappropriate. “I can make my own decisions. Thank you very much.” He didn’t need to know I had never spoken more than a hello to Chip.
His assumption and warnings were rude. I did not say anything when I went to go drop off the supplies to the cleaning area to finish after lunch. My stomach growled, and I hopped in the front seat. I loved my new cart. But, Anderson chose that moment to jump into the passenger seat. “Uh, need a ride?”