“I'll help you clean.” His tone was clipped.
I whistled. If he wanted to be a grump for no reason, he could be my guest. So, we drove in silence. I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel, Logan waving at me as we passed the coaches. I smiled, earning a grunt from Anderson. Jeez Louise, he was cranky.
I pulled into the parking spot and began unloading the large coolers first.
Anderson flicked his wrist for me to get out of his way.
“Why must you do that? It is so damn rude.”
“What?” he asked, his voice turning high. “I'm helping you.”
“This motion.” I mimicked his wrist flick. “It is rude. It's dismissive, and people do it at the restaurant, and it makes me see red. I'm not a dog.”
His brows furrowed, the dark lines coming together. He ran a hand over his strong jaw with his mouth twisting. I wasn't in the mood to hear some bullshit excuse about him being a dick, again. So, I grabbed the water bottles and took them to the washer. I rinsed each one, then placed it in the rack. I shook my head, releasing a frustrated breath. I went back, grabbing the rest of them and noticed all the coolers were already taken care of. At least the big oaf had helped with those.
“Grace.” His voice broke my trance. He was leaning against the wall of the kitchen area.
I lifted a shoulder as a way of reply. He removed his sunglasses, putting them on his forehead in a way that only athletes could pull off. His blue eyes were sharp, cold, and dangerous.
“No one has ever told me that before.”
“That you're rude?” I scoffed, somehow braver than before. I had no problem speaking my mind now. “I doubt that.”
“No, I've been told that.” He sucked in his bottom lip, slightly, before continuing with his harsh unblinking eyes. “I meant no one has told me that hand gesture was rude. I do it all the time and think nothing of it.”
“It's dismissive and insulting.” I crossed my arms, daring him to argue with me. “No one has told you probably because you're scary.”
“Scary?” His eyes widened, a brow raising up in the process. Then, his tone turned all sugary sweet and soft. “I scare you?”
I sighed, releasing my arms and leaning back against the counter. Maybe I shouldn't have said that, but I wasn't one to back down. “You're intimidating with your muscles and blue eyes that don't blink. You're intense, and that intimidates most people.
His frown deepened. “I'm not scared of you, not like you'd hurt me physically or anything.”
His nostrils flared, and his hand stroked his jaw again. He took a breath, shaking his head, then he said something that shocked me. “I'm sorry.”
My mouth opened, my brows disappearing into my hair. “Uh, what?”
“I'm sorry I gestured to you like that. I never thought about it being rude before. I didn't want you to pick up the coolers. Your knee looks swollen still, and I wanted to help you.”
My voice left and flew out the window. Mr. Asshole Anderson apologized, tried to help me, and was concerned about my knee. Color me pink. I stared at him, now being the creepy unblinking one. One of his lips quirked up, a small dimple popping out on one side. Damn that dimple.
“Did you bring lunch?” He fought a smile. “I have a couple of sub sandwiches back in my office. Come on.” His hand twitched, like he wanted to do the wrist gesture, but he stopped.
“I like sandwiches.” I broke out of the weird spell he put on me. Sure, I still hadn't forgiven him for being a total dick, but he’d gained some points back. “Also, calm that wrist down. I saw you almost do it.”
“I told you, I always do it.” I walked side by side with him, leaving the cart in its spot. “But, I appreciate your honesty. You can speak your mind around me, you know.”
“I'm surprised I'm still here, actually. I thought for sure I would be gone after insulting you.”
“I found it refreshing.” He glanced at me. “Have you heard back from your advisor?”
My heart picked up. Shit. Did that mean he wanted me to transfer? A sinking feeling took over. “No. Not yet.”
“Good.”
Well, that settled that. We entered his office, and he bent over to get the sandwiches from the fridge. I did not have enough self-control to not look at his ass.
He pulled out a long sub and set it on the table.
“Thanks for the food.”
“Generally, I feed my interns.” He took a bite on his own sandwich, watching me again with those hard-blue eyes. They narrowed at my neck, and I hoped I didn't have food on my face.
“What?” I asked, unsure. I only had taken one bite so far. “Is there food on me?”
He shook his head and took something from a back cabinet. “Put this on after eating.”
It was aloe vera. I sighed, the forgotten sunburn now on the forefront of my mind. “Thank you. I got a little burned today.”
“I see that. You need to put sunscreen on.” He used the same commanding tone, but the harshness of it was gone. It was more a demand to help me. I could take that.
“Will do, sir.” I took another bite of my sandwich, my thoughts drifting to this man in front of me. He was a freaking puzzle. He knew every player, coach, worker there by name, something I spent time after hours doing. Athletes respected the hell out of him, all of them loyal.
“Did my secretary, Jen, email you the schedule?” he asked between bites, the silence somewhat comfortable.
“Yes. I got it.” I inwardly groaned. I was going to have no life. Zero. Except for Sundays and maybe a Saturday night if we had a home game.
“Any conflicts I should know about?” He wiped his mouth, the gesture causing me to shiver. His mouth… mmm. I needed to take care of this sexual tension tonight because I was totally not thinking my boss was hot.
“None that I could think of.”
“Most interns take a three-day weekend to go home at least once. Do you think you will take any time off?” It was a simple question, but it hurt to hear. That question insinuated many things—one being I had a home to go back to, the second being I had family somewhere to visit. I had neither. I shook my head.
“No. I'll be here.”
“Good. It drives me nuts when people don't take their commitments seriously.” He finished his sandwich without having any idea how my mood plummeted.
It wasn't his fault. He didn't know.
Very few people, besides Gilly and Fritz, knew that I didn’t have any family, anywhere. It was just me. Grace Turner, party of one. It took me a year to fully accept what happened and get my shit together. Hence, why I was older than most college seniors. I thought I had the grief under control, but sometimes it snuck up on me.
The radio crackled, one of the coach’s voices coming through. “Anderson, we need you on the field. We have blood.”
He snatched it from the desk, his commanding tone assuring them he'd be right there. I wasn't sure what to do, but he stood, head raised. “Let's go. This is how you learn.”
He didn't flick his wrist. He didn't bark orders at me. Progress.
I followed, excitement replacing the sadness that took over, however brief it was. He picked up a first aid box from the corner of his office and answered the question brewing on the tip of my tongue. “I have about ten of these all over the stadium. You never know when you'll need one. I'll show you where the rest are hidden later.”