Sometimes, Rock cursed his clumsiness. Six feet seven inches of muscle, and yet he barely knew what to do with it most of the time. He had run into the edges of tables, chairs, one time even directly into a wall!

And now, he had run into you and caused you to spill coffee all over the front of your shirt. Gods, he was embarrassed. Yes, the two of you were on decent terms as far as coworkers go. But, hot coffee on your perfect white shirt? Oh no. No. No, no, no!