Good grief.
A shadow came over my chest, followed shortly by, “You have more in you, schnecke. Get up.”
I kept my eyes closed. The temptation to ignore him was overwhelming, but I couldn’t do that. Pretending like he wasn’t there would just give him more power. On top of that, schnecke? What the hell did that mean? It didn’t matter. Whatever. “I’ll be up in a second,” I told him on a long exhale.
My own personal eclipse didn’t move despite the fact I had at least responded to him.
I didn’t bother opening my eyes either as I finished catching my breath.
The shadow shifted to the right as something hit the side of my foot. “Are you well enough to play today?” Kulti’s voice was low as he spoke.
His nudge got me to open my eyes and stare straight up at the blue-gray sky. “No.”
Kulti was standing by my feet, his hands behind his back as he looked down at me.
I glanced at him for a second then rolled to sit up gently and get to my feet. Sparing him another look, I gave the German a tight smile I wasn’t feeling at all. “I need to get back.”
That’s exactly what I did.
* * *
At eight o’clock that night, my cell phone dinged with a text.
From my spot on the couch with my socked feet up on the coffee table, I glanced at the screen and saw ‘German Chocolate Cake’ pop up.
I went right back to watching my show. If it was life or death he’d call, and he didn’t.
* * *
At five o’clock the following afternoon, my phone beeped with an incoming text message again.
‘German Chocolate Cake’ appeared on the screen.
For a second I thought about picking it up and possibly reading the message, but I’d ignored the one the day before; during practice today, he’d given me a massive amount of hell during my one-on-one game. Basically, he was acting like nothing was wrong, and like he hadn’t been an ass days before.
Now he was texting me again.
“Did they get your phone number?” Marc asked from behind the wheel.
I set my phone back between my legs and shook my head. Marc already knew about the insanity at practice with the reporters and the mystery behind Kulti’s driving record. He’d been warning me that it was only a matter of time before someone got desperate enough to call, especially since Jenny and I were the only players that had pictures with him floating around the internet.
“No.” I smiled at my friend and before I realized what the hell was coming out of my mouth, I made up something up. “Wrong number.”
* * *
“Are you done?”
I pulled my bag up and over my opposite shoulder and straightened, wiping at my forehead with the back of my hand. “I have to get to work.”
The German had his own bag over his shoulder. His handsome, handsome face was tight as he ran a hand over his head.
I raised my eyebrows, forced a smile on my face and turned to start walking.
Kulti’s hand whipped out to grab my wrist, stopping me in place. “Sal,” he hissed, turning me to face him.
I took a breath through my nose and tipped my head back to look him in the eye. “Kulti, I need to get to work. “
His head jerked back, the corner of his cheek rounding like he was sticking his tongue there. “Kulti, really?”
“That’s your name, isn’t it?” I slid my arm up and out of his grip, keeping my gaze locked on those green-brown eyes that seemed lighter today than usual. “Look, I really need to get to work. I need my job to help me pay bills.” So maybe my smile turned a little condescending, a little smug and just the tiniest bit bitchy.
“You shouldn’t give me the power to make you angry.” He lowered his face to mine and I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“What I shouldn’t do is waste my time on someone with an attitude problem.”
Kulti’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his gaze intense on me as he took his time replying. The words were even and steady out of his mouth. “I used to make more money in a day than most people do, you aren’t the only one—“
This wasn’t helping at all. My eye twitched. “Yeah you made more money in a day than most people in third world countries make in a lifetime. Trust me, I understand, and I could care less about how much money you make or don’t make. Don’t be an idiot.”
He wasn’t used to being called an idiot if the look on his face said anything, but by that point I couldn’t have cared less. “I’ve worked as hard as you did to get to where I’m at. Just because I don’t make as much money as you doesn’t make me any less worthy.”
Kulti shook his head. “I never said it did.”
“Well, you sure made it seem like it did. Just like you made me feel this small for having another job,” I told him, holding my thumb and index finger about an inch apart.
“Sal,” he grumbled my name.
I raised an eyebrow at him. “I do landscaping. Did you know that? Because you’ve never asked, but I think you should know if you didn’t. Sorry I’m not sorry that I can’t live up to your standards.”
“What standards?”
“Your standards. I can’t give you advice because I’m too young? Or is it that I’m poor? Wait, it’s because I’m a girl. Is that it?”
“Why are you being so stubborn about this? That isn’t what I meant.”
That had me letting out a sharp laugh. “If our roles were switched, you really think you wouldn’t say something similar if not worse? Seriously?” He’d tell me to eat shit and kiss his ass for sure, and that was the PG-13 version of it.
He knew it was the truth from the way his tongue poked at the side of his cheek.
I gently tugged my arm away from him, and he let me that time. “Look, I’m not in the mood to talk to you right now. You don’t get to take your anger out on me and expect me to get over it like nothing happened. The fact is, I would never say what you said to me to anyone. I thought we were friends and that’s my mistake. I don’t want to be friends with someone that looks down on me. I really do need to get to work.” I took a couple steps back and offered him a smile that I wasn’t feeling. “I’ll talk to you later.”
I have no idea if or how he responded because I took off. I hadn’t been lying. Marc and I had a lot of work to do.
* * *
I stared at the images on the tablet.
“Is it?”
Was it me in the pictures? Yes, it was. Clasping my hands and settling them between my thighs, I looked away from the photographs that had been taken right outside of my doctor’s building.
The first picture I’d been shown was of me walking alongside Kulti with my head down. The second was of me standing by his car right before getting in, and the third showed me getting in while the German stood a little too close behind.
It was definitely me. There was no denying it; anyone with decent vision could recognize who it was.
So the fact that Gardner, Sheena and Cordero, the Pipers’ general manager, had invited me to a meeting to talk about this had me on edge.
Is it you? Cordero had asked shortly before Sheena slid the tablet over.
It was a trick freaking question and I didn’t like it. Maybe it was a good thing that I wasn’t a liar and that I didn’t have anything to hide. Regardless, I was still on edge.
I looked at the man behind this crap right in the eye and nodded. “It’s me.”
None of them looked remotely surprised. Of course they wouldn’t. Mr. Cordero knew damn who was on the photographs; he just wanted me to slit my own throat with a lie.
Digging my hands a little deeper into the crack between my thighs, I shrugged at them. “He went with me to my doctor’s appointment when I wasn’t doing well.” Doing well was vague enough so that it wasn’t a total lie. Keeping my face neutral, I kept my gaze steady on the team’s general manager. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
The Argentinian man settled onto his hip, his chair the closes
t to mine. “’Wrong’ is a bit subjective, don’t you think?”
“Sure.” I shrugged. “But in this case, I haven’t violated any terms of my contract or done anything I wouldn’t be upfront with my dad about.”
Well… I had told my dad hardly anything about my friendship with the German. Or anyone else really, but that was mainly because everyone would make a big deal over it and there wasn’t a deal to make, big or small.
A knock on the door prevented anyone from saying another word. Gardner instructed the person to come in, and I couldn’t say I was shocked to see Kulti. His eyes caught mine as he took the seat nearest the door. His face was expressionless, his broad shoulders loose. Still in his clothing from practice, track pants and a Pipers T-shirt, he leaned back against his chair and stared straight at Mr. Cordero. “What’s going on?”
The general manager reached for the tablet on Gardner’s desk and passed it to the German. “These images were released a couple of days ago.”
Kulti glanced at the screen for a second, and only a second before handing the device back with an impatient look. “What’s wrong with them?”
“These are pictures of you and one of the team’s star players on one of the most popular tabloid websites in the world,” Mr. Cordero explained in a cool voice that sounded just shy of crossing the edge into smart-ass town.
In what would begin two of the most unreal moments of my life, Kulti crossed his muscular arms—so lean, I could see veins crisscrossing his forearms and one or two running up his biceps—and shrugged. “What I see is a picture of me taking my friend to the doctor.”
“Your friend?” Cordero asked in disbelief.
“That’s what I said,” Kulti snapped back. His volume was low but there wasn’t any mistaking his irritation with the conversation.
Mr. Cordero turned to me, like I could possibly be handling Reiner Kulti calling me his friend in front of three Pipers staff, well. “You’re friends?” It wasn’t my imagination that he sounded like a bit more of an ass when he’d been speaking to me than he had when speaking to the German. Then again, I wasn’t some country’s national icon.
I nodded at the Pipers’ general manager, my emotions twisted into knots at Kulti’s admission. “Yes.” We were friends when he wasn’t getting on my nerves at least.
“Friends,” he said absently. “What kind of friends?”
Yeah, I wanted to smack him. I mean I knew what it looked like, but seriously? I’d given up so much for the Pipers, and he would think that I’d do something to jeopardize the only part of soccer I really had left? My face flushed red as I tried to talk myself out of saying something that could only hurt my career more than it already had been.
I knew what he was trying to do, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let this man who worked in an office make me out to seem like I didn’t take this job seriously. “We are the kinds of friends that have a lot of things in common.” Jesus Christ.
Before I could say anything else logical, the German cut in with his response. “The greatest kind. I don’t understand why that’s a problem.”
If I was one to swoon, I would have, but instead I let my brain react to his comment instead of my heart. Had I been expecting him to denounce me? Yeah, I guess I had.
All right. Okay.
He’d still been a dick a few days before. What he said didn’t change anything.
“There isn’t a problem or a reason for us to be here,” the German stated in a way that left little room to argue. “You were well aware of the media coverage my coming here would bring, and you wanted me here either way. You can’t pick and choose what people publish.”
Sheena let out a tight laugh. “Mr. Kulti, it doesn’t look good—“
“You can’t tell me who I can or can’t be friends with,” he cut her off. “It doesn’t really matter what something looks like if it isn’t what it truly is, no?”
Wait a second, that sounded sort of familiar…
Sheena turned her attention to me, her face slightly flushed. “Sal, with your history—“
This bitch started to go there. I needed to cut it short. “I haven’t done anything wrong in this case. If I had I wouldn’t have a problem taking responsibility for my actions. He’s my friend and there isn’t anything inappropriate about our friendship. I have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
The sting of guilt that I hadn’t told anyone about him was there, but I would swear I had only kept it to myself because I didn’t want this type of attention. There were some things people couldn’t understand, and obviously this was one of them.
Kulti uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his face even further away from the back of the chair. “This wouldn’t be a problem if it wasn’t for the PR issues going on with me at this moment. There’s nothing here that is worth us having a conversation. She’s my best friend—“
I shot him a look out of the corner of my eye, reminding him of the shit that had come out of his mouth outside my apartment. It said is that how best friends treat each other? Really?
Apparently he saw my facial expression and didn’t care that I wasn’t feeling particularly friendly at that point. “Nothing any of you say is going to change that. That’s the end of the story. If there’s something else you want, call my manager.”
“Sal—“
I was torn between panicking at why they were making a big deal out of this and debating whether or not it was worth standing up for myself. “They’re just pictures of us getting into his car,” I argued halfheartedly, unsure what route I needed to take.
I was a good player, one of the most consistent on the team, but the truth was everyone was replaceable. I couldn’t afford to act like a diva, but at the same time the little voice inside of my head wanted me to tell these people—and by people I really meant Cordero—to fuck off.
“Miss Casillas, I think you’ve made it clear your decision-making skills are nothing to—“ Cordero began ranting.
Kulti lurched forward in his seat, and I felt my eyes go wide at his defensive posture. “I’m going to tell you right now that you don’t want to finish that sentence.”
Gardner coughed. “There’s no reason for anyone to get bent out of shape. I believe you, Sal, if you say that you’re friends, you’re friends. You’ve never given me a reason to not trust you. I think we can all agree that we want this season to go smoothly or at least smoother than it has been going.”
“This is my fault. I will take responsibility for the negative attention, but I won’t let you put the blame on her for befriending me,” Kulti said. “Sal has done nothing wrong.”
“I don’t think you all understand. This doesn’t look good,” Sheena said quickly, before anyone cut her off. “Do you think you could… I don’t know, Mr. Kulti, I’m just throwing out ideas for you to talk to your publicist about, but… do something publicly to pull rumors away from… this… friendship?”
“Go on a date?”
Kulti didn’t even hesitate. “No.”
“But—“
“No,” he repeated.
Sheena’s desperate eyes met mine. “Sal, what about you? Could you go on a date? Post some pictures—“
“No.”
That was definitely not me that answered her. It was Kulti who answered almost angrily. I let him.
“Sal—“
“No.” That was Kulti again. “Absolutely not.”
“But—“
“Stop asking,” the German snapped. “I’m not doing it and neither is she.”
“I’ve done just about everything that’s ever been asked of me. I don’t want to do this,” I explained gingerly, trying to ease over the hostility radiating off the man next to me.
Cordero guffawed.
Ten minutes later, I found Kulti waiting outside of Gardner’s office. Mr. Cordero had left first, with the German following immediately afterward. Sheena stayed in the office to discuss something. What else could it be besides me or the Germ
an?
“There’s nothing for you to worry about,” Kulti’s deep, heavy voice assured me.
I scratched my forehead, trying to urge away the frustration I felt at the conversation that had just finished up. A nasty nagging feeling had taken up residence in my belly. This wasn’t sitting well with me, and honestly I was really worried they were going to try and find something to use against me. I wasn’t sure why I felt so pessimistic, but I did.
An elbow nudged at mine. “Stop worrying,” he ordered.
I blinked at him and didn’t even think about pulling my elbow away. He’d called me his best friend; I’d give him half-credit for that… though he was still a douche. “I can’t,” I whispered to him as we approached the elevator in the office building. “Cordero doesn’t play around. He isn’t a fan of mine.”
Kulti made this face that told me I needed to chill out. “He’s like every general manager on every team. He thinks he’s a god and he’s not.” He nudged my elbow once more. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”
My stomach and my head said otherwise. Nerves had started eating up my organs. “I don’t want to get traded, and I don’t want them to bench me.”
I wasn’t going to have a panic attack. I wasn’t going to have a panic attack.
This wasn’t going to be like the national team all over again. I hadn’t done anything wrong.
I pressed my hands against my hips and squeezed, willing myself to calm down.
“Sal.” Kulti stood right in front of me. “Nothing is going to happen. I won’t let them do anything, understand?”
My knees started to shake the same way they did when I was in front of a camera. Oh God, I was going to throw up. Sometime in the last two minutes I had started sweating.
“Sal,” the German’s voice got even louder, more determined. His big hands landed on my shoulders. “No one is going to make you do anything that you don’t want to do. “ He kneaded the muscle there, his voice a gentle reassuring cadence. “I promise.”
Kulti Page 28
