He gave a smile that could have been sheepish if he was capable of being sheepish. He wasn’t. It was more of a smirk. “I can’t remember every player I’ve ever injured, Sal, and I wouldn’t care to.”
Not surprising at all, but it still made me shake my head. “You’resomething else, pumpernickel.” My shoulders relaxed as I took in the very serious face several inches above mine. “So, you came to the Pipers even though you knew you didn’t like coaching.” I purposely skipped the part about how he’d chosen our team.
“Ja.”
“And you still hate us.”
The German lifted a shoulder in the least apologetic shrug ever. “There’s a few of you who should have stopped playing soccer a long time ago.” He blinked. “And one of you I would love to shake on a regular basis.”
I grinned at him before reaching forward to thump him on the shoulder. “Trust me, I’ve had the urge to punch you in the face a time or five.”
“There’s that temper again. A nice girl would never think about punching someone,” he said with that stupid smirk. “How many people have you punched before?”
“No one,” Jeez Louise, “in at least ten years. I’ve thought about it a hundred times, but I haven’t actually gone through with it. Come on.”
He gave me a look that easily replaced a raised eyebrow, making a point about methinkingabout doing things again.
Asshole. “It’s too obvious, and you know it. There’s no way to get away with it.”
The German nodded in agreement. “True. How many players have you elbowed before?”
“Enough,” I answered truthfully, knowing that my number would still and forever be a fraction of his.
“You have the most fouls on the team,” Kulti noted, which surprised the shit out of me. “More than Harlow.”
It was my turn to shrug. “Yeah, but it’s not because I elbow people left and right. I haven’t done that since I was a kid and got kicked off a league for it,” I explained to him with a grin.
“Such a great deal of anger for such a small body.” A small smile cracked his lips. “Your parents? What did they think?”
“My mom chewed me out about it. My dad did too, but only when she was around. When she wasn’t, he’d high-five me and tellme the other girl had it coming.” We both laughed. “I love that man.”
Kulti smiled gently, reaching toward the stove to turn the burner back on and then taking a step back to grab two bowls out of the cabinet. I shot him a look as I waited for the kernels to pop, and once they were edible, poured half of the popcorn into each bowl and followed him around to the couch, where we took the same seats we’d left. Knowing that I was pushing my luck, I went for it anyway. “What about your parents? Did they go to your games?” I remembered when I was younger at the height of his career, cameras would zoom in on an older couple in the stands, pointing out that they were Reiner Kulti’s parents.
“My father worked quite a bit, and once I went away to the academy, it was too far from home. They went to as many games as they could, watched more on television,” he said around a mouthful of popcorn.
Well, that was more than enough information to press for the day. What he didn’t say was that his parents didn’t go to a lot of his games when he was younger, but once he was older, they went whenever he paid. At least that’s what I assumed from the way he worded it. “It worked for all of us.”
I was positive I didn’t imagine the bite in his words. Obviously, I needed to steer the topic into safer territory.
“One more question, and I’ll quit being nosey.” He might have nodded, but I was too busy eating popcorn to be sure. There was no way I could ask him with a straight face. “Did you blow that game against Portugal before you retired or were you really sick?”
His response was exactly what I expected: he threw a pillow at my face.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The next two weeks went by normally. Practices went well, Harlow and Jenny finally came back from their national team obligation, and the Pipers won the next two games in the season. I worked, exercised, and Kulti came over nearly every night. We’d watch television or get pissed off at each other while playing Uno or poker, which he taught me to play. A couple of nights, he showed up when I was about to start yoga. He’d help me move the couch and did it with me.
It was all fine, fun and easy.
I loved routines and knowing what to expect most of the time.
There were only two downsides, and they both revolved around females.
The girls on the Pipers gave me weird looks and said things when they thought I wasn’t listening. It took everything inside of me some days to ignore them, and other days I’d just smile at them and remind myself that I could go to sleep easily at night knowing I hadn’t done anything to be ashamed of. Some days were easier than others, but as long as we kept playing well as a team, I’d suck it up and keep my big mouth closed.
Harlow, on the other hand, didn’t have any problem telling the younger girls to mind their own businesses and focus on soccer andnot spreading gossip. She did it without once asking me anything about what was happening with Kulti.
The emails had picked up again. It had started as only a message or two from the German’s female fans, but in no time picked up to three or four. By the time the picture my dad had taken of all us at dinner began being circulated, they were so frequent that I stopped reading emails from people I didn’t recognize. I didn’t say anything to anyone. I didn’t want to. The less attention I brought to myself and Kulti, the better, I figured.
