It was my turn to blink at him. “You think I’m going to beat you, don’t you?”
He rolled his eyes upward as he huffed. “Hell hasn’t frozen over.”
Based on his tone, I wasn’t sure if he really thought so or not. Or maybe I was just being egotistical. Maybe. But I knew I needed to set my ego aside and make him do this. Some part of my gut recognized it was necessary, so I needed to do everything possible to make this happen.
Even if it meant pissing him off.
I tipped my chin up at him and looked right into those light-colored eyes. “Then quit being a pussy and play me.”
Yeah, that did it.
“I am not a pussy.” He took a step forward. “I can and will kick your ass.”
Whoa. I held my hands up and guffawed. “I said you were going to win,sauerkraut.I didn’t say you were going to kick my ass.”
That look I recognized all too well crossed over his features, and I was honestly torn between shivering in fear and… well, I wasn’t going to say it or even really admit the other emotion. He had the look of the old Kulti—the borderline-psychotic competitor.
Oh my gosh, he was going to wipe the floor with me.
And then I almost laughed because,really? I wasn’t about to bend over and let him win. Please.
Something flared within my chest, and I let the fire of competition burn in my heart. “Let’s do this.”
And we did.
John the Baptist, Mary Magdalene, and Peter Parker all spewed out of my mouth at some point.
It was one thing to have watched him play from the safety of my television or from the stands. To a certain extent, it was an advantage because I knew how he played almost as well as I knew my own game; the kind of moves he tended to stick to, his tells. My body was instinctively aware without me really thinking about it, that he faked leading with his right foot before switching to his left. I knew his tricks.
And yet…
Two years of not playing barely slowed him down. Barely. I was fast, and he was just as fast, if not faster. His legs were a lot longer than mine, and he ate up the turf like no one’s business. There was a reason this man was an icon, why he’d been the best for so long.
Butfuck that. I wasn’t going to let him win without a fight. I kept what I knew about him in the front of my brain, and I moved my legs as fast as I could. I tried to outthink him and play smarter, more efficiently. The ball stayed as close to me as possible. Later on I would wonder if it really looked like we were playing “keep away” from each other or not.
He cornered me at one point and managed to get the ball. While he did it, he shouldered me a little more than was necessary. I mean, he was a foot taller and at least fifty pounds heavier, yet he was playing as rough as my brother and his friends did. I’d been playing with the boys since I was a kid, and they’d missed the memo that said I was a girl seven years younger than them. Apparently, Kulti had too.
“Playing a little rough, aren’t you?” I asked as I ran up behind him, trying to block him from getting a clear shot of the goal.
He looked up at me from under his eyelashes. “Are you whining?”
I huffed. Asshole. “No, but if that’s how you want to play, then that’s how we’ll play.” Between the people I played with for fun and Harlow, I could take it.
We ran after each other for what felt like forever. I’d steal the ball from him; he’d steal the ball from me, over and over again. Sweat poured down my face, arms, and lower back. He was breathing hard—had he ever breathed hard before?
It was a miracle that he was playing pretty sloppy, and I think that’s the reason why he didn’t manage to score. I wasn’t egotistical, I knew I was good, but I wasn’t as good as he was. But I watched, and I learned. That was all I ever wanted.
“You’ve had like… eight opportunities… to score… on me,” I huffed.
His back was to mine, butt pressed to my hip. “And… you’ve…. hadthree… if… you’d known what you were doing!” He kicked the ball up high and tried to do a header to get it in.
My miracle was obviously still in effect because he didn’t score.
We both hauled ass for the ball, and I might have slammed my body up against his pretty rough, but whatever, he could take it.
“I know what… I’m doing.” I pushed my shoulder into his chest and took the ball away from him.
Back and forth, we went chasing and stealing, chasing and stealing, until I was breathing hard from the spike of adrenaline. We played aggressively, battling it out. In a real game, you knew how to keep your energy perfectly balanced. You had ninety minutes to get through, and you couldn’t wear yourself out within the first fifteen.
