Her almond-shaped eyes didn’t even blink once. “We are?”
“Yes.”
It took her a second to catch up when I made my way over to the lonely German, but she followed without an argument. He looked up as I took the open seat on his left, his backpack was on the other seat, and Jenny took the open one on my other side. His eyebrows made a funny line, like he wasn’t sure what exactly wasgoing on and was undecided about whether or not it was a good thing.
Jenny passed the deck of cards over to me—sneaky, sneaky, sneaky.
I raised my eyebrows as I moved the cards onto my lap for him to see. It didn’t escape me that his crowd of onlookers was watching us curiously but knew better than to say anything. I kept my attention on Kulti the entire time, watching as his eyes went from the cards to my face and then back to the deck again.
Part of me expected him to say no.
He didn’t. He took his iPad and slid it into his backpack, raising his own thick eyebrows. “I haven’t played in a very long time.”
Jenny popped her head in from around, smiling wide. “We’ll teach you.”
I snorted and pushed her face back with my hand on her forehead.
Not fifteen seconds later, the three of us sat on the floor at Sea-Tac, playing Uno with a small group of Kulti fans standing around. It made me feel awkward. I couldn’t help but glance up every so often and smile at the people watching us because I didn’t know what else to do. But it didn’t stop the three of us from trying to beat each other.
And exactly six hours later, when our plane landed in Houston, I had an email from my dad that said:You’re famous.There were pictures of Jenny and me sitting with Kulti, laughing our asses off during one of our games. Someone had posted the picture on a fan website. Below the image was an italicized caption:If one of these dorks is his girlfriend, I’m gonna kill myself.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Exactly one week after the softball game, days after pictures had gone on the internet of Jenny, the bratwurst, and me playing Uno at the airport, Kulti pulled me aside after our cooldown following practice.
We rarely spoke during practice unless it was him calling me a different synonym for slow or asking me if I was going to finish my passing drills in the next decade. I didn’t take it personally and tried not to think about it too much. We’d just played softball. We hadn’t gotten married.
Awkward thought.
So… whatever. I was learning and growing, and I was busy enough that this weird friendship didn’t live at the front of my brain.
“Are you playing again tonight?” Kulti whispered the question when I was close.
I kept my eyes forward, no matter how badly I wanted to look at him. “I was thinking about it.” I paused. “Do you want to go?”
“Yes,” he answered quickly. “Same time, same place?”
“Yep.” I waved at Harlow as she walked by, totally not missing the raised eyebrow she was giving me. “I’ll wait for you in the same spot.”
Kulti grunted his agreement.
We both went our own ways, wordlessly.
I couldn’t help but think about the fact that he wanted to go play again. He wanted to play softball of all things.
Then it hit me just like it had the first time; Reiner Kulti wanted to play with me. He’d asked. Again.
I was on such a one-track mind that I wasn’t paying attention as I prepared to leave. My mind was on the fact that I had his phone number—poop—and that I really hoped Marc wouldn’t say anything this week either, when a reporter snagged me on the way to my car.
“Casillas! Sal!”
I slowed down and turned. A man not much older than me was sitting off to the side under the shade, a tape recorder clearly visible in one hand and a messenger bag over his shoulder. Whatever media showed up was always before practice, no one ever stayed after.
“Hey,” I told him.
“I have a few questions for you,” he said quickly, rattling off his name before skipping the whole “if you have time part.” I didn’t have time, but I didn’t want to be rude.
Instead I said, “Sure. Shoot.”
