“Are you crying?”
Clearing my throat, I blinked hard twice, lowering my gaze to the small cleft in the German’s chin. “No.”
His fingers went up to push at my shoulder lightly. “Stop it.”
I lifted my chin and pushed his shoulder right back, sniffling while doing it. “You stop it. I’m not crying.”
“I have two eyes,” he replied, looking down at me with a troubled expression on his face.
Just as I was about to sniffle again, I stopped. Those green-brown eyes were way too close and too observant. The last person in the world I would want to show any signs of weakness in front of would be him. Instead, I let my nose get all watery and avoided wiping it as I stared right back at him. “Obviously, I do too, Berlin.”
The “Berlin” did it.
To give him credit, he settled for giving me a scowl instead of an ugly word for how much of a jackass I was for calling him that. “I’m not from Berlin.”
A fact I was well aware of. He didn’t know how much I knew about him, and I wasn’t about to tell him. Something about that little secret made me relax.
When I looked right back at him with a clear expression and relaxed shoulders, as innocent as I could possibly make myself out to be, Kulti tilted his head back to look up at the dark sky. “Get on the bus, Sal.”
So we were back to “Sal.”
Knowing damn well when it was time to either retreat or answer some question I wouldn’t want to, I took two steps back. “Whatever you say, sir.”
Game?
I flexed my foot inside my boot and typed back:Sure. Same time?
Kulti texted back.Ja.
I smiled at the screen before setting my phone on my lap.
“What the hell are you smiling at?” Marc asked from his spot behind the driver’s seat.
The smile eased itself off my face. “Nothing.”
“Liar.”
I rolled my eyes as the phone vibrated from between my legs. Bringing it back out, I made sure Marc’s attention was back on the road.
Go make a quesadilla.
I started laughing hysterically.
“Goddamn it, Sal!” Marc shouted. “You want me to get into a wreck?”
Despite Marc yelling at me for bursting out so suddenly, it didn’t stop me from cracking up.
HE WAS WAITING on the bench by the time I pulled my car into the park’s lot, headband on, bat leaning against his thigh and a glove on his lap.
I kept my face even, like he hadn’t sent me the most ridiculous text message earlier in the day. “Hi.”
“Sal,” Kulti said my name like he’d been using it forever, standing up with his things in hand. He had on the same variation of an outfit he usually did: white athletic shorts, a plain black T-shirt, and black and green RK signature running shoes.
“Ready?” I asked, eyeing his muscular calves for a split second.
“Ja,” he answered.
I looked up at his face and snickered, but he wasn’t smiling at me. He was just watching like always. We walked toward the field together silently. The awkward conversation we’d had during the Pipers’ game a few days ago seemed forgotten. I understood what he meant and where he was coming from, so I didn’t take it personally.
