Kulti

“Hey, Gen. Good morning,” I said to Genevieve as she walked by me the afternoon of our next game, two days after the meeting in Gardner’s office.

The younger girl, who had always been friendly with me, kept on going. Her eyebrows went up as she walked by and that was that.

Now, I didn’t think too much about it. I was used to being around girls. Girls with all kinds of reactions to their periods: the ones who got unnaturally angry, the ones that cried, girls who retreated within themselves, the ones who wanted to stuff their face all day—all those and more. It wasn’t a big deal. Mood swings, been there done that.

I figured maybe she was having a crappy day or something. There was also the possibility she was on her period. Who knows.

Not even fifteen minutes later, right at the beginning of the team’s warm-up, I overheard someone behind me. “Did you see the pictures?”

I couldn’t exactly pinpoint the person speaking, and I didn’t want to turn around until I heard a little more. It wasn’t like there were any other pictures besides mine and Kulti’s, but whatever.

“What pictures?” the other voice asked in a regular volume.

A second later, the original speaker said “Shut up,” and was then followed up by “Ouch.”

Now speaking in a lower voice, the second person asked, “What pictures?” in a whisper.

“The ones of—“ there was a pause, “and Kulti.”

“What? No. What of?” the second voice asked.

There was another pause followed by “—was coming out of some building with him, and it shows them getting into his car.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s—“ pause “—for sure. I heard they had a meeting with Cordero and Gardner about it and that they didn’t deny it—“

I felt awkward, so, so awkward. Even after I made myself stop listening to what they were saying, I still felt aggravated. It had already begun, the rumors and the stretched truths. The urge to turn around and tell them that wasn’t exactly how it’d gone was overwhelming, but I had to practice what I preached.

I hadn’t done anything.

The only problem was that the longer practice went on, the more I felt the weight of multiple stares on me. I overheard a few of the whispers. It wasn’t every girl, but it was enough of my teammates to make me feel dirty,

I knew that I hadn’t done anything to be embarrassed about and Kulti knew that we hadn’t, so it shouldn’t matter what everyone else thought.

If I reminded myself of it enough, it was easier to ignore the girls that gave me funny looks.

Besides the looks and the whispers, practice went okay. The last game before our week off, on the other hand, didn’t go so well. We lost in overtime. The locker room was filled with disappointment afterward. It wasn’t until the coaching staff had left and I’d started changing, intent on showering once I got back to my place, that Jenny saddled up next to me on our way out.

The expression on her face prepared me for what was going to come out of her mouth. “Sal, I didn’t want to say anything but some of the girls are talking about you.”

I gave her a smile over my shoulder that I wasn’t totally feeling. “I know.”

That didn’t make her look any less concerned.

“It’s fine, Jen. I promise. I haven’t done anything I shouldn’t have, and I’m not going to run around defending myself.”

“I know.” Her dark almond-shaped eyes were long. “I don’t like hearing them say things about you.”

My neck got all hot. “Me neither. It doesn’t matter though.” I looked my friend in the face, understanding that she really did believe me when I said I hadn’t done anything with the German. At least someone knew better. “You know I didn’t and I know, and I’m okay with that.”

Jenny pressed her lips together and nodded stiffly. “If there’s anything I can do—“

“Don’t worry about it, really. There’s nothing to get mixed up in. They’ll get over it.” Or they wouldn’t. Blah. But I wasn’t about to let people who would so easily talk about me behind my back get me down.

And wasn’t that kind of shitty? I would have done just about anything for the girls on the team, even if it was someone I wasn’t close to. Yet here they were, gossiping like I hadn’t worked with most of them, trying to help them improve, or trying to motivate everyone when we needed it. On top of that, someone within that group was the person that had thrown me under the bus with Cordero weeks ago.

Whatever. Whatever. I’d been through this before, but this time I wasn’t going to let guilt get the best of me. I had nothing to feel guilty about.

My friend made a face before slipping an arm over my shoulder as we walked. “I know who’s gotten a nose job,” she offered. “I also know who has a yeast infection. What you do with that is up to you.”

I started laughing and hugged her back. “That’s all right, but thanks anyway.”

Jenny eventually dropped her arm as we got out to the parking lot. Her face still held worried lines at her mouth but she changed the subject. “Are you still going home for the break?”

“Yeah, it’s my dad’s birthday and I haven’t been back in a while. You?”

She undid her high ponytail and let her long, black hair fall down her shoulders. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning. We have a couple of exhibition games coming up in a few days. I won’t be back for almost two weeks.” The ‘we’ she was referring to was the national team.

I was a supporter of Jenny and Harlow, and I always rooted for them. But for once in a long time, I felt a twinge of something like grief.

“Fun,” I told her, only half-meaning it. I mustered up some enthusiasm for the person that was always supportive of me. “I’ll make sure Harlow tells Amber I said hi,” I said with an evil smile that made Jenny snort.

“You’re bad.”

I smacked her butt. “Only when I need to be.”

The familiar knock that I’d come to associate with Kulti started up at seven-fifteen the next morning. I’d already been awake for almost an hour and a half, finishing up my morning run and making it home to pack my bag before showering so that I could head out on my drive to San Antonio. The last thing I expected was for the German to show up on my doorstep, especially not at seven in the morning.

I grabbed a sweatshirt off the pile of clothes on my bed with every intention of putting it on when the knocking became even more persistent. Impatient ass. I carried it to the door with a sigh, not even bothering to check the peephole.

“Bratwurst?” I asked as I undid the deadbolt again.

“Ja.”

I swung the door wide and started to wave him in, only slowing down my movement when I noticed what he was wearing—a shirt, jeans and scuffed brown leather boots. It was the first time I’d seen him in something that wasn’t workout pants or shorts. Huh. A second later, I noticed something else.

There was a backpack was over his shoulder.

And he was staring at me.

I didn’t miss the tic in his jaw as he looked from the seven-year-old tank top I had on over my sports bra to the stretchy shorts that looked more like underwear than anything else.

I also didn’t miss the way his eyelid started twitching right before his gaze finally slipped upward and the twitching got worse.

“What?” I asked him when he hadn’t moved his body or his gaze.

Those murky green eyes flicked down to what I was wearing again. His voice was too steady and slow. “You open the door half naked all the time?”

Oh dear God. “Yeah, Dad.” I blinked at him and stood off the to the side to give him room to come in. “You coming in—“ I eyed his bag again “—or are you leaving?”

“I’m leaving,” he said even as he walked into my place, still giving my workout clothes this disapproving scowl.

“Where are you going?” I closed the door behind him.

Kulti dropped his bag right by my work boots. “To Austin.”

“Really? Why?” I mean, I liked Austin as much as anyone. I’d been there a hundred times in my life, but it wasn’t my favorite city in the world. I wouldn’t expect this guy to want to spend his days off in Austin when he could afford to go just about anywhere.

The German made his way toward my kitchen and straight to the cupboards, pulling out a mug. “I have an appointment this afternoon.”

Why the first thing I thought he was referring to was plastic surgery, I had no idea. I planted my hands on the counter between us and leaned forward, giving him a disbelieving look. “No.”

He glanced over his shoulder as he found a small pot and began filling it up with water from my fridge. “Yes?”

“Rey, buddy, don’t do it. You’re still really handsome, and honestly you can always tell when someone’s had surgery done to them. I don’t care what the plastic surgeon says, it’s noticeable,” I told him totally seriously.

He set the pot down on the stovetop but he didn’t turn the burner on. His broad shoulders slumped forward as he lifted a hand and pinched the tip of his nose. When he turned around to face me, his eyes were closed and the tip of his tongue was at the corner of his mouth. “Burrito.” He opened one eye. “I’m getting my tattoo worked on.”

“Ohh.” Well, I felt like an idiot.

He nodded, the movement all smart-ass.

“The one on your arm?” It was the only one I knew of.

He nodded again.

Why he was going all the way to Austin when there were about a million tattoo shops in Houston was beyond me, but whatever. “That’s neat. I’m going back home.” I then realized he didn’t know what ‘home’ was to me. “San Antonio. It’s close to Austin.”

Kulti shocked the shit out of me when he said “I know. I’ll pay you a thousand dollars to take me to Austin.”

“What?”

“I will pay you a thousand dollars to take me to Austin.” He gestured with his head toward the bag that had been left by the door. “Gas as well.”

I scratched my nose, trying to make sure he wasn’t joking. My gut said he wasn’t. He definitely wasn’t. “You want me to drive you to Austin for your appointment?” I couldn’t help but ask.

The German nodded.

“All right.” I narrowed my eyes at him, debating how to go about this and deciding there was no pretty way. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a bad friend who doesn’t appreciate your generous offer, but… why don’t you have your driver take you?”

“His daughter’s birthday is today,” he explained.

“And you want me to drive you, even though you could just pay someone else less money to take you?” I asked slowly.

“Yes.”

Oh brother. The lazy part of me that was dead set on spending four days with my parents, didn’t want to drive Kulti around. Then the other half of me felt bad telling him no. “I was planning on spending the weekend at my parents’, I can’t drive you back here right after your appointment.”

He lifted up a single bulky shoulder. “I don’t have anything else to do.”

Score one for Sal being a fucking douche bag.

He didn’t have anything else to do.

Why did that make me feel so shitty?

But I couldn’t let him make me feel bad. I couldn’t back out on my parents. “Rey, I’m spending the weekend there. I can’t drive you back. I already promised them I would go.”

“I heard you the first time,” he replied in a tone I was not a fan of. “I said I don’t have anything else to do. I’ll stay with you.”

He’d stay—

He’d stay with me?

An image of my dad fainting flashed through my mind.

“Stay with me at my parents’?”

He lifted another lazy shoulder. “Yes.”

“For the weekend?”

The smart-ass rolled his eyes. “Ja.”

Snarky bastard.

“Is that a problem?” he asked after a moment of me not saying anything.

I cleared my throat and thought of my dad again. “Remember my dad was a big fan of yours?” He nodded. “He’s a huge fan, you have to understand that if you want to go and—“ I gulped, “stay with them. He might faint and act like he doesn’t speak English the entire weekend.” Then I thought about it. “And stare, he might stare at you and not say a word.”

The German seemed to think about it for all of five seconds before he shrugged, like none of what I said would bother him at all. Not even a little bit. “Yes. Fine.”

I took a deep breath because I suddenly couldn’t comprehend what I had just signed myself up for. “Are you sure?” I asked him slowly.

He gave me a look right before turning back to grab the pot again. “Yes. Now go shower and put on something that covers you up more.”

I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Not a single freaking clue.

“So, why did you decide to come here instead of some place in Houston?” I asked nearly nine hours later as I pulled my car into a parking spot in front of the nice building Kulti’s phone had directed us to.

We hadn’t left my place until a little after ten, since there was no point in us rushing around because his appointment wasn’t until four. The drive was a little less than three hours. To kill time we stopped for lunch at one of my favorite barbecue places along the way, stopped and walked around the Capitol and visited a dollar store. Kulti had asked in the office supply section, “Everything costs one dollar?” Then he proceeded to inspect every item we came across.

Unbuckling his seatbelt, he gave me another look still clearly insulted that I had assumed he was getting cosmetic surgery earlier. “I saw their work in a magazine.”

That was all the information he gave me. All right.

We got out of the car and made our way toward the door inscribed with ‘Pins and Needles’ in classy simple font. Kulti reached forward and opened it. In the back of my head, I’d figured the German wouldn’t have chosen some seedy place where you’d probably get crabs if you sat on the toilet, so I wasn’t surprised by how clean and modern-looking the tattoo parlor was. Heavy metal played softly in the background.

A redheaded man was sitting behind the black desk at the front, working on something with a pencil. He looked up when we went in and gave us a friendly smile. “Hey, how’s it going?”

When I realized Mr. Non-Congeniality wasn’t saying anything, I smiled back at the man while elbowing Kulti in the arm for being rude. “Good, and you?”

“Great.” He glanced at the German and something like recognition flickered in his gaze, before he set his pencil on the desk. He swiped the computer mouse next to his hand and glanced at the screen before slowly sliding his gaze back to Kulti. “Dex will be out in a minute, if you want to take a seat.”

“Thanks.” I smiled at him again and turned back to sit on one of the black leather couches. Kulti stayed standing, walking toward the wall where multiple magazine articles were framed.

Not even thirty seconds later, the sound of boots on the tiled floor didn’t prepare me for the black-haired man who made his way from the back of the business. Tall, broad shouldered and with tattoos that went all the way down to his wrists, I couldn’t help but stare at him.

I’d never been a fan of guys that looked like they’d gone to jail, but you’d have to be blind to not appreciate how good-looking the man was, even if he wasn’t my type.

Because, Jesus Christ.

“He’s wearing a wedding ring,” Kulti’s low voice murmured from right next to me.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t look,” I muttered right back, noticing that yeah, he was wearing a shiny yellow-gold wedding band right above a tattoo of what looked like a letter.

Something came down over my eyes and I realized that the German had pulled his beanie down over my head. “Hold this,” he said, continuing to tug the material down over my nose.

“Hey, man.” A voice that I knew had to belong to the tattooed black-haired guy, sounded closer. The sound of two palms slapping together was right by my head as I rolled the dark green beanie up over my forehead.

Sure enough Kulti and the other guy were right in front of me, shaking hands. The German was only slightly shorter than the man, who was probably just a little younger, but as I took in their differences, Kulti looked down at me and gave me a look that had me smirking. His face was one I was nearly as familiar with as my own, so good-looking and stubborn and proud.

I’d still stare at Kulti over the tattooed guy any day, every day.

“You wanna look at the sketch one more time before we do the transfer?” the tattoo artist asked, taking a step back and not looking down at me once.

“Yes. How long will everything take?”

The dark-haired man shrugged. “Couple hours.”

The German nodded before speaking to me, his hand resting on my shoulder. “Schnecke, I’ll pay you to—“

“Shut up and get your tattoo fixed. I’m not taking your money anyway, loser.”

He looked at me for a second and then pulled the flap of his beanie back down over my eyes.

By the time I managed to roll it back up, the wet-dream-worthy men were walking toward one of the work areas behind the front desk. I settled back into my seat, prepared to watch some Netflix on my phone while I waited, when the tattoo artist made his way back to the desk.

“If Ritz isn’t back in ten minutes, give her a call,” he said to the redheaded guy.

“You got it, Dex. She sent me a text twenty minutes ago saying she was on her way, so I’m sure she’ll be back in no time.”

The dark-haired guy grunted and before he got a chance to reply, the door opened and a girl around my age came in carrying a car seat in one hand and a diaper bag in the other. The guy named Dex immediately came around the desk, scowling.

“What the hell are you doin’, babe? I told you to give me a fuckin’ call when you parked so I could help you out,” he snapped in a harsh voice, taking the car seat from her with a heavily tattooed arm. He held the seat up to face level and peered inside, what looked like dark blue eyes narrowing before a smile broke across his harsh face. “How’s my little man?” he whispered, dipping his head even closer into the cocoon of the seat and making an audible kissing sound.

Dear God. A man like that making kissing sounds at what I could only guess was his baby. My vagina, my vagina didn’t know what to do with itself.

The girl smiled, not even remotely fazed at the way the guy had been talking to her or by the way I sat there in awe looking at them. “I’m not going to call when I know you have an appointment, and I scored a spot on the street so it’s no big deal.” She was still looking at the man with the baby before adding “hey, Slim” with a glance at the redhead behind the desk.

The ginger blew her a kiss. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” she said.

Dex lowered the baby carrier back down and frowned at the girl. “Give me a fuckin’ kiss, will ya?”

She rolled her eyes and cut the distance between them, coming up to her toes to plant her lips against the dark-haired man’s. He wrapped his free arm around her waist and pulled her right into the broad frame of his body, deepening the kiss even though he was holding a baby carrier in his free hand.

I had to look away.

Maybe it was time I started looking for someone to let into my life. It’d been five years since the last time I’d had an honest real boyfriend, and I wasn’t traveling as much anymore.

I could make it work. Couldn’t I?

My stupid eyes moved over to Kulti’s direction for one split second before I forced them down to my lap. I slipped my headphones on, peeked up again to see Dex holding the baby carrier in a hand as he and the girl walked to the back, and then started up a movie on my phone to keep me busy until the German was done. Sometime later, a hand waving at me from the front desk caught my attention. It was the redheaded guy.

“Hey,” I said, taking my headphones off and pausing the movie.

The girl from earlier was sitting next to the desk with him, no baby seat in sight, but there was a baby monitor on the desk. “I don’t usually act like a fan-boy,” the man said, his voice a whisper. “But… is that Kulti?” His face was really hopeful.

I set my phone on my lap and watched as he leaned forward for my reply. “Yes.”

The guy pumped his fist in the air and turned back to the girl. “I told you so!” he whisper-hissed at her, which only made me smile.

“His hair is different,” she responded to him in a low voice, looking back to make sure she wasn’t being overheard.

“He does look different with his hair short,” I agreed, stretching my neck up but only able to catch a glimpse of the guy they’d called Dex hunched over.

“Do you think he’d give me an autograph?” the redhead asked.

I nodded.

The guy grinned all teeth at the girl, who smiled at me. “He’s the most famous person we’ve had in here, at least since I started. There was that boxer guy that was a friggin’ jerk but no one was impressed,” she explained shyly. She turned back around before adding, looking at the ginger, “I used to have a big crush on him. He was so cute.”

“Don’t let the boss hear you,” the redhead laughed.

Or he’d get jealous? How adorable was that?

So sweet it made me feel a little weird. With how busy I was, I didn’t spend much time around couples. Even when my friends had significant others, I still didn’t do a whole bunch of stuff with them.

Oh hell. I had almost exactly what I’d always wanted. I had nothing to complain about.

“Are you dating?” the guy blurted out a second later. The girl hit him in the arm.

I felt my neck get hot, and though I realized I didn’t have to answer, I did anyway. “No.”

“Oh.”

“We’re just best friends.”

“Look, I need to warn you: I think my dad’s going to lose his shit,” I said as we pulled into my parents’ neighborhood. “I already warned him that I had a big surprise while I was waiting for you at the tattoo place, but I really think he’s going to lose it.”

I could feel the weight of his gaze from the other side of the car even though it was almost eight o’clock at night. “I’m not worried.”

Of course he wasn’t worried.

But I was.

My dad was going to crap his pants. I hadn’t found the balls to even warn my mom because I wasn’t sure how she’d handle it either. There was a chance she’d freak out and say she needed a warning beforehand.

“Rey, you don’t understand how big of a fan of yours he is.”

“Schnecke, I’m not worried. I’ve seen it all.”

Not that I didn’t doubt it, but it still didn’t help my nerves as we got closer and closer to the house my parents had lived in for as long as I could remember. The fear that one of them would spill the beans on my childhood crush had been nagging at me for hours.

What was I going to say, though? That he wasn’t welcome? That wasn’t very nice and that wasn’t the way my parents had raised me. Plus, I’d brought Jenny home with me a few times during breaks. That wasn’t counting the other teammates and friends that had been in and out of my life over the years who had come by for holidays.

The small three-bedroom house was right at the end of the cul-de-sac. My mom’s new-ish car and my dad’s work truck were in the driveway, as I parked on the street. The house wasn’t new in any way, but my dad took care of it.

I shot him a smile as Kulti grabbed our bags from the trunk, holding my hand out. “I can take that.”

He gave me a single look before he kept walking right up the stones my dad had laid as a path to the doorway. The German didn’t even bother waiting for me to catch up before he was knocking on the door, a little more subdued than the way he banged on mine every time he came over.

I shoved him to the side as the locks began turning.

“Quién es?” Of course it would be my dad.

“Sal!” I called back, putting my index finger up to my mouth when Kulti looked at me.

“Sal? You lost your key?” The bottom lock turned and a moment later, my dad’s face appeared in the crack of the door.

“No.” I grinned, happy to see him. “Happy early birthday. Don’t freak out—“

His forehead scrunched up as he swung the door wide. “Don’t freak—?“ He stopped. His gaze swung from me to Kulti, then back to me and finally back to Kulti. The weirdest breath escaped his mouth.

Then, he shut the door in our faces.

Kulti and I looked at each other, and a second later I started laughing as a big grin that caught me totally off guard cracked across his lightly bearded face.

“Dad,” I cried his name out.

There was no reply, which only made me laugh even harder.

“Papi, come on.” I pressed my forehead against the door, my shoulders shaking as I replayed the look on his face when he spotted the German next to me. “Oh God.”

Twisting my head to look at Kulti again, he was still smiling.

“Salomé? Que paso?” My mom’s voice came from inside the house a second before she opened the door, her forehead scrunched up in confusion already. “Porque—ay carajo!” she said, immediately spotting the much taller man standing next to me. Her face went a little pale. Her mouth gaped in surprise for all of three seconds before she cleared her throat, looked back at me and cleared her throat again. “Okay. Okay.” Her eyes swung back over to the German before she smiled warily. “Come in, come in.” She spoke in Spanish, ushering us inside.

“Hey, Mom,” I said, giving her a hug before stepping aside as she closed the door behind us. “I brought my friend with me.” I gave her a look with wide eyes that said please don’t bring anything up. “Mom, Rey…Reiner…? Kulti…?” I looked at him for a clue as to what I should have my family call him. He just shrugged in response casually, extending a proper hand out to my mom. “Rey, this is my mom.”

My mom was too busy looking him up and down like she couldn’t believe he was real, and honestly a small part of me couldn’t believe it either. Reiner Kulti was standing in my house. I’d watched hundreds of his games in the living room. I’d sworn to my dad I was going to be as good as The King in this exact place more times than I could count. He was here. Here. As my friend, spending the next few days because he had nothing else to do.

Jesus Christ.

“Hola, Señora Casillas,” Kulti said in his perfect Spanish, continuing on in it, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for having me.”

Who was this man with manners? I watched him, not really surprised at how polite he was but… a little bit caught off guard.

A small slow smile crossed my mom’s face, pleased with his introduction. “It’s nice to meet you too,” she said, thankfully avoiding anything like I’ve heard so much about you or something really incriminating. Mom finally looked over at me, not switching back to English. “I was wondering why your dad shut the door and walked into the bedroom. He’s in there now. Go find him while I get Reiner a drink.”

So she decided to go with Reiner. How about that.

I gave him a small smile as he stood there with our bags in hand. “I’ll be right back. You can leave the bags there, I’ll move them later.”

He gave me what I was starting to call his ‘shut up Sal’ look.

I smiled at my mom and gave her another hug despite the fact she was more focused on the man next to me. “I’ll get him out of there.”

Sure enough, the bedroom door was closed when I came up to my parents’ room. I knocked on it twice before saying, “Dad? I’m coming in. Don’t scar me for life.”

Sitting on the edge of his bed, with his head between his knees, was the man who had raised me. His rough dark hands were gripping the back of his head and it took everything inside of me not to start laughing at his mini-panic attack. Choking it all back, I took a seat beside him and put my hand on his back.

“Surprise,” I whispered with only the slightest hint of laughter in my voice.

Slowly, his head turned and I caught one light-green eye staring back at me. “I don’t know whether I want to hug you or beat you,” he said in Spanish.

“You’ve never even spanked me,” I reminded him with a big smile.

Dad managed to scowl with only the small part of his face visible. “No la chingues, hija de tu madre. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

It should be said that my dad was the second most dramatic person in the family, only outranked by my little sister. Eric, our mom and I were the sane, stable ones.

So yeah, I shook my head at him knowing he was full of crap. “With the way you drive, it’s going to be another car that—“I dragged my thumb across my neck “—gets you not a heart attack, all right?”

Dad tilted his head so that both of his green eyes were visible. I’d always wished I’d inherited his mom’s gene but I hadn’t. None of his kids had. With his super-tan skin, the color always seemed to pop. Lucky dog. Mom had told me once it was the first thing she noticed about him. “With the way you’re treating me, I’m going to end up on blood pressure medicine soon.” He sat up and continued to give me an impertinent look. “You brought him to our house and you didn’t warn me? You didn’t even tell me you were on speaking terms the last time we talked.” He shook his head. “I thought you were my best friend.”

The kicker was that my dad genuinely did sound hurt. Not much, but enough that I felt guilty I hadn’t said anything to him about my friendship with the Bratwurst King of the World. Dad was my best friend. I usually told him everything. While I would never say I loved one parent more than the other, my dad and I had always had a special relationship. He’d been my buddy, my champion, my co-conspirator and my backup for as long as I could remember. When my mom had tried to force me to play every other sport besides soccer, Dad had been the one who argued that I should do whatever I wanted.

So his words were enough to wipe the smile off my face as I leaned into him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you. I wasn’t even sure we really were friends. At first he was just kind of an asshole, and then we became friends.”

“Hmph.”

“I’m serious, Dad. It’s just weird. I had to think about him pooping for the first two months so that I wouldn’t stutter every time I was around him.”

That made him to crack a small smile.

“We played soccer together a few times, I took him with me to play softball with Marc and Simon, and he took me to the doctor a week ago,” I explained, surprised he hadn’t seen the pictures of us that had been posted on Kulti’s fan websites.

And even when my dad’s favorite athlete in the universe was within walking distance, the number one man in my life put me first. “What the hell did you go to the doctor for?” he snapped.

Ten minutes later, I’d told him everything—mostly. From the softball game that had gone wrong, to Kulti taking me to the doctor, to the conversation with Mr. Cordero, and finally to the German showing up to my place that morning.

Dad was shaking his head by the end, anger apparent in his eyes. “Cabrones. We’ll sue them if they do anything,” he said, still hung up on Mr. Cordero.

What was it with these men and suing people? “We’ll worry about it later. I didn’t violate any terms of my contract, so I don’t think they can do anything.” I really hoped. “You-know-who told me not to worry about it.”

His eyes narrowed, but grudgingly he nodded.

“Ready to see your true love?” I asked with a smile on my face.

Dad smacked me on the back of the head lightly. “I don’t know why we didn’t put you up for adoption,” he said, getting to his feet.

I shrugged and followed him out of the room, noticing how slowly he was walking and the way he looked around the corner like he expected someone to pop out of nowhere and scare the crap out of him. In the kitchen, we found Kulti sitting at the small round table crammed into the corner of the room, a plate of watermelon, jicama, celery and broccoli, with a glass of water in front of him. My mom was digging in the fridge for something.

The German stood up and extended a hand out to my dad, not saying a word.

And my poor star-struck dad glanced at him, and in a way that wasn’t at all like his usual self, timidly stuck his hand out—only slightly trembling—and clasped Kulti’s.

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Casillas,” Kulti said in flowing Spanish, keeping eye contact with my dad.

I had to pinch my nose when my dad nodded rapidly in return, sucking in a loud breath when their hands broke apart. Coming up from behind, I squeezed my dad’s shoulders and whispered in his ear about how he needed to imagine him pooping, before taking a seat next to the German and sneaking a piece of watermelon off his plate.

Dad grabbed a seat next to me and across from Kulti, looking everywhere but at The King. This was the same man who didn’t know how to behave in a movie theater, much less church. Loud, outgoing, opinionated and stubborn with a temper that was well known… he sat quietly in his chair.

This was exactly what I’d been worried about with bringing Kulti to San Antonio. I wanted to spend time with my parents, not to have my dad so freaked out he refused to talk. I wasn’t going to embarrass him by pointing out how weird he was acting in front of the German, and I decided to try and show a little patience. We, or at least I, were going to be here for the next three days; Kulti and I hadn’t talked about whether he’d figure out another way to get back to Houston, but the fact he hadn’t mentioned leaving hadn’t escaped me either.

So, we’d see how it’d go.

Kulti nudged the plate in my direction and I smiled as I took a piece of jicama. Then it hit me.

“Where’s Ceci?” I asked my parents.

Dad raised his eyebrows, but it was my mom who answered. “In her room.”

Of course she was. There was no way in hell she didn’t know I’d gotten home. The little pain in the ass.

“Who is Ceci?” Kulti asked, holding a piece of broccoli in his hand.

“My little sister.”

He blinked.

I shrugged. What else was I going to say? That my sister hated my guts during different moon cycles?

Fortunately he didn’t ask anything else. I know Dad took it personally when Ceci acted like a turd, and then my mom would get mad that we weren’t more understanding and patient with her. I was patient with her. I hadn’t punched her yet despite the dozens of times she’d deserved it.

My mom took a seat at the table and started asking if we had any plans for tomorrow, and then saying how my aunts and cousins wanted to see me. Pretty soon it was close to ten and I was yawning up a storm, wondering how the hell my dad hadn’t cracked a single sigh when I knew damn well he was used to going to bed early, too.

The silence was just weird, with me trading looks with Kulti and my mom while Dad avoided everyone’s eyes.

All right, I’d had enough.

“You want me to show you where you can sleep?” I asked the German.

He nodded.

There was only one guest bedroom and since my little sister wasn’t even going to bother coming out to tell me hi, I guess sleeping in her room was out of the question. As Kulti followed me out of the kitchen and we passed the small living room with its hard couch that had been bought for durability rather than for comfort, I felt my eye twitch a little. That thing was unforgivable, but there was no way I was going to banish my friend to that cloth-covered rock.

What had once been my brother’s room long, long ago, had been painted and converted into a guest room for whoever was in town. My parents weren’t fans of buying new things if the old things still worked, so I knew exactly what I’d be walking into. Ceci and I’d old furniture back when I’d lived with them before college.

Bunk beds.

It was a full-sized frame at the bottom and a twin at the top. I almost smiled when Kulti didn’t even blink an eye at the accommodations. “Welcome to Hotel Casillas,” I held my hand out in presentation mode, letting him take in the black metal bunk beds, the thirty-something-inch flat screen mounted on a dresser and the various posters and articles of Eric and me on display that my parents had moved in there after Ceci had ranted her mouth off. She couldn’t live with our achievements constantly in her face, or something like that. She acted like we’d been given what we had. Ha.

‘Natural talent’ and genetics only went so far.

“Where are you sleeping?” he asked, dropping our bags on the floor.

“Umm—“

“In there,” my dad piped up as he walked past the bedroom; his was at the end of the hall. Like he’d been talking all night, he said over his shoulder, “Buenas noches!”

Sleep in the same room with him? The two times I’d brought my ex with me, Dad had made him sleep in the living room, but with Kulti over? I seriously doubted my age had anything to do with why he was throwing us together in the small bedroom. If he would have known I was bringing him, I’m sure he would have taken the twin mattress out.

Typical.

I could have argued, but did I really want to sleep on the floor in my parent’s bedroom or squeeze onto the couch? No thanks.

“You mind if I sleep on the top one?” I asked.

Those hazel-green eyes took in the bed and I could see either amusement or something similar in the way he looked at it. He shook his head, still eyeing it. “No. You can have the bottom one.”

“You’re too tall for the top one,” I explained to him. “Take the bottom. The mattress is newer too.”

He gave me a side-glance and nodded before scooting our bags deeper into the room and then crouching down to dig through his.

“There’s a bathroom right next door. Get whatever you want from the kitchen, my house is your house. Everyone sleeps solid so you won’t bother anybody.” I drummed my fingers on my leg, trying to figure out if there was anything else I needed to tell him. There wasn’t. “I want to see if my sister is up before I get ready for bed.”

The German just nodded and mumbled something I didn’t completely understand.

My little sister’s bedroom was on the other side of the bathroom door. The slit beneath the door was lit up and the television was loud enough for me to hear it, so I knocked pretty loud. “Ceci?” I rapped my knuckles. “You up?”

No answer.

“Cecilia?” I knocked again.

Still nothing.

“Ces, seriously?”

There was no response. I wasn’t delusional enough to think she’d fallen asleep with the television on. I knew my sister. She couldn’t sleep with any light. She was just being a little shit. Again.

I’d never done anything to her. I’d never given her a hard time, discouraged her or said anything mean. Maybe I’d been wrapped in my career for all of her life, but I’d been there as much as I could. From the moment she was old enough, maybe around six or seven, she’d turned into the fucking ‘woe as me’ devil.

I had to take a deep breath and let out a deeper sigh to not let her bring my mood down. She wasn’t going to open the door, and I wasn’t going to beg her either.

More disappointed than aggravated, I went back to the bedroom I was apparently sharing with Kulti just as he was coming out, a toiletry bag in his hand. It was easy to forget how much taller than me he was, how much bigger in general too, but I didn’t notice it much then either, especially with my little sister acting like a jackass pulling away my focus.

He went into the bathroom while I grabbed clean underwear, a regular bra I could slip out of once I was under the sheets, my nightshirt and my own toiletry bag out of my duffel. I could shower once the German was done. While I was at it, I pulled out some clothes for my run the next morning. On a piece of paper by the television, I jotted down the Wi-Fi password. Just a few minutes later, he came back into the room and his face a little damp, but everything else the same.

“I’m going to shower. The TV remote is on the dresser, and the Wi-Fi password is by the TV, all right?” I asked, already edging around him to go to the bathroom so I could take a shower. It’d be a miracle if I didn’t fall asleep inside, but I was so used to showering at night I wouldn’t feel comfortable going to bed without one.

“I’m fine,” he said putting his things back into his bag.

“Okay, I’ll be back, then.”

Less than fifteen minutes later, I’d blown through one of the fastest showers in history, brushed my teeth and put on my pajamas. Back in the room, Kulti was sitting on the edge of the full-sized bed in a thin white undershirt, the lower part of his bicep visibly wrapped in some kind of plastic, and his jeans were still on. He looked up as I entered the room and gave me an expression that was mostly a smile as he peeled off a sock.

“Are you fine?” he asked after I dropped my pile of dirty clothes by the door and crouched to grab a pair of knee-high socks from my bag.

“Yeah, why?” I straightened, making sure that my double extra-large T-shirt, basically a muumuu, wasn’t tucked into the waistband of my underwear.

He peeled off another sock. “You’re mad over your sister,” he said casually, tossing the two surprisingly long pieces of cloth onto my pile of clothes.

I started to argue with him, telling him I was fine, when I realized that I’d be lying and he’d know it. I threw my own pair of clean, striped socks up to the top mattress, my bare toes wiggling in the carpet. I didn’t have the cutest feet in the freaking universe, I mean they weren’t ugly, but they’d been through hell and back with me. It wasn’t often barefoot.

“Ah, yeah. I’m a little mad she decided to hide out in her room,” I sighed, scratching my cheek with a sad smile. He had leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his forehead furrowed. Reiner Kulti on my bunk bed. What a vision. “It’s rude and I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ll get to meet her tomorrow.”

The German shrugged like he was completely indifferent about whether or not he got to meet Ceci, and I couldn’t blame him. Why would he care? “If she’s going to upset you, I would rather not. She sounds like a brat.”

“She’s not a brat,” I defended her. “She’s just… a pain. It’s been hard for her to grow up with me and Eric. We’re close—my brother and I, but there’s almost seventeen years between the two of them. There are ten years between me and her, and she almost killed my mom during the delivery, but we don’t ever talk about that,” I added, imagining Kulti bringing up the subject to get a rise out of her.

“She’s the only one that’s never shown an interest in soccer so she thinks everyone is disappointed in her for being ‘normal.’” I snickered. “She says it like it’s a bad thing. You know how it is, how much you have to give up. It isn’t like what we do is easy or anything.”

His eyes drilled into me, straight into my chest. In understanding? In kinship? I wasn’t positive until he nodded slowly, solemnly, like he was remembering every single thing he’d sacrificed in his life for the dream he no longer had. “No, it’s not an easy life, Sal. Most don’t understand that.”

“Right? I get enough crap from other people; I don’t want it from my sister too. I just want her to be happy. I could care less if she’s good at soccer or not. Anyway, my mom likes to say that you always fight with the people you love the most, so oh well. My dad and I are always bickering about something. I guess she’s right.” I walked over to the ladder on the side of the bunk beds, hands gripping the sides of it. “You have a brother, right?” I asked, knowing damn well he definitely had a brother, an older one.

“Yes,” he answered, scooting back further onto the bed. Something weird stirred in my chest watching him sitting on my bed in his pants, thin shirt and big bare feet. It was so homey, so natural. For so long I’d had to remind myself that he was just a regular man, but seeing him there like that really nailed it home.

It was so cute. He was so cute.

“I haven’t seen him in three years,” he added unexpectedly.

I looked at him through the rungs of the stairs. “Jeez. Why?”

“We’ve never been close. He has his own life and I have mine.“

How lonely did that sound? Sure I wanted to strangle my sister sometimes, but she was usually in a good mood at least a handful of times a year. “Not even when you were little?”

Kulti hunched his shoulders up casually, settling back against the two pillows propped on the wall. “I left my parents’ home when I was eleven, Sal. I haven’t seen them for longer than a month at a time since then.”

The ‘holy shit’ was apparent on my face, it had to be. I’d known he’d gone to some soccer academy before his career took off, but he’d been eleven when he left home? That was one of the neediest times in a kid’s life. He’d been so little. Jesus.

“You were there all the time?”

He nodded.

“Didn’t you ever… get lonely?”

Kulti studied my face. “At first, but you get over it.”

Get over it? At eleven? Good gracious. Where was the nurturing?

“Do… you still see your parents?” I asked, not sure whether I was going into territory he didn’t want to get into or not.

A small sharp snicker came out of his mouth. “My mother called me a few days ago saying she’s ready for a new house.”

I had to fight back a wince. Him buying it for her was implied, wasn’t it? “It’s nice that you take care of her.” I trailed off, not really sure if it was nice or not, or whether he genuinely wanted to provide for them. Because I mean, who demands a new house? Where the hell do you get the balls to do that?

He blinked and confirmed my suspicion that he might have been getting forced into buying his mom a house. Feeling uncomfortable that I had brought up something a little sensitive, I reached forward and ran my index finger up the sole of his foot, surprised when he jerked it away violently.

I stood there and watched him with a big dumb smile on my face. “You’re ticklish?”

With both knees now to his chest he scowled over. “No.”

“Ha.” I laughed. “That’s cute.”

He didn’t look like he was amused.

I gripped the bars and smiled over at him before climbing up to the bunk bed, conscious to keep my long T-shirt tucked between my thighs on the way up. “Will you get the light or should I turn it off? I’m ready to go to bed but you can leave it on, it won’t bother me. The remote is by the dresser.”

“I’ll get it,” he said, the mattress making some creaking noises as I heard him settle in.

Getting comfortable, I pulled the sheets up to my chin and rolled onto my good shoulder, facing the wall. “All right. Night, Rey. Wake me up if you need something,” I yawned.

From below, the German said, “Goodnight, schnecke.”

“You’re not calling me a shithead or anything, are you?” I yawned again, drawing the sheet up higher to cover my eyes.

“No,” he replied simply.

“Okay. If you want to go home tomorrow or if you’d rather stay in a hotel if you aren’t comfortable, let me know, all right?”

“Yes.”

One last lion-like yawn made my chest expand wide. “Okay. Night, night.”

He might have said “Goodnight” again, but I was pretty much out the second I finished talking.

I crept down the bunk-bed stairs when the room was still dark. It didn’t matter if I set an alarm; more often than not, my body just knew it was time to get up. As quietly as I could I fumbled around for my clothes, barely able to see. I pulled my nightshirt up over my head…

Then the fan light came on.

I froze. I froze there in my underwear, wearing nothing else.

“What are you doing?” Kulti’s sleep-thick voice asked.

Well then. I could freak out and make a big deal out of standing there mostly naked, or I could take it like a champ and make it seem like it wasn’t a big deal that I was topless and in one of my oldest pairs of value-pack panties.

“I’m going for a run,” I said slowly in a whisper, still not moving an inch. “Go back to sleep.”

There was a pause and then the mattress started creaking. I knew beforehand what he was going to say. “I’ll come.”

Oh dear God.

I went to my knees as fast as possible and now that I was able to see, pulled my sports bra on as fast as lightning just as the shrill squeak of what had to be Kulti getting off the bed warned me my time was up. I didn’t even let myself think that he’d probably caught a glimpse of side boob. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen hundreds of boobs before but these were mine. Wearing a sports bra was one thing, boobs flopping freely was another.

I yanked a racer-back tank on before standing up, already holding my running shorts in one hand, ready to pull them on as soon as possible. But I sure as shit wasn’t going to bend over and put them on with my butt facing him.

Except just as I turned around, I stopped. Because the German was facing me, watching me as he stood there in boxer briefs. Only boxer briefs. Was his face all sleepy? Maybe, but I sure as hell wasn’t looking at his face when I turned around. All I saw were his flat six-pack abs and square pecs, the low rise of his heather-gray boxer briefs and wood.

The morning wood tucked against his thigh.

I coughed and eyed his thigh one more time before quickly stepping into my shorts and pulling them up my legs, just as he pulled up his own pair of running shorts.

I couldn’t breathe, and I really couldn’t look him in the face as I grabbed my socks off the floor. “Umm, I’ll, uh, wait for you in the kitchen.”

He grunted his agreement and I hauled ass out of there, walking out before I remembered I left my shoes in the room. I went back in, grabbed them without looking at the boner—I mean, Kulti—and going back out. My dad was already gone, the coffeepot was on for my mom who was already getting ready for work. I filled up two water bottles from the collection I had here and drank a glass while I waited for the German. It didn’t occur to me until he arrived in the kitchen that I should have brushed my teeth.

“Ready?” I asked.

Sleepy and his eyes and cheeks puffy, he nodded.

Don’t glance at his crotch, don’t glance at his crotch.

I glanced. Just real quick.

“Eyes up here, Taco.”

I wanted to die. “What?” I slowly looked up to see a smug look on his swollen mouth.

By some miracle, he decided not to embarrass me and say he knew I was full of shit playing dumb. Was I going to take advantage of the pass he was giving me? Hell yeah.

I waved Kulti forward, noticing he’d taken the wrap off his freshly inked tattoo. A hint of dark lines peeked out from his shirtsleeve. “Come on. I’m not going to take it easy on your old knees, so you better keep up.”

“If you want to go somewhere, you can borrow my car,” I told the German over breakfast a couple hours later.

He leaned back in his seat, polishing off a hardboiled egg. “I don’t.”

“Think about it if you want. I’m going to trim the yard first, and then I want to head to the mall to buy my dad his birthday present. It’ll take me a couple hours until I’m ready to go. “

“You’re mowing the yard?” he asked.

I nodded.

Those green-brown eyes focused in right on my face and a moment later he said, “I’ll help you.”

“You don’t have to—“

“I want to.”

“Rey, you don’t—“

“I’m not lazy,” he cut me off. “I can help.”

I eyed him for a second, the brief image of what I was sure was a good fat eight inches under his boxer briefs filling my head, and then pushed the image back, remembering what the hell we were talking about. “All right, if you really want to.”

Because, seriously? I doubted he cut his own lawn, but he wanted to help me do my dad’s? All right. I was stubborn, but I wasn’t dumb enough to not take help when it was offered.

A few minutes later we were outside, and he was helping me take my dad’s ancient mower out of the garage—he took his good one with him to work—and his back-up edger and weed-eater. “Which would you rather do?” I asked him once all our equipment was on the driveway.

He shrugged, looking at the mower with interest.

I would have bet my life he hadn’t mowed a lawn in a couple of decades, if ever. Hadn’t he just told me the night before how little time he’d spent with his family once he started at the soccer academy? Even then had he ever spent time doing housework when he was so busy being a childhood prodigy?

I was tempted to tell him I could do it all myself, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t.

He’d come to San Antonio with me because ‘he had nothing else to do.’ He’d offered to help me probably for the same reason. The poor guy was alone and bored. I had a feeling he didn’t have many friends, he’d admitted to not being close to his family, and all that together made me just sort of sad. It made me want to help him, to include him in things. I wanted him to get his feet wet with life.

What was the best thing to do?

“You mow, and I’ll take care of the edging and weeds,” I told him, making sure I wasn’t giving him a look of pity. “All right?”

His long fingers wrapped around the upper bar of the mower and he nodded.

I handed him a pair of disposable earplugs, safety glasses and a smile that was encouraging but not too encouraging. I said a prayer that we’d make it through this intact.

Reiner Kulti took almost an hour to cut my dad’s front and back lawn. He had to take two passes in the front to get the lines even, and he almost ruined the engine once when he didn’t empty out the bag. It was my fault, I hadn’t told him how. He did it without asking a single question, and I didn’t offer any advice either.

He looked so damn proud of himself, I almost cried. Honestly. I felt like a mom dropping off her baby boy at preschool.

I slapped him on the back and kept the ‘good job, buddy’ to myself before putting up the equipment.

He had that look in his eye again. The same one he’d had when he’d been looking at the lawn mower.

“Have you ever been to a mall before?” I asked him once we were through the glass doors.

Kulti had his attention on everything around us. His hair was concealed by the baggy beanie he had pulled low on his head, and he’d been thoughtful enough to wear a long-sleeved button-down chambray shirt that I had a feeling cost more than my entire outfit put together. With his hair and tattoo covered, we were pretty confident that he wouldn’t be recognized.

I hoped. I really, really hoped. The idea of a mob lusting after him was something out of my worst nightmares.

“Yes I have been to a mall before,” he muttered.

“The Galleria doesn’t count,” I told him, referring to the huge shopping center in Houston with all the designer stores.

He blinked those beautiful light eyes down at me. “I’ve been to several malls,” he insisted. “A long time ago.”

I groaned and shoved at the elbow he hadn’t gotten work done on, earning a small smile. “Well don’t steal anything because I won’t bail you out, okay?”

“Yes, schnecke.”

“Good.” I grabbed his wrist and gave him a tug in the direction of one of the stores I needed to visit.

The German looked at every store and booth we walked by until I found one of the businesses I was looking for. Right in the center of the aisle were the massage chairs and masseuses my dad loved coming to every time he went to the mall. “Let me get a gift certificate real quick,” I told him after I’d stopped right by the booth. He nodded and watched as one of the male masseuses rubbed down a woman’s shoulders.

“You want one?” I asked after paying for a gift certificate.

He shook his head.

“Sure?”

He nodded. “What’s next?”

“A new pair of tennis shoes.” I pointed at the store close by. “He never buys himself new shoes, so we all have to buy him some, otherwise he’ll wear the same pair until they’re taped together.”

I could have sworn he smiled as he walked alongside me into the shoe store. I knew exactly what I was getting, even though I wished Kulti wasn’t around to watch. He was busy looking at the rows on the walls when the store employee came over.

“Can I help you?” the young guy asked, eyeing me with a little too much interest considering I was probably almost ten years older than him.

I pointed at the pair I wanted, careful to keep my back to the German a few feet behind me and said, “Size nine and a half, please.”

The employee nodded in approval. “The RK 10s in black?”

I bristled at the fact he was talking about them out loud. “Yes, please.”

“We have the Kulti 10s on sale for women,” he offered, pointing at the shoes on the opposite side of the store.

“Just the men’s,” I smiled at him.

“The 9s are buy one, get one half off,” he kept going.

“I’m all right. Thanks, though.”

He shrugged. “I’ll be back, then.”

Thank God. I turned around to see the German holding a running shoe up to his face with interest.

“Those are nice,” I chipped in.

Those green-brown eyes flicked up to mine and he nodded in agreement. “Did you find what you wanted?” he asked, setting the shoe back on the rack.

“Yes.” I scratched my cheek and his eyes immediately narrowed. “The employee is getting them for me right now.” Knowing I needed to change the subject, I asked, “Are you getting anything?”

“Here you go,” the unfamiliar voice said from behind me a second before the employee walked around and held out the box.

The big swoosh mark on the top of the box wasn’t a big deal, but the guy pulled the lid and tissue paper back and there they were. The Reiner Kulti 10^th edition in black.

“Perfect,” I sort of choked out, avoiding the gaze that had locked on my face. “I’ll take them.”

“Absolutely not,” the German snapped from right next to me.

“I’m taking them,” I insisted, ignoring him.

“Sal, you are not buying those,” he insisted.

The employee looked back and forth between us, his expression confused.

“I buy my dad shoes every birthday and I’m getting these for him. This is what he’d want,” I gritted out, still avoiding his gaze.

“Sal.”

“Rey.”

His hand touched my elbow. “I can get these for you for free,” he said in that exasperated tone he used when his accent really began to bleed through. “In every color. Next year’s edition.” His fingers pressed into the soft indent of the inside of my elbow. “Don’t buy them.”

“Do you work for Ni—“ the employee started to say, his eyes wide and way too interested. Thankfully he wasn’t paying enough attention to the man standing in front of him, otherwise he would have known.

“You mind giving us a second?” I cut him off with an apologetic smile.

What was he going to say? No? Grudgingly, he nodded and turned away.

I finally cradled my guts to me and faced Kulti, who had put his hands on his hips looking just shy of exasperated. Patience, Sal. “Tell me why you don’t want me to buy them.”

“I don’t want you to spend the money.”

Oh dear God. “Rey, I’m going to buy my dad shoes regardless of whether they’re yours or not.” Later on I could dwell on the fact I was hanging out with a man that had his own signature shoe line, but now wasn’t the time. “I’d rather you make… what? How much do you make, five dollars a pair? Anyway, I’d rather get yours and you make my five dollars than someone else, all right?”

That didn’t seem to help matters at all.

If anything, Kulti’s jaw went tight and the corners of his mouth pulled down flat. And his shoulders and biceps might have tightened, but I wasn’t positive. “I can get every shoe in this store for free. I haven’t bought a pair of shoes in over twenty years. You shouldn’t have to pay for shoes either. You’re the best player in the country—“

Every cell in my body froze.

“—you shouldn’t have to, and I’m not going to let you buy some of my fucking shoes that you had to work all day to pay for. While we are at it, I’m not going to let you buy any shoes in this store. Not for you and not for your father,” he snapped. “I can get you whatever you want, just tell me.”

I would have opened my mouth to argue with him, but I couldn’t. I just stood there, looking up at him at a complete freaking loss.

Kulti’s fingertips touched the outside of my wrist, his expression hard and serious. “If you were me, wouldn’t you do the same thing?”

Damn it. “Well, yeah.” I don’t know why I hadn’t noticed before how golden his eyelashes were. “I don’t want to take advantage of you. I swear I didn’t bring you along to guilt-trip you into getting them. I promise. I would have bought them in Houston but—“

I stopped talking when I noticed something in his body language change, when I felt his deep breath wash across my cheek. He looked deflated but not necessarily in a bad way.

He put his hand on top of my head, the bottom of his palm resting just barely on my forehead as he let out another chest-filled breath. “You are…” The German shook his head and sighed. “No one could ever make me do something I don’t want to.”

I could believe that.

“Understand?” He dipped his head. His face, so deeply tanned from years of being in the sun, looked younger for some reason in that instant.

“Yes.”

Kulti nodded. “You would do it for me if you were in my position, schnecke.”

“Did you guys decide if you’re getting the shoes?” an unexpected voice asked from behind me.

It took me a second to tear my eyes away from the almost-hazel ones so close to mine. “I’m sorry for wasting your time, but I’m going to have to pass.”

The frown on the employee’s face wasn’t unexpected. He moved his gaze over the German with even more interest. “Say, you look familiar—“

I hated being rude, but I grabbed the German’s wrist and led him out of the store before the kid could think about it too much more. Once we were out, I let go of his wrist and smiled up at him as we walked through the spacious corridor, but he was already pulling his cell out of his other pocket and pecking at the screen with his thumb.

“I need you to send me RK 10s, size nine and a half—“ The fact he’d paid attention to the shoe size on the box didn’t escape me, ‘’—in men’s… What’s your address?” He turned his attention down to me, and I rattled off my parent’s home address. Kulti repeated it to the person on the other end of the line. “I want them there tomorrow… and a sample of the pair you sent me last week… yes, those.” He hung up, just like that. He just called, said what he wanted and hung up. No thanks, no goodbye, nada.

After he finished putting his phone back into his pocket, he looked down at me and frowned. “What?”

“People don’t get aggravated with you when you’re rude to them?”

Kulti blinked. “No.”

“Never?”

He lifted up a shoulder in the most perfect gesture of how much of a shit he didn’t give.

Good God. “If I hung up on someone like that, which I wouldn’t because it’s not nice, they would tell me to go screw myself.” I blinked at him and thought about what he said. “If you hung up on me like that, I would tell you to go screw yourself. Not that I don’t appreciate you getting the shoes for my dad, but it wouldn’t kill you to be polite, you know.”

He shrugged. He freaking shrugged, and I knew me telling him how he could handle the situation differently wasn’t going to change a single thing.

“This is the worst game of Uno I have ever played in my entire life.”

Kulti looked up at me from across the table and smiled his little smug baby smile. The freaking bratwurst. “You’re being a sore loser.”

My mom and dad both nodded from their spots on either side of me. I looked at both of them and shook my head. Traitors. “I’m not being a sore loser.” Much. “They kept giving me all their crappy cards so they wouldn’t make you draw!”

“It sounds to me like you don’t know how to lose,” he said calmly, taking the cards from the middle of the table to shuffle.

I made a choking noise and turned my attention to the mute sitting next to me. Dad had said maybe six words in the last three hours. He got home and found the German and I in the driveway washing my car. Dad said exactly two words, “Oh, ah, hi,” gave me a kiss on the cheek and hightailed it inside. We’d eaten dinner my mom made with him saying another two words, “salt” and “si.” And the last two words he’d said were, “yellow” and “blue” when he made us change colors playing cards.

My mom on the other hand, had decided not to be fazed, and it wasn’t like I could blame her. She wasn’t particularly impressed by famous soccer players for longer than a second. Been there, done that.

“You’ve never liked to lose,” Mom noted as Kulti slid a card in her direction, which she took with a smile. “When you were little, you would make us play games over and over again until you won.”

She was right. I remembered being a competitive little kid. Whoops. “You guys are ganging up on me. I’m just saying it’d be a fair game if you two quit making me take more cards every turn.”

She smiled again when the German passed her another card. “It’s just a game.”

It was just a game.

I made sure Kulti met my eyes when I got my next round of cards. Nothing was just a game.

“Dad?” I knocked on the door an hour or two later. “Papa?”

He said something from inside that was along the lines of ‘come in,’ so I did. Standing in the doorway between his bedroom and en suite, Dad had a toothbrush in his mouth, already dressed for bed.

“I just wanted to tell you goodnight.” I smiled at him.

He held up a finger and went back into the restroom where I could hear him turn the water on and rinse out his mouth before coming back. “Buenas noches. I had fun tonight.”

“You did?”

My dad nodded seriously, sitting on the bed next to me. “Do you know how hard it’s been for me to not tell anyone that he’s staying at my house? My house, Salsa!” Dad erupted, seriously. This was more like him. “The King is sleeping in my house, he mowed my lawn, and he’s friends with my daughter.” He put a hand to his chest and took a big, walloping breath. “This is the best present anyone has ever given me.” He paused. “Don’t tell your mom.”

And he was completely, one hundred and ninety-nine percent serious.

I didn’t bring up how he hardly talked, but I did grin at him. I was happy that at least he was acting normal in front of me and eating up just having Kulti in the house. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel weird.”

“Am I sure? Pues si.” He wrapped an arm over my shoulders and pulled me into his side. “I’m going to remember this for the rest of my life.”

I laughed and leaned into him. Only he would be happy just having Kulti in the house even though he didn’t talk to him. “Thank you for not telling everyone.” My parents had decided not to have my extended family come over with the German staying and honestly, I was a little relieved.

“You think he’ll take a picture with me before he leaves so I can send it to your tios?”

“Yes.”

Dad nodded in pleasure. “I can rub it in their faces later, with their pinches fotos of their grandkids. Why do I want grandkids when you bring The King home with you?”

I rolled my eyes and patted his leg. “I want you to tell Mom those exact words the next time she asks me when I’m finally going to get married and give her a couple of babies.”

He gave me another side hug. “You know I’ll love you if you play or not.”

I did. “I know.”

“I just want you to be happy.”

“I know.”

“I mean it,” he insisted.

And I smiled. “I know, Dad. I promise I know.”

With one more side hug, he let me go. “Tell your friend I said thank you for doing the yard.”

“You could just tell him yourself,” I said, getting up.

He shook his head. “No. You tell him for me.”

Stubborn mule. “Okay. Goodnight.”

“Buenas noches, amor.”

I backed out of his room with another smile and closed the door behind me. My little sister’s door was closed and that time I didn’t hold back my sigh of annoyance with her. She’d gotten home with my dad after school, said ‘hi’ and then walked into her room and stayed in there for most of the day, only coming out to grab a plate of food and go back in with it. For a second, I debated whether to knock on her door and tell her goodnight just to be a troll but decided against it. We were going out to dinner for our dad’s birthday the next day, and I needed her to chill out as much as possible so it wouldn’t turn into a nightmare.

She was still a turd though.

By the time I made it back to the guest room, Kulti was already lying in bed with the sheets pulled up halfway to his stomach, his legs propped up and his tablet reclining against them. I grabbed my nightclothes and stuff from my bag and went back into the bathroom to shower, put on another long T-shirt and socks that went up almost to my knees.

“Are we going for a run in the morning?” Kulti asked from his spot on the bed once I was back in the room, pulling out a new set of running clothes for the next day.

“As long as you can keep up again,” I teased him, setting the clothing on top of my bag and turning around to see him scowling at me. Not saying a word, I winked and climbed up to the top bunk, settling in before I remembered what my dad had said. I got up to my knees and leaned over the edge so I could see him, sitting there on the too-small-for-him bed. “Thanks for helping me today with the yard. My dad asked me to say thank you too.”

Squeaky clean and so relaxed-looking on the bed I’d grown up in, Kulti looked refreshed. He tipped his chin down. “It was my pleasure.”

I flashed him a smile and sat back up, crawling under the covers one more time. I’d barely pulled them up to my chest when Kulti spoke again.

“That was my first time using a lawn mower.”

I fucking knew it! I didn’t say that of course, instead, I stuck with a very grown-up, “Oh really?”

There was a pause before he kept going. “I enjoyed it. I can see why you went to school for it. It’s fitting.”

Wait a second, wait a second. I knew for a fact that I’d never once told Kulti that I got my degree in landscaping. He’d never asked, not once. Sure, I had told him out of anger that I did landscaping work, if he hadn’t already known, but that was the extent of it. There wasn’t a single doubt in my mind that I had never mentioned what university I went to school at, much less what I majored in.

“How do you know what I went to school for?” I asked him casually. I’m sure I was making some kind of stupid face.

“I looked you up. You have it on your profile,” he said without skipping a beat.

What? I sat up again and looked over the edge of the bunk bed. “You did?”

Even upside down, I recognized that he nodded. “Yes.”

“You… have an account?”

He might have frowned, but I wasn’t positive with all the blood rushing to my head. “Get down before you fall over the side of the bed and give yourself more brain damage than you already have.”

Rolling my eyes, I did as he said but only because it wouldn’t be the first time I’d fallen off a bunk bed. I climbed down way too quickly and went and sat on the edge of his mattress, way too interested. “You use social media?”

Kulti stared at me. “Yes.” Then he added, “I have a fake account.”

“No!” I laughed.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“Can I see it?”

The German looked like he wanted to deny my request but he finally nodded, and a minute later, handed me his tablet. The blue and white page had “Michel Reiner” at the top and some bogus, generic picture of a sunset as the profile picture. His number of friends? 25.

Twenty-freaking-five.

I looked at him over the top of the tablet and felt my little heart break just a bit. “Do you know how many people like your fan page?”

He shrugged.

I looked it up.

The Reiner Kulti Official Fan Page had one hundred and twenty-five million likes.

And ‘Michel Reiner’ had twenty-five.

Something watery pooled in my throat as I handed him back his tablet. “I don’t get on there much but you could add me as a friend if you wanted to,” I offered in a wobbly voice.

“What an honor,” the bratwurst said, but he said it with a small smile so I knew he didn’t mean it like an asshole.

I still reached under the cover and pulled his leg hair. At least I hoped it was his leg hair.

Whatever it was, he let out a grunt-squeak noise of surprise as he jerked away, a big smile on his face that seemed to fit into skin that wasn’t accustomed to forming those types of facial expressions. “Do it again Sal, and you’ll get it right back.”

I made sure he was watching when I crossed my eyes at his threat. “I don’t have hair on my legs, so good luck with that.” I eyed the small screen again. “Who else are you friends with on there?”

“Some old teammates, my mother, my manager and publicist.” He tapped my name into the search and hit the ‘add’ button once my page came up. “You.”

My phone beeped a second later, and I saw the alert of a pending friend request. I accepted it and set my phone back down on the dresser before taking the seat I’d left next to the German.

The German who was already busy browsing my profile.

“Nosey much?” I asked.

He grunted, clicking on my main album and scrolling down. They were mainly all pictures that friends or family members had posted and linked me to. Birthdays, games, get-togethers, more games… it was a timeline of the last eight years of my life through other people’s eyes. Kulti didn’t say anything as he looked through them, until he suddenly stopped scrolling.

“Who is this?” he asked.

He didn’t need to point at the picture for me to know who he was referring to, and honestly, I was a little surprised Adam still had pictures of us up. We hadn’t been together in five years, and he’d dated more than a few girls since then.

But there we were on the screen.

I was in my early twenties, him in his late twenties and me on his lap, with his arm around my waist. My ex-boyfriend of four years was blond, built like an Abercrombie model, really cute and just as nice as he’d been attractive.

“That’s really old. It’s my ex-boyfriend,” I explained to the German.

The man who rarely used words didn’t change his tactic, but he slowly started looking through more pictures with dozens more of Adam and I popping up along the timeline. It made me feel a little sad that I hadn’t tried harder to work things out with him. We’d always gotten along really well, and he’d been the exact person I needed and wanted back then.

“How long were you together?” he asked once we’d scrolled three years further back.

“Four years. We met my second year in college.”

“He looks like an idiot.”

It took me a moment to comprehend what came out of his mouth, but it made me laugh once it finally took hold. I nudged him with my elbow. “You’re rude. He wasn’t an idiot. He was really nice.”

Those green-brown eyes slid over to me. He didn’t look amused. In fact his jaw was tight, and he looked a little pissed off. “You’re defending him?” He sounded like he couldn’t believe it.

“Yeah. He was really nice. He’s the only man I’ve ever really dated, Rey. We’d probably still be together if I would have wanted to have kids right after college.”

Kulti’s head jerked to look at me directly.

“What?” I asked, surprised by his expression.

“Have you kept in contact with him?”

I shrugged. “He calls me between girlfriends, but that’s it.”

“To get back together?” Why his voice was so low I couldn’t understand, and I gave him a weird look.

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t happen. He’s slept around a lot since we split. I’m not one of these girls that think men who have slept with hundreds of women are sexy. That’s gross. I don’t loan my body out to just anyone, and I don’t like the idea of a bunch of girls knowing what someone I love’s penis looks like, you know?”

A muscle in Kulti’s jaw ticked and I swear his eye twitched. Then I realized what had just come out of my mouth.

“No offense to you. It’s your business whatever you decide to do with yourself. I’m not going to judge. I’m just old-fashioned and picky. That’s probably why I haven’t been in a relationship since him, huh?”

His eye definitely twitched that time, and I felt bad for pretty much calling him an unattractive man-whore.

“Look, I’m sorry. Just because I can’t imagine being intimate with someone I don’t love doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with it. It’s not for me. Different strokes for different folks.”

Kulti’s eye twitched again. I didn’t miss the way he was biting down hard and making his cheek flex either.

“What?” I asked when he didn’t say anything.

Nothing.

The German tipped his head back and closed his eyes, his fingers going for the bridge of his nose. One inhale, one exhale. Another inhale, one more exhale. What the hell was wrong with him?

“Rey, are you okay?”

One eye opened as his chest puffed. “Stop talking about sex.”

Jeez. “Okay. Sorry. I didn’t take you to be a prude.”

He choked, his other eye opening. But did he say a word? No, he didn’t.

I sat there waiting for him to make another comment, but nothing came out of his mouth. I really hadn’t taken him as a person who would get offended so easily. The ‘s’ word hadn’t even come out of my mouth, much less anything raunchier. So I didn’t completely understand why he was getting so bent out of shape.

When he continued to say nothing and he kept looking at the support for the bottom of the top bunk bed, I fidgeted. “Can I see your tattoo now?” He’d been a little too secretive about it, and I’d been wondering what the hell he was hiding all day.

Mr. Secret’s chin moved just a tiny bit to the side before he nodded almost belligerently. Setting his tablet flat on the bed, he arranged his body to the side and carefully pulled the sleeve of his undershirt up. Where less than forty-eight hours ago there had been a tattoo nearly as old as me, a cross, it had been covered as if by magic with the outline of a bird. It was a beautiful, regal-looking bird.

“A Phoenix,” Kulti explained like he could read my mind.

“I can’t even see your old one at all,” I told him, still inspecting the great, beautiful wings and the eccentric-looking crest on its head. “This is amazing, Rey.” I wanted to touch it but the skin was still a little irritated, and I didn’t want to be the one to accidentally scratch it and mess it up before it was healed. “Seriously, way better than that cross you had before. What made you decide to get that?”

The German eyed me as he scooted back into place and tugged his shirtsleeve back down. “Someone told me I can’t take back what I’ve done, but what I do from now on is what matters. It seemed fitting.”

Damn it. I hated when he actually listened to me, but I smiled anyway and dropped the subject when he didn’t meet my eyes. All right. “Are you ready to go to bed?”

“I’m going to stay up and watch a movie on here,” he explained, gesturing to his tablet. With the bed above shadowing half of everything below, I couldn’t see his face well. “Would you want to watch it?”

Was I sleepy? Yes. But…

“Sure, at least until I start to fall asleep,” I agreed.

He slid over all of half an inch and angled his upper body toward me. Well. Scooting in next to him close enough so that our elbows were touching, Kulti propped the tablet back onto his bent knees as I tucked the hem of my shirt between my thighs. It had ridden up but it wasn’t like he could see my underwear, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen just as much of my legs practically every other day we’d hung out. I fixed the pillow behind my back and eased onto the bed so that my shoulder touched his bicep.

“What are we watching?” I asked.

Apparently the man wasn’t a cheapskate because we didn’t go with a Netflix movie; instead he bought a digital copy of some newly released suspense thriller.

I’d guess that I probably made it twenty minutes into the movie before I fell asleep. With his body heat on one side, even through the barrier of the sheet he had pulled over himself and the comfortable bed beneath me, I was out.

I woke up to find that my bent knees had fallen over and were resting on Kulti’s hip, my shirt had somehow ridden up past my hips leaving my underwear out for anyone to see. My hands were crossed over my chest and tucked into my armpits, and the entire right side of my body was huddled into the left side of the German.

I sat up and gave him a sleepy yawn. “I’m going to bed.” I squeezed his bent knee before throwing my legs over the side. “Goodnight, Rey.”

“Sweet dreams.”

Sweet dreams? Had that really just come out of his mouth? I think I might have fallen asleep with a smile on my face thinking of him using those words.

“You’re wearing a dress.”

I turned around and frowned, my hands smoothing down the front of the blue sundress I’d put on five minutes before. “Yes.” It was going to be bad enough when my parents saw my outfit. They acted like they’d never seen me in anything besides sweat pants or shorts.

Now I had to hear it from the German too.

He stood in the doorway in the same jeans he’d had on when we left for Austin. He’d added a black checkered and blue shirt and his tennis shoes.

I smiled.

He didn’t say anything. He only kept looking at me as if he hadn’t seen me in less clothing plenty of times, even thought that made me sound like a nudist. I twitched. “What? I dress up sometimes. Birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s.” I pulled on the hem of the light dress that almost reached my knees… if I hunched over and yanked.

His gaze slid back up to my face after watching me fiddle with the skirt and he blinked, slow, slow, slow. “You have make-up on.”

“I wear make-up.” Not much but enough.

“No heels?” He glanced at my feet, which were in a pair of black suede ankle boots my parents had bought me for my birthday a couple years ago.

“Trust me, you’d end up spending the night peeling me off the floor or laughing when I walk around like a newborn baby giraffe.” I smiled at him.

His eyes flicked up to mine and a small smile cracked the corners of his mouth. “You’re good at everything.”

I snorted. “I wish. I’ll make you a list later at all the things I’m horrible at.” I grabbed my purse off the corner of the bed and pulled it over my head. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes,” he answered, dropping his gaze to the scooped neckline of my dress for a split second.

I had freckles on my chest, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen those before.

I pushed the acknowledgment of him staring out of my head and drew in a breath to relax. That morning, he’d woken up when I’d been half-naked again, only wearing a sports bra and underwear, and he hadn’t said a word as I pulled the rest of my clothes on. Sure I could have gone into the bathroom to change, but I kept the same thought in my head that I had from the beginning. I had nothing to be embarrassed about. I accepted my body as it was and if I started acting all goofy about it now, well, that just looked stupid.

I wasn’t out to impress anyone.

Plus, it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen better—and hopefully worse—before.

Whatever.

I felt good, and I didn’t care how much crap I was about to get from everyone that enjoyed teasing me just because they could.

Sure enough we found my parents, Ceci and her friend in the living room waiting for us. It was my dad that made the first crack when he saw me.

In a dress shirt, slacks and dress shoes, he must have forgotten he’d been acting like a timid little bear around the German because he immediately nudged my mom with his elbow. “Look, it’s a Christmas miracle. Sal put on real clothes.”

I exaggerated a laugh, making a face at him at the same time. “Funny.”

My mom came forward and squeezed my shoulder. “Look at how pretty you look when you wear a dress. If you dress like this more often, maybe you’d find a boyfriend again. No?”

Once upon a time, her comment would have really hurt my feelings. Actually, she’d said the same thing to me in the past at least a dozen times. If I dressed differently, if I put some effort into my appearance, if I didn’t play soccer, maybe I’d find someone…

Someone who didn’t know me at all could only love me if I was half myself.

I forced a smile onto my face and patted my mom’s arm, ignoring the intense gaze coming from Kulti. “Maybe one day, Ma.”

“I’m just telling you because I love you,” she said in Spanish, picking up on how her comment irritated me. “You’re just as pretty as any other girl, Sal.”

“You’re all ugly. I’m hungry, let’s go,” Dad said with a clap of his hands, his face too cheerful.

He knew. He knew how much Mom’s comments bothered me. Maybe they didn’t piss me off or make me cry, but they bothered me. The fact she was saying it in front of my friend didn’t help.

Staying in place, I smiled at my sister and her friend as they followed my parents out the door. Ceci hadn’t said a word to me, and I didn’t want to start crap with her tonight. I gritted my teeth and tamped down my emotions. Today was about my dad, not about my mom or Ceci.

Since we wouldn’t all fit into my mom’s sedan, Kulti and I drove separately. It was the same restaurant we’d gone to for the last three years so I knew exactly where we were heading.

I had barely turned the ignition and driven to the corner of the block when the German spoke up. “I don’t like the way your mother speaks to you.”

My head snapped over to look at his face.

He on the other hand, was busy facing forward. “Why do you let her belittle you in that way?”

“I…” I turned back to face out the windshield and tried to tell myself that this moment was real. “She’s my mom. I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt her feelings and tell her that her opinion doesn’t matter —“

“It shouldn’t,” he cut me off.

Well… “She just has a different view on how I should live my life, Rey. She always has. I’m not ever going to do what she wants me to do, or be the person that she wants me to be. I don’t know. I just let her say whatever she wants to say and I suck it up. At the end of the day, I’m going to keep living the way I want, regardless of what she says or thinks.”

Out of my peripheral vision, I could see his head turn. “She doesn’t support you playing?”

“She does, but she’d rather see me do something else with my life.”

“Does she understand how good you are?” he asked completely freaking seriously.

I had to smile, his belief in me almost made up for my mom trying to guilt me into having a boyfriend and dressing up to feel like a woman. Blah. “You really think I’m good?”

“You could be faster—“

I knew he was only trying to piss me off by calling me slow. I turned to look at him, outraged. “Are you serious?”

He ignored me. “But yes, you are. Don’t get a big head about it. You still have quite a bit of room for improvement.” He paused. “She should be proud of you.”

I was torn between wanting to defend my mom and wanting to give him a hug for the nice things he was saying. Instead I went with “She is proud of me. It’s just… it’s hard for her with me, I guess. I know she loves me, Rey. She goes to my games, wears my jerseys. She’s proud of me and my brother but…” I scratched at my face, debating whether or not to tell him for a second. It’d been years since the last time I told anyone. Not even Jenny or Harlow knew. Marc and Simon did but that was only because they’d been in our lives forever. It hadn’t helped that Cordero had been the last person to talk to me about it, and he’d left a bad taste in my mouth. Everyone should know, he’d said. He hadn’t liked when I told him no. No way.

My brother Eric had started early in his career putting a stipulation in his contract about the type of personal information that could be released about him. I’d followed in his footsteps with my Pipers contract and fortunately it had paid off to be so secretive. But if there was one person that I could tell, it would be Kulti.

Swallowing, I asked, “Have you ever heard of Jose Barragan?”

“Of course I have,” he said with an insulted snicker.

Jose Barragan was a legendary Argentinian soccer player who had lived as big off the field as he had in real life.

I would know. “He was my mom’s dad.”

The silence in the car was no great shock to me.

“La Culebra was your grandfather?” he asked me gently. The Snake. My grandfather had been called The Snake for a dozen different reasons by millions of people.

“Yup.” I didn’t say anything else because I knew he was going to need a second to process it.

La Culebra had been a star. He’d been the king of a generation way before mine. He’d led his country to two Altus Cups; he’d been a superstar in a time before technology and social media. My mom’s dad had been a sport’s shining star, their flesh and bone trophy.

“Does anyone know?” he finally asked, that creepy calm silence still ringing in my ears.

“Yeah, a few people do.”

Another pause. “No one has ever said anything to me about it.” I could see him out of the corner of my eye shift in his seat. “Sal, why is it a secret? Do you understand how much money you could make off endorsements?”

Cordero had asked the exact same question. The only difference was, Cordero was an asshole only trying to make himself look better. La Culebra’s granddaughter on his team? Especially when he came from the same country? He immediately saw dollar signs, but I wasn’t about to let him exploit me or my family. I’d never figured out how he’d found out, but it hadn’t mattered. No meant no.

“I wouldn’t want to put my mom through that,” I explained. I squeezed the steering wheel a little tighter. “Did you ever meet him?”

“Yes.”

“So you know he wasn’t the nicest man in the world.”

His lack of a response was more than enough.

“Rey, I met him maybe ten times in my life. I saw him on TV more than in person. He told me once when I was eleven that I was wasting my time with soccer. He said people didn’t like to watch athletes that were women. He told me I should be a swimmer or a ballet dancer. Fucking ballet. Could you imagine me in pointe shoes? When I was seventeen, he showed up to the U-17 game I was playing with the national team and tore apart my game afterward. When I was twenty-one, he came to the Altus Cup match and asked me why I didn’t play for Argentina instead. Nothing was ever right or enough for him.

“That was just him. From what I’ve heard my mom say, he was a really shitty father and a worse husband. Supposedly, he’d hit my grandma when he wasn’t cheating on her. My mom wasn’t a fan of his, and I know she blamed soccer for his behavior. I don’t blame her. She met my dad on vacation in Mexico; they got married and moved here. The last time I saw him, he called my dad a stupid Mexican and told my mom she wasted her life marrying someone so beneath her.

“I love my dad and I owe my parents everything. They’re the hardest working people I’ve ever met, and I don’t appreciate anyone talking badly about them. When my mom says something unsupportive, I try to be understanding that my mom hates that my brother and I play soccer. She can’t stand that we took after him.

“Once my agent did try to sell me to a company by telling them La Culebra was my grandfather. You know what they told her? If I was his illegitimate daughter’s daughter, they’d want me. Or if I were anything but Hispanic, it’d be a story. They made it seem like I cheated to get to where I was, like his genes and my Hispanic heritage immediately gave me an advantage. As if I didn’t bust my ass day after day, working harder than my teammates to improve.”

I took a calm breath and blinked back the tears of frustration. It had been so long since I had made myself feel so small. “I’ve had to work twice as hard as everyone else to prove to myself that I didn’t get here because he’s my mom’s dad.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner but,” I shrugged, “I just… I want to be me. I want people to like me for me, not because of who my brother or my grandfather is, or what I freaking wear… I would have told you eventually. Someday.”

In the five minutes it took from that point until we were pulling into the parking lot of the family-owned restaurant, Germany didn’t say a word. I was familiar enough with him to recognize when he was pissed off or annoyed, and I couldn’t sense either of those emotions from him. He was simply silent.

I didn’t feel like talking about it much anymore either, so I didn’t force the conversation. Talking about that old man always gave me indigestion and a heavy heart. It really nailed home how lucky I was to have the people I had in my life.

We didn’t speak to each other as we met up with my family; they were waiting by the entrance. We didn’t say anything as we walked into the establishment and took two seats next to each other. My dad was seated at the head of the table, my mom on one side with Ceci beside her and her friend at the opposite end.

“What would you like to drink?” The waiter had started with my mom and made his way around, getting to Kulti before me.

I’m not positive what I was expecting, but it wasn’t “Water.”

“And you, señorita?” the waiter asked me.

I’d been planning on getting a margarita because that was usually my treat, but I had a possible drinking problem sitting right next to me and I was driving. “Water too, please.”

My mom started talking about one of her brothers calling earlier to wish Dad a happy birthday and how he was planning on coming to visit within the next month, when the waiter came back with our drinks and to take our orders.

“For you?” he asked Kulti.

The jerk-off did it.

“Tacos,” he paused dramatically and I had to be the only one that really caught it, especially when he knocked his knee into mine beneath the table and shot me a side look, “al Carbon.”

I snorted and tapped my knee back against his, curling my lips over my teeth to keep from smiling. I barely remembered rattling off my meal because I’d asked, knowing damn well they didn’t, “Do you have any German Chocolate Cake?”

Why would they have German Chocolate Cake at a Mexican restaurant? They wouldn’t, but I was going to be a pest and look like a moron at the same time.

“Umm, no. We have sopapillas and flan?” the man offered.

Before I got a chance to answer, someone pretended to drop his napkin on the floor and in the process of bending over to retrieve the imaginary item, decided to dig his sharp elbow right into the meaty part of my thigh.

It lasted all of a second, but the squawk that came out of my mouth was so ugly even my dad, the king of ugly noises, made a face at me.

“We don’t know her,” Dad said to the waiter in Spanish.

I laughed and turned to Kulti, way more amused than I was embarrassed, “You’re going to get it later, bratwurst,” I muttered under my breath.

He knocked his knee against mine again, his actions saying so much more than any words right after getting out of the car could have. Where the hell had this playful man come from, I had no idea, but I loved it.

I reached beneath the table and squeezed his denim-covered knee.

“Who wants to give me my present first?” my dad asked once the waiter had walked away.

Mom and I met each other’s eyes from across the table and we both barely shook our heads. Who asks that? My dad. My dad asks for his presents.

Mom turned her attention back to the brand-new fifty-seven-year-old and winked. “I’ll give you your present at home.”

I cringed.

From down the table, Ceci said, “Mom!”

Then I added, “Gross.”

Our dad laughed but it was Mom that gave us both a frown. “Nasty girls,” she said in Spanish. “That’s not what I meant!”

I balled up my hand and put it against my mouth, pretending to hold back a good retch.

“Cochinas,” Mom repeated, still shaking her head.

“Okay. Ceci? Sal? Who wants to go?”

My little sister sighed from across the table. Sometimes it was weird looking at her. She looked so much like our mom, brown hair, fair skin, brown eyes, fine boned and slim. She was the pretty kid. The really pretty one that had had boyfriends back when she was in fourth grade, while I’d been… not having boyfriends in fourth grade. Back then my only boyfriend had been my imaginary love, Kulti, the guy who happened to be sitting next to me in that exact moment.

“I’ll go first.” She pulled a small box from under the table and had our mom give it to Dad. “Happy birthday. I hope you like it, Daddy.”

Dad tore open the paper and then the box with the excitement of a little kid. He pulled out a beautiful frame with a really old picture of him and Ceci on a swing set. He grinned and blew her a kiss, thanking his youngest daughter for her gift. Then, expectantly he turned his attention in my direction and made ‘gimme’ hands.

Kulti held his hand out. “I’ll get it.”

I grabbed my keys from my purse and handed them over. “Thanks.”

He’d barely left the table when my dad leaned over, a glassy look in his eyes. “I’m not dreaming, am I?”

Mom groaned.

“You think I can take a picture of him here?” the birthday boy asked.

I thought about what would happen if a picture of my dad and the German got on the internet. On the inside, I winced. A lot. But what was I going to tell my dad? No? Because I didn’t want the world to know that Kulti had spent time with my family? Because I didn’t want rumors floating around? I didn’t. I definitely didn’t want any of that.

On the other hand, he was so excited and happy about everything, despite the fact that he still hadn’t said a direct word to my friend.

How could I tell him that was a bad idea? I couldn’t. Dad would go on to send a picture to every person he’d ever known.

There were worse things in life, weren’t there?

“Sure, Dad.”

The man grinned.

Yeah, there was no way I could tell him no. I handed over his gift card for the mall masseuse and earned a big wink from my dad.

Kulti was back in no time, sliding into his seat while holding two perfectly wrapped boxes in his hands. The packages had shown up early that afternoon, already wrapped and ready to go inside of a larger cardboard box. We’d stashed them in the trunk of my car before anyone caught us. The German handed them both over so I could pass them to my dad, who had a look on his face like he’d just crapped his pants and realized it.

“Happy birthday from the both of us,” I said, without even thinking about how it sounded.

Dad didn’t care because he wasn’t paying attention. He was eyeing Kulti and then the boxes, and then Kulti and then the boxes all over again. Very gently, he tore off the paper of the first one and pulled out the same RK 10s I’d been trying to buy at the shoe store the day before.

He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again and reached for the next box. Inside was a plain white shoebox with no brand or logo on the cover. My dad pulled the lid back and stared before pulling out a shoe I hadn’t seen before. The familiar stitched ‘RK’ was on the back and so was the familiar swoosh on the side.

“Next year’s edition,” Kulti explained.

Carefully, Dad set the shoe back into the box and took a deep breath before meeting my eyes and in a very low voice said, “Tell him I said thank you.”

I put a fist over my mouth but I wasn’t sure whether it was to keep from laughing or sighing in exasperation. “Dad, tell him yourself.”

He shook his head, and I knew that was as good as I was getting.

Biting my lip I turned back to Kulti, who I was sure had heard what my dad had said and repeated what I’d been told.

Very seriously, the German nodded. “Tell him he’s welcome.”

Jesus Christ.

“And tell him there’s something else in the box.”

Something else? “Pa, there’s something else in the box.” Also, like they hadn’t heard each other from four feet away.

Dad blinked, and then rifled through the nameless white box and pulled out a greeting card sized envelope. He removed something that looked like an index card. He read it and then read it a second and then a third time. He put the card back inside the envelope and then the box. His dark face was somber as he took a few breaths. He finally raised his green eyes to meet Kulti’s hazel ones.

“Sal,” he said, looking at the German, “ask him if he wants his hug now or later.”

“What’s wrong?”

I gave Kulti a look as I sat on the edge of the bigger bunk bed, ready to take my shoes off. “Nothing. Why?”

The German blinked at me. “You haven’t said a single word.”

I hadn’t. He was right.

How could I talk when something huge had lodged itself into my chest? Something monstrous and uncomfortable had picked up and moved in, stealing the space where my breath and word usually lived.

Kulti had stolen that piece of me when he hugged my dad back…

He’d given him two front row seats to a FC Berlin game, along with a voucher for flights and a hotel.

What do you freaking say after that?

“Are you upset?” he asked.

I made a face. “About what?”

“Berlin.”

Oh my God, he looked so earnest… “Rey.” I shook my head. “How could I ever be upset over that? That was the greatest thing anyone has ever done for my dad. I can’t even…” I stared up at him as he stepped right in front of me, looking down. “I can never pay you back. Okay, maybe I can if I pay you installments over the next five years, but I don’t know what to say.”

He shrugged those brawny shoulders. “Nothing.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s a big deal.”

“It isn’t.”

I stood up and held my arms open. “It is, so quit arguing and give me a hug.”

He quit talking but he didn’t hug me. I should have taken it as a compliment that he didn’t shrink away from me or simply say ‘no.’ Kulti just looked at the arms I held a little away from my body, like it was some foreign thing he’d never seen before.

When he stood there for another ten seconds, I decided I had enough. This guy had given out thousands of hugs over the course of his life. Then I looked at his face and how serious he always was, and decided maybe he hadn’t. But he had given my dad one at the restaurant, so screw it. He had to have another one in him.

I took a step forward and wrapped my arms around his waist, over his own arms like they were hostage. He rested his chin on the top of my head. “Thank you,” I told him.

I held him for another ten seconds, feeling him stay stiff as a board the entire time, and then decided I could put him out of his misery. I dropped my arms and took a step back, the backs of my knees bumping into the frame of the bed.

Maybe it would have been awkward if I really cared about him hugging me back, or in this case, not hugging me back, but I didn’t. Not at all. He’d given my dad something wonderful; I could live with it.

What was awkward was the way he was looking at the freckles on my chest and bare shoulders beneath the thin straps of my sundress.

“I should probably go change now,” I muttered, taking a step to the side. “But I want you to know how grateful I am for what you did for my dad, all right?”

He nodded absently, still looking at the skin right above my boobs. Not directly at my boobs, just above them. Weird.

Well I guess this was payback time for looking at his boner the day before, and I was going to take it. “Hey, eyes up here, pretzel face.”