It was the knocking.
It was the freaking knocking that finally made me roll out of bed.
I was going to kill whoever was on the other side of the door. Okay, maybe not kill but seriously maim.
The fact that my feet were dragging behind me at ten o’clock in the morning was the first example of how horrible I felt. Though I knew better, I wasn’t actively stretching any of my muscles, which explained why I felt even worse than the day before.
“Coming!” I barked out when the knocking became even more obnoxious.
Murder. Screw it. Maybe I could get away with a crime of passion.
When I looked through the peephole that my dad had installed the minute after he’d finished helping me move in, I thought about slapping myself in the face to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
“Coach?” I asked as I unlocked the top lock and then the bottom, pulling the door
open just a crack.
His big German face stared at me through the slit. “Rey is fine. Let me in.”
He would like being called Rey—king in Spanish.
I let him in.
Only after I opened the door, did I think about the fact that I’d just rolled out of bed a second earlier. My hair must have resembled something out of John Frieda’s worst nightmare and my face… puffy. It was definitely puffy and drool-stained, definitely. “I just got up,” I explained weakly, watching him lock the door once he was inside.
“I can tell.” Those brown-green eyes gazed at my face for a second, straying a little lower briefly, before finally taking a look around my small living room. “I called you,” he said absently.
“I put my phone on silent after I called Gardner to tell him I wasn’t coming in,” I explained. First, I’d slept like complete crap. A comfortable position to sleep in had eluded me the entire night, I’d been miserable. When my alarm went off at six and I’d rolled over to turn it off, my ribs had told me very calmly that there was no way I was going for a run, much less making it through practice.
Fortunately in the last four seasons I’d been with the team, I’d missed practice on only one occasion that wasn’t injury related. My grandfather had died, and I’d flown to Argentina for the over-the-top funeral thousands had attended. A country in mourning, a telecaster had called it that night when I’d sat in my hotel room watching the news recap the day. Gardner didn’t even hesitate to tell me to feel better and come back once my mysterious ‘virus’ went away.
I hated lying, but at least I had promised to visit the doctor and stay in bed.
“I see.” He took a couple more steps in, his eyes looking to the small kitchen and the counter island where I had two barstools in lieu of a table.
I stifled a yawn. “Are you okay?”
Kulti inspected me from head to toe, frowning. “I’m fine. I came to make sure you were alive.”
I had a brief flashback to the night before, when he’d rolled down the window as his car sat idling in the driveway, ordering me to take something for the pain. “I’m fine. I feel like roadkill, but I’m all right.”
“You missed practice. You’re not fine.”
He had an excellent point. “I have a doctor’s appointment at noon, just to make sure nothing is broken.”
His expression darkened as he walked around me to head into the kitchen. He stopped after taking two steps and looked over his shoulder, his gaze going to my legs. “Do you ever wear pants?”
“No.” I had shorts on, damn it. Plus, this was Houston. No female wore pants in the summer unless they had to.
He looked for a second longer, glanced up at my face, and then continued his journey into the kitchen. “Do you have tea or coffee?”
I pointed. “Both.”
He made an indiscriminate noise as he searched my kitchen cabinets.
All right. “Well make yourself at home. I’m gonna go shower and put on some pants, I guess.” I might have given him a dirty look at the mention of putting on bottoms, but he wasn’t paying attention. His back was turned.
Thirty minutes later, I was freshly showered, my teeth brushed, my hair… well, up in something that could be considered a bun, deodorant applied, jeans that could have passed for leggings and wearing a real bra on, I made an appearance back in the living area of my garage apartment. Kulti was sitting on the couch, drinking from a black coffee mug with an owl picture on it and watching television.
The fact that the man I’d had on my wall for nearly a decade was sitting on my couch, drinking coffee because he’d come by to check on me, didn’t really hit me much. I wouldn’t say it was normal, but I wasn’t choking up to talk to him or freaking out that I hadn’t dusted in a couple of weeks. It was just… okay. No big deal.
No big deal that Reiner Kulti was sitting here, hanging out.
“Are you hungry?” I was starving. By this point in the day, I’d normally already be on my second meal.
“No,” he replied, still not turning around from his focus the television.
I eyed him and started looking through my freezer for something easy to cook. There were some frozen turkey breakfast patties, fruit and a whole grain baguette. The frozen fruit I set aside to blend into a smoothie as I got the rest of it ready. Kulti didn’t say anything as I made my meal, but I knew he was fully aware of what I was doing.
When I was done, I had a blender filled with a weird smoothie of almond milk and leftover frozen fruit. I poured two drinks and put my makeshift breakfast sandwich on a plate.
“Here,” I said, holding a glass over his head from behind.
He took it from me without a word, setting the glass on the coffee table. Stiffly, I took a seat on the opposite end of the couch, plate on my lap, smoothie on the coffee table and sat there watching the survival show on the screen. Kulti manned the side table as I ate my food, making a mess all over myself, because it hurt too much to try and have manners.
“Why do you have so many recordings of this show?” he asked, browsing through my DVR.
“Because I like it,” I told him. Though, okay, it was only the partial truth. I did like it. I also thought the two guys who tried to survive in different conditions and environments were really attractive.
Kulti made a humming noise but clicked on the oldest episode at the top. I definitely wasn’t going to complain.
Not even fifteen minutes into the show, the German completely turned his entire body in my direction, his face suspicious.
I set the plate on my lap and blinked. “What?”
“You like them or the show?”
Oh brother. Marc had laughed hysterically when I admitted how hot I found the two men—they were in their early forties, both graying, one at an early stage of hair loss, but I didn’t care. They were really attractive and the whole survival thing only helped. What did I have to be ashamed about? “Them, mostly.”
Kulti’s facial expression didn’t change, but his tone said it all. “You’re joking.” He couldn’t believe it. What was the problem? They were both good looking.
“No.”
He blinked those green-brown eyes at me. “Why?” he asked, like I’d just told him I drank my own pee.
I picked the plate up and held it directly under my mouth before taking a bite of my sandwich. “Why not?”
“You are young enough to be their daughter,” he ground out. “One of them doesn’t have hair on half his head.”
I took another bite of my food and watched him carefully, not even thinking it was weird that he seemed so outraged at who I found attractive. “First off I doubt they’re old enough to be my dad, and secondly I could care less about a bald spot.”
Kulti shook his head slowly.
Okay. “They’re both in good shape, have nice smiles and nice faces.” I glanced at the screen. “And I like their beards. What’s wrong with that?”
His mouth gaped a millimeter.
“What?”
“Do you have father issues?”
“What? No. My dad’s great, jeez.”
His mouth still hadn’t closed that tiny gap. “You like old men.”
I bit both my lips, eyes wide. I’m sure my nose flared a little bit. How close to the truth he was, and it almost made me laugh. Instead, I shrugged. “I wouldn’t say old, merely… mature?”
Kulti stared at me for so long I started laughing.
“Stop looking at me like that. I don’t think I’ve ever been attracted to guys my own age. When I was younger…” I’d been in love with you, I thought but didn’t say out loud. “I thought they were dumb and then it just stuck,” I explained.
He still didn’t say a word.
“Quit it. Everyone has a type. I’m sure you do.”
Kulti blinked. “I’m not attracted to senior citizens.”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, fine. You don’t like older men or women.”
He ignored my jab at him being attracted to men. “I don’t have a type,” he said slowly.
Yes, he did, and I knew exactly what it was. “Everyone is attracted to certain things, even you.”
Those hazel-green eyes blinked at the speed of a moving glacier. “You want to know what I’m attracted to?”
I was thirty seconds too late to realize that I didn’t want to know after all. Did I want to hear him spout off prerequisites I didn’t fit? No. Hell no. While I completely understood his place in my life, that didn’t mean I wanted to be the antithesis of Reiner Kulti’s dreams. My pride could only handle so much.
But it wasn’t like I could back-down by that point. Gritting my teeth, I nodded. “Go for it since you think I’m such a weirdo.”
“I like legs.”
Legs? “And?”
His eyes narrowed just barely. “Confidence.”
“Okay.”
“Nice teeth.”
Hmm.
“A beautiful face.”
My eyelid may have started twitching.
“Someone who makes me laugh.”
The twitching went into overdrive. “Are you making stuff up?” Because, really? Kulti laughing? Ha.
“Is there something wrong with my list?” he asked with a stony even glare.
“There wouldn’t be anything wrong with it if you weren’t randomly blurting stuff out. Someone who makes you laugh? I feel like you’re going to start describing a unicorn after that.”
He prodded at the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Just because I’m not attracted to women old enough to remember the last Great War, doesn’t mean my list is made up,” Kulti said.
Oh my God. That made me burst out laughing. “You make it sound like I hit up retirement homes for dates. Those men are probably only a couple years older than you are, so think about that, creaky knees.”
And that got his mouth to close. “You are the most insolent person I have ever met in my life.”
Smiling, I took a bite out of my sandwich.
What felt like five minutes later, Kulti finally turned his attention back to the television, one cheek pulled back like he was biting down on.
When the episode was over, I got up slowly and took my dishes into the kitchen, grabbing Kulti’s right along the way. “I have to leave in thirty. If you promise not to steal anything that you could easily afford on your own, you can stay here and watch more TV.”
There was a pause as he scrolled through the DVR recordings. “My driver is downstairs. He can take us.”
Us? My plate clattered into the sink. “You want to come?”
“I have nothing else to do.”
That wasn’t the first time he’d said something along those lines. I walked back around the couch and carefully sat down, eyeing him. I knew what I was about to ask was completely out of my league, but whatever. “What exactly do you do all day?”
It was an honest question. He didn’t have to have a normal job, but I figured he had other things to keep him busy. He had a few projects, some businesses I’d heard about throughout the years, but apparently he also had a lot of time to spare. So what did he do when he wasn’t at practice?
He kept his attention forward, but I could see the way the shoulder closest to me tightened. His answer was simple. “Nothing.”
“You have nothing to do?”
“No.” He amended his answer, “A few emails and phone calls, nothing significant.”
“Don’t you have businesses and other stuff?”
“Yes and I have managers that handle everything so that I don’t have to. I’ve minimized my obligations recently.”
That sounded… awful.
“You could do things if you wanted to,” I offered lamely. “Community service, get a hobby…”
Kulti shrugged his shoulders.
That didn’t help me feel any less weird about how bored he must be. Not having things to do drove me nuts. How could it not drive him crazy too? To stay in his house all day…
I suddenly remembered the night I picked him up from the bar. All right, so maybe he didn’t stay in his house all day. Regardless, a lot of things suddenly made sense. Why he played softball, asked me to play soccer with him, why he was in my apartment.
This sense of obligation stirred in my chest. But I didn’t say anything or do anything. Mainly because I wasn’t planning on forgetting what he’d admitted.
There was such a thing as too much too soon, wasn’t there?
Leaning back against the couch for a few more minutes, I kept the thought in my head. “In that case, you’re going to have to grab one of my hats before we leave.”
“Why?”
“Because my doctor is a fan of yours.” He had a framed jersey in his office.
He cocked an eyebrow.
“Your picture will be all over the internet before you leave,” I explained. “Then everyone will ask what you were doing at a doctor’s appointment with me, and the next thing I know everyone will say I’m pregnant with your baby.”
Kulti huffed. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
He was right. I could remember at least a few times over the years that some tabloid or magazine reported that he’d impregnated someone he’d been seen with. They speculated on a new relationship every time he stood next to a woman.
Then there had been his divorce.
It’d been bad. Bad. People had put a timeline on his marriage from the moment pictures had been released, which at the time, I thought had been one of the worst days of my life. My first love—this asshole who now called me Taco now—had married some tall, skinny, beautiful bitch.
All right maybe she wasn’t a bitch, but back then you couldn’t have paid me money to think otherwise.
Exactly one year after his huge spectacle of a wedding, his divorce papers to the Swedish horror-flick actress were filed. Rumors of them cheating on each other, of him starting and ending relationships before things were finalized, talk of an insane pre-nuptial agreement, flooded tabloids and entertainment channels alike. The real kicker had been that the team he’d been playing for that year hadn’t even qualified for the finals. People had ripped Kulti apart. I mean, ripped his ass open.
While I’d initially forced myself not to follow his career, not to look him up on websites, or even pay attention when his name was brought up, it’d been impossible to ignore all the drama, despite how much I wanted to.
Then he’d come back the next season and won a championship.
I hadn’t watched or paid attention to the European League that year, or the two following. By that point, I was too focused on myself and my career. Reiner Kulti had become someone who had nothing to do with me.
“That’s the price of fame, huh?” I asked, feeling a stab of pain right through my chest. It really shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. It was weird how even now, when I was fully aware there would never be anything between us, my body still had a severe possessive streak in it. He’d gotten married to someone, and pledged his life to another person.
Bah. I didn’t have time for this crap.
Kulti’s cheek ticked like he was remembering everything he’d been through too. It wasn’t like he was a talkative forthcoming person to begin with, but when he answered with one word, I figured it was still a touchy subject for him. “Yes,” was the only thing he said.
All right. I cleared my throat and sang under my breath, “Tough shit, frankfurter.”
There was a pause before he let out a snicker. “Sal, I don’t know how you haven’t gotten elbowed in the face yet.”
I opened my mouth and pressed the tip of my tongue behind my upper teeth for a second. “One, at least I tell you things to your face and not behind your back. And two, I have gotten elbowed in the face. Multiple times.” I pointed at a scar right smack on my cheekbone, then the underside of my chin and lastly right above my eyebrow. “So, suck on that, pretzel face.”
To be fair, he was fast, but I also wasn’t expecting it.
The couch cushion hit me right in the face.
“Sal, I haven’t you see here in forever,” the receptionist on the other side of the window said as I handed her a clipboard with my paperwork, driver’s license and medical card.
“You make it sound like that’s not a good thing,” I told her with a smile.
She winked. “We’ll call you in for your x-rays in a few.”
I nodded at the older woman and smiled at the couple waiting patiently behind me. I walked back to my seat in the corner of the room where the German was sitting with the television remote in his hand, flicking through channels on the mounted flat-screen. I muffled a groan as I sat, my hands gripping the armrests on the journey down.
He was eyeing me, only slightly shaking his head.
“What?”
He looked down, whether at my hands or the v-neck T-shirt I had pulled on I wasn’t sure, and then returned his gaze to my face. “You.”
“Be quiet. The last time I took time off from training was when my grandfather died. I don’t play hooky without a good reason.” I blew a long breath out of my mouth and stayed upright, back straight, hands braced to help me up when they called my name.
He reached over and smacked the side of my knee with the back of his hand. “I’ll be back.”
I opened my mouth and let a huge grin take over my face, the action halting him halfway up. The only reason I didn’t laugh was because it would hurt, but I still snorted. “Okay, Arnold.”
Kulti didn’t look particularly impressed. “He’s Austrian, not German, you little shit,” he deadpanned, his face saying I was annoying him, but his eyes said thought I was a little funny.
Besides, I hadn’t meant that I thought Arnold was German, but if it annoyed him, it was all the same.
Stretching up to his full height, he hit my knee with his and made his way out of the small reception area in the direction of the restroom. I pulled my phone out of the black leather purse my parents had bought me for Christmas and started typing a message to Marc. I let him know I made it to my appointment, and I’d be going in for an x-ray pretty soon. I hadn’t screwed him over too bad today by taking the day off, there wasn’t anything terrible on the schedule, but still. I felt bad, even if he was the one who told me I better not tag along until I knew for sure I wouldn’t be doing more damage to myself by working.
“Do you mind turning the volume up?”
I glanced up from my phone to see the man who had been behind me checking in with his wife, looking expectantly from his seat across the room. He was referring to the television. “Sure,” I said, taking the remote from Kulti’s empty seat and absently raising the volume on the television.
It took me a second to realize what the topic on television was for today.
“…it isn’t the first time money’s bought one of these guys out of trouble. How many times do their handlers hide things that they don’t want the public to find out about? There are employees for every big sport you can think of, who follow these superstar athletes around, dragging them back to their hotels after an entire night spent at a strip club or partying. Some fans don’t want to hear about their favorite athletes doing normal, human things. Honestly, I’m not surprised if there is a DUI on Kulti’s record that no one can find solid proof of it. The guy is a German national hero, even if half the country hates his guts. After the two seasons he spent with the Men’s American League, he’s practically an American hero—“
I changed the channel, my heart beating up in my throat.
Jesus Christ. They were discussing him having a DUI on freaking Sports Room? Didn’t they have anything better to talk about?
“Excuse me. You mind putting it back?” the man across the room asked.
I was suddenly unbelievably thankful that I’d told Kulti he needed to put on one of my hats before we left my apartment. Feeling like a little bit of a dick, I shook my head. “In a minute. I’m sorry.”
The stranger couldn’t believe I said no, and honestly I was surprised I’d said it too. But when it came down to it, I would rather this stranger think I was rude than Kulti walk over and see that crap playing. He hadn’t been acting weird so I didn’t think he knew he was being talked about on cable television, but what did I know?
“Are you the TV police or something?” the stranger asked with a frown.
I tried to reason with myself that he was just being a dick because I started it. “No,” I said calmly, looking him right in the eye because being shy when you’re being rude just makes things worse. “I’ll put it back on in a sec.”
Hopefully if I waited a minute, the anchors would be talking about something else.
The guy just stared at me. Sometimes you didn’t need to actually say the word ‘bitch’ to get the message across. This guy had obviously mastered that talent.
I sensed Kulti before he actually made it back. He purposely walked right in front of me, the side of his leg bumping into my knees, before taking his spot on the chair next to mine. It took him all of a second to catch onto the ugly vibes the other man was sending.
The German leaned forward, one elbow on his knee and half his body facing me, but his head was cocked at the stranger. Fortunately my hat was pulled down low on his forehead. “I’m sure there’s something else you can look at, friend.”
“I’d be looking at the TV, friend, if your lady hadn’t turned it off,” the man explained.
Kulti didn’t ask me why I turned it off or why I didn’t turn it back on. He stayed in the same position he was in, his free hand resting on his other knee. “Instead of worrying about the television, maybe you should be worrying about your cholesterol, no?”
Oh God.
“Miss Casillas, will you follow me?” A voice spoke from the door.
I stood up and lightly punched Kulti in the shoulder as he stared across the room at the other man. He stood up after me, not giving the man another thought. Lowering my voice so only he could hear, I whispered, “You might want to call your publicist. They were talking about Kulti on Sports Room, and it wasn’t about him playing soccer.” I tipped my chin down. “Do you know what I mean?”
His eyes moved from one of mine to the other before he nodded his understanding.
I’m not sure why I did it, but I reached over and gave his wrist a squeeze. “You didn’t steal anything or kill anyone. Whatever anyone else who doesn’t know you thinks, isn’t a big deal.”
“Miss Casillas?” the medical personnel called my name once more.
“I’m coming.” Making my eyes go wide at the German, I took a step back. “Let me go get this over with.”
The last thing I did before heading to the back for my appointment was drop the remote on the seat next to the man’s wife. The x-ray went by quickly, mostly because I was thinking about the situation with Kulti. He hadn’t confirmed or denied anything. So what did that mean?
Thirty minutes later, I was sitting in a room with my doctor as he showed me a great set of films. “Nothing is broken. See? Not even a hairline fracture,” he confirmed.
“That’s what I wanted to hear.” I smiled at the doctor I’d been going to since I moved to Houston. His medical assistant stood in the corner of the room.
“You should look into doing some milk commercials. You’ve got some strong bones on you, Sal,” he joked around, scribbling something into my file. “I recommend you take a week off to be on the safe side—“
I choked.
“—but at least four days if you choose to be stubborn and get back.” He looked up with a smile.
Yeah, that wasn’t much better.
“I’ll get you a note if you need one, or else just have someone shoot me a call or an email if they want to speak to me,” the doctor said. “You don’t want to make it any worse. Your body needs the rest.”
Four days off would really be five because I’d miss the game and have Sunday off by default.
Handing my file to his assistant, the older man smiled. “My wife and I went to your season opener,” he noted. “You’ve got a real talent, kiddo. I haven’t seen anyone move like you since La Culebra. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?”
I only barely caught my smile before it fell off my face. “Yes, I have. That’s very nice of you to say.” I cleared my throat and ignored the weirdness I felt at the mention of the Latin American star. “Thanks for going to the game, by the way. I can probably get you a set of comp tickets for another one if you’d like to go again.”
“That’d be great. Any game would be fine.”
I made a mental note to see who I could con some tickets out of.
“So, ah, what’s it like working with Kulti?” The doctor’s cheeks were pink at the apples.
I was suddenly thankful the German hadn’t followed me into the exam room. I could only imagine how much the doctor would flip out if he knew Reiner ‘The King’ Kulti had been sitting in his waiting room. “It’s… great. He’s tough, but he knows what he’s talking about.”
The doctor got this dreamy look in his eyes. “I bet. I’ve always wanted to meet him. ”
So. Not. Obvious.
“I was pretty nervous around him at first.” That was the truth. “But he’s just like everyone else,” I said as I slid off the exam table as gently as possible, not exactly believing the words coming out of my mouth. Kulti wasn’t really like everyone else. Not totally. Edging toward the door, I told him, “I’ll email you the tickets once I get them.”
If he was disappointed that I didn’t make an offer to introduce him to the German, he didn’t show it. The medical assistant passed me my file and instructed me on how to take care of my co-pay. Thanking the doctor and his assistant once more, I opened the door and found Kulti leaning on the wall next to it.
“You scared me,” I said, glancing back to make sure the doctor was still in the room. I gestured toward the exit where the receptionist sat. “Come on.”
I made my payment as quickly as possible, trying to get the heck out of there before the doctor saw my friend. My friend who didn’t say a single word as we took the elevator down to the lobby, and the same friend that stayed quiet as we got into the car his driver had brought us to the doctor in. His jaw was hard, his shoulders even harder, and I didn’t miss the way his hands were fisted as he stared out the window the entire ride back to my place.
I swallowed and looked out the opposite window, not sure what to say to make the situation better. Honestly, I didn’t even want to ask what he’d found out. While I was pretty sure he considered me a friend, I didn’t fool myself into thinking that he was going to spill his troubles to me. Considering there were things I still would rather he not know either, I figured I wasn’t in a position to be a hypocrite and ask.
When the car pulled into the driveway that led to my garage apartment, I hesitated. The German was still looking out the window; apparently he wasn’t getting out, I guessed. “Hey.”
He didn’t turn to look at me completely, but his jaw flexed. He was like a little freaking kid that was pissed off. Avoiding eye contact and not speaking.
All right. “You know your reputation is just what everyone else thinks of you, your character is what you really are.”
I knew from the moment he licked his bottom lip that he wasn’t yearning for my support. But knowing I was about to get it wasn’t enough warning. “If I needed your inspirational bullshit, I would ask for it.”
Well, all right.
Bottling up my aggravation, I tried to put myself into his shoes. I would hate it if my personal life went public and everyone started talking about it. He was right to be frustrated, but I really was just trying to help. So, okay. Patience. Sure he had experience with being under a worldwide microscope, but that didn’t mean it would get easier to deal with over time, right?
I sucked in a breath through my nose, my hand squeezing the door handle. “I’m only trying to tell you this isn’t the end of the world. You’ll get through this like you always have. At the end of the day, this isn’t a big deal, all right? ”
Kulti kept his attention forward; his index finger went up to scratch at the side of his nose. I could feel the arrogance coming off of him. Good gracious. “How many endorsements do you have?” he asked in a cold voice.
“What does it matter how many endorsements I have?” I replied evenly. I wasn’t going to let him make me feel insignificant just because I didn’t have the backing or the fan base he did.
“You’re a kid with one endorsement who makes in one year what I used to make playing ten minutes of a single game. I don’t think you’re in any position to tell me what’s important and what’s not important.”
Indignation burned my throat. I straightened up my spine and shot him a really miserable look, which would have been a lot more effective if he was actually facing me. Because what a fucking douche-bag. I had this horrible urge to kick him right in the balls. “I’m okay with you being upset that your private life is getting joked about on national television, but I didn’t think you’d be a snob when all I’m trying to do is put this in perspective for you.”
“You don’t know a damn thing,” he muttered.
Jesus Christ. “I know enough. You’re not the only person in the world that’s done something they’ve regretted. So what if you have your license suspended? Whoopty freaking do, Rey. But it’s done and over with, and all that matters is what you do with yourself from now on. Being a prick isn’t the way to go about it. But what do I know? I’m poor and I’m young, right?”
Knowing there was nothing left to do or say, I opened the door and turned my whole body to exit the easiest way possible for my ribs. “Thanks for the ride and for coming with me,” I said right before hoisting myself out.
Nothing. He didn’t say a word as I shut the door.
Well.
