“No, you little idiot.” He called me an idiot even as he gave me a massage that made my knees go weak, so I couldn’t take it to heart. Actually, it was sort of his own affectionate way of talking to me. “Of course they would have wanted me if I had asked.”
How the hell I fit in the same room as his ego, I had no idea.
“I won’t involve myself in anything if I believe I won’t win,” he stated.
I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see me. “Who likes to lose? I get it.”
Those magical thumbs slid deep around my shoulder blade. “I know you do.”
“Right... so….”
He stopped all movements with his long fingers; the heat from his rough palms radiated through my skin and somehow into my bones. “You’re the best striker in America, schnecke. Look up ‘best goals in women’s soccer’ and four of the top ten are yours. I wasn’t going to waste my time on anything or anyone but the best. With more training, better coaching, you could be the top striker in the world.”
He wasn’t going to…
It’s like my brain stopped working.
I opened my mouth and closed it, at a complete loss for words.
“I came to the Pipers for you.”
What the fuck do you even say to that?
Is there anything to say?
It seemed like the world came out from under my feet. My lungs felt punctured and bereft. Shaken up didn’t even begin to explain how I felt.
Get it together, Sal.
Breathless and unsteady, I released the oven handle and turned around slowly to face Kulti. Focus. Don’t make a big deal out of this. Damn it, it was so much easier said than done. This had been my lifelong dream when I was a kid. To be singled out by The King… remnants of a younger Sal were still in me, rejoicing and throwing Mardi Gras beads in the air at what he said. I couldn’t think about it, not then and possibly not ever.
I came to the Pipers for you.
Jesus Christ. I needed to keep it together. Focus. “I’m not the best but that’s beside the point. You didn’t recognize my last name when you saw the video?”
He gave a smile that could have been sheepish if he was capable of being sheepish. He wasn’t. It was more of a smirk. “I can’t remember every player I’ve ever injured, Sal, and I wouldn’t care to.”
Not surprising at all, but it still made me shake my head. “You’re something else, pumpernickel.” My shoulders relaxed as I took in the very serious face several inches above mine. “So, you came to the Pipers even though you knew you didn’t like coaching.” I purposely skipped the part about how he’d chosen our team.
“Ja.”
“And you still hate us.”
The German lifted a shoulder in the least apologetic shrug ever. “There’s a few of you who should have stopped playing soccer a long time ago.” He blinked. “And one of you I would love to shake on a regular basis.”
I grinned at him before reaching forward to thump him on the shoulder. “Trust me; I’ve had the urge to punch you in the face a time or five.”
“There’s that temper again. A nice girl would never think about punching someone,” he said with that stupid smirk. “How many people have you punched before?”
“No one,” Jeez Louise, “in at least ten years. I’ve thought about it a hundred times but I haven’t actually gone through with it. Come on.”
He gave me a look that easily replaced a raised eyebrow, making a point about me thinking about doing things again.
Asshole. “It’s too obvious and you know it. There’s no way to get away with it.”
The German nodded in agreement. “True. How many players have you elbowed before?”
“Enough,” I answered truthfully, knowing that my number would still and forever be a fraction of his.
“You have the most fouls on the team,” Kulti noted, which surprised the shit out of me. “More than Harlow.”
It was my turn to shrug. “Yeah, but it’s not because I elbow people left and right. I haven’t done that since I was a kid and got kicked off a league for it,” I explained to him with a grin.
“Such a great deal of anger for such a small body.” A small smile cracked his lips. “Your parents? What did they think?”
“My mom chewed me out about it. My dad did too, but only when she was around. When she wasn’t, he’d high-five me and tell me the other girl had it coming.” We both laughed. “I love that man.”
Kulti smiled gently, taking a step back only to grab two bowls out of the cabinet. I shot him a look as I poured half of the popcorn into each one and followed him around to the couch, where we took the same seats we’d left. Knowing that I was pushing my luck, I went for it anyway. “What about your parents? Did they go to your games?” I remembered when I was younger at the height of his career, cameras would zoom in on an older couple in the stands, pointing out that they were Reiner Kulti’s parents.