Kulti(143)

“That was brutal,” she muttered, giving me wide eyes.

“My butt hurts from over here,” I agreed, leaning over to take off my socks.

Jenny tipped her head over in Genevieve’s direction discreetly. “What did she say to you during the game?” She’d been the only one who hadn’t heard, I guess.

“She said some stupid crap about me not getting subbed because of Kulti.” I kept my gaze down while I took off my cleats. “She was just being dumb.” Not really in the mood to talk about it, I got up and quickly stripped off the rest of my uniform, wrapping a towel around myself before taking off my underwear and sports bra. “I’m going to hit the showers,” I told her with a smile so she wouldn’t think that I didn’t want to talk to her. I just didn’t want to talk about what Genevieve had said.

I was tired of it. I was tired of a bunch of stuff.

The night before when we’d arrived at the hotel, I had laid in bed and thought about everything Cordero, Gardner, Kulti, Franz and my dad had said. I’d debated calling Eric but ultimately decided against it. He would have said something stupid about how I brought everything upon myself for being friends with someone he hated.

And wasn’t that the shit of it? I’d become really good friends with a moody ass who had nearly ended my brother’s career. Sure, my dad had given me the blessing to move on from it without feeling guilty, but still.

The pumpernickel was still not on speaking terms with me for some reason that I couldn’t comprehend.

I finished showering and getting dressed before hauling it out of the locker rooms toward the vans that were waiting to take us back to the hotel. I had just cleared the last set of doors that led outside the facility when I spotted him waiting off to the side, disguised in the shadows.

I mentally prepared myself for whatever nonsense was about to come out of

his mouth. My gut said it wasn’t going to be pretty, but you never knew, miracles did happen.

The instant the door snapped close, his head moved to face my direction. I didn’t know what to say, so I just pulled my bag up higher on my shoulder and continued walking forward.

He didn’t spare a word and neither did I, as I stopped a few feet away.

“Is there something you want to say?” I asked, a little sharper than I’d intended.

Kulti gave me that slow leisurely blink. “What the hell were you thinking tonight?”

“I was thinking that Genevieve was being a dick and not a team player.” I shrugged at him. “What’s the problem with that, Coach?”

“Why are you saying ‘coach’ like that?” he snapped, picking up on my sarcasm.

I looked at him for a second and then closed my eyes, telling myself to calm down. We’d lost and it was over with. There was no need for me to get riled up. “Look, it doesn’t matter. I know I played like crap, and I’m too tired to argue with you.”

“We’re not arguing.”

My poor eyes squeezed closed. “Whatever you say. We’re not arguing. I’m going to get in the van now, I’ll see you later.”

“Since when do you run away from your problems?” He caught me with a hand to my wrist as I started to turn around.

I stopped and looked him dead on, aggravation simmering in my veins. “I don’t run away from my problems, I just know when I’m not going to win an argument. Right now I’m not going to win against your freaking bipolar ass.”

Kulti dropped his chin. “I am not bipolar.”

“Okay, you’re not bipolar,” I lied.

“You’re lying.”

I almost pinched my nose. “Yes, I’m lying. I don’t know if I’m talking to you, my friend, who would understand why I’d snap at Genevieve during a game, or to my coach, or to the guy I first met who doesn’t give a shit about anything.” I blew out a breath and shook my head. Patience. “I’m tired, and I’m taking everything you’re saying personally. I’m sorry.”

He muttered something in German that I only caught bits and pieces of, but it was enough for me to string it together. It only further pissed me off. Three years of high school German had taught me a few things.

I turned around and leveled a look at him. “The only thing I know for sure is that I don’t know what the hell your problem has been lately, but I’ve had it!”

Kulti’s nostrils flared as a vein in his neck pulsed. “My problem? My problem?” His accent became so much thicker when he was angry; I had to really pay attention to know what he was saying.

“Yes! Your problem. Whatever the hell is up your ass needs to come right back out.”