“Franz!” I walked toward the older man, bypassing Kulti, to give him a hug. “I didn’t know you were coming!”
He hugged me in return, two quick taps to my spine. “My business in Los Angeles didn’t take as long as I had anticipated.”
“Well, thank you so much for coming back,” I told him.
Someone made a grumpy noise. “Sal.”
Franz let out a short laugh as he let go of me, stepping back. His face was tipped down, open and easy, as he whispered, “Someone is territorial, hmm?”
I turned to look at the man whose gaze was burning a hole into my skull. Pretzel face territorial? I highly doubted it, but I found myself way too pleased by his scowl.
“Are you going to introduce me?” I asked, gesturing toward the popular goalie.
“No.” He kept that damn insolent look on his face, his arms extending wide in a universal gesture I was becoming familiar with.
Curling my lips over my teeth, I raised my eyebrows at him. God, someone was in a freaking mood and it put me into an excellent one. The smile on my face grew even bigger.
He flicked his own eyebrows up at me. Those dark brown, thick slashes went up and back down, silently telling me that he wasn’t going to introduce me until he got what he wanted.
For one second, I thought about ignoring him and just introducing myself, but…
Kulti liked to play games, and I liked to win them.
Somehow I managed not to smile as I stepped forward and hugged him, silently worrying that he would make me look like an idiot if he didn’t actually go through with it and hug me back. I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time he acted like I had cooties. I just hugged him and I hugged him tight.
Completely catching me off-guard, Kulti, my freaking German with supposedly no conscience, pressed his cheek to the top of my head and wrapped himself around me. He hugged me back. His body was hard and tense as he did it, but it was different. It wasn’t an angry hug; it was something else. It was like when I was a kid and would hug the crap out of my dog because I loved him so much.
Like that—but not.
When he finally pulled away, I glanced up. I didn’t take it personally that he wasn’t smiling down at me. He was just glaring, well really more like glowering, but whatever. I gave him another hug, and felt the weight of his arm settle over my shoulder.
It stayed there.
The other man was a goalie named Michael Kimmons. He was taller than Kulti and just a little older than me.
“Hey, it’s nice to meet you. Thanks for coming.” I thrust my hand out at him when I felt the German’s arm clamp down the instant I introduced myself.
“Mike Kimmons,” he said with a hard shake.
“Sal Casillas.”
“I know your brother Eric,” he threw in. “We play together.”
I nodded at him and smiled.
“You mentioned to me he plays, too. Where?” Franz asked in a curious tone.
“He’s on loan to Madrid right now,” I explained.
“I had no idea.” The second German nodded with a slight frown. Before he’d retired, he’d played for Madrid’s top opponent, Barcelona. “Do your parents play?”
“Oh no. My dad has asthma and my mom,” the gigantic bicep surrounding my neck like a boa constrictor bulged, “isn’t exactly a fan.”
For one stinking moment, I had the fear that Kulti would say something about who my mom’s dad was. One brief, painful moment I imagined him spilling the beans because it was something impressive to say in front of people who would think it was interesting. I really thought he might.
He didn’t.
He steered the conversation away. “We’ll split up into two groups,” he ordered and I let him, because it had become evident to me that he was starting to enjoy these days playing with the kids. It almost made me feel a little bad that there was only one camp left after today.
The day went fine. Mike Kimmons was a little too serious for the kids, but some of them recognized him and it made up for him not playing around with them much. Kulti offered to be paired up with him for some reason, and I tackled the other group with Franz.
Once the three hours had passed and most of the kids had left, Franz pulled me aside while Kulti continued taking pictures with a few straggling participants and their parents.
The older German gave me a serious look. “I overheard something while I was in Los Angeles, and I need to tell you.”
Fuck. Preparing someone for news was never a good thing. My Big Girl Socks went on. “Okay.”
He cast a glance in Kulti’s direction before hurrying through what he felt the need to tell me. “There’s a rumor you will be traded to New York at the end of this season.”