“I really wanted to win.”
His answer was to rub my back, his fingers sliding beneath the thick straps of my sports bra.
“I hate losing,” I told him like he didn’t completely understand, pressing my face deeper between his pecs. “And they think I don’t care that we lost. Why would someone think I’m a robot?”
Kulti just kept right on rubbing, his fingers cool and rough on my damp skin.
I sniffed. “And now you’re stuck here, and I didn’t even win. I’m so sorry, Rey.”
His fingers burrowed even deeper under my sports bra, the seams popping in protest of what he was doing as his palm lay flush against my skin. “You aren’t going anywhere without me.”
Say what? I reared my head back enough to look at his face, indifferent to how much of a wreck I had to be. “But you told—“
Kulti’s face was gentle. His eyes were brighter than ever. “I have so much to teach you, Taco,” he said with a flick of his eyebrow. “Unless you have something in writing, there would never be proof of an agreement to begin with.”
This ruthless shit. I should have been shocked that he lied to Cordero, but I wasn’t. Not at all. I laughed but it was one of those laughs that you let out so you didn’t keep crying. “You’re such an asshole.” But I loved him anyway.
His mouth tipped up, just barely. “Ready to leave?”
I nodded, cleared my drowning throat and took a step back. “Let me get my things first. I don’t want to be here anymore.”
I hesitated for one second as we turned and spotted some of the girls staring. They must have been the group that just passed us. This hard ball of resolve formed in my belly, and I slipped my fingers through Kulti’s.
Screw it. The season was over. I was done, tapped out.
I grabbed his hand, and he smiled.
We’d taken maybe eight steps when he asked, “Who called you a robot?” in such a sweet, sincere voice it was easy to believe it was a casual question.
But I knew him too well, and by that point, I didn’t even care. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters,” he replied in that same tone. “Was it the same player that told Cordero about you calling me a bratwurst?”
I stopped walking so abruptly it took him a step to realize it. “You know who told him?”
“The nosey one. Gwenivere,” he replied.
“Genevieve?” I coughed.
“Her.”
My eye. My eye twitched. Freaking Genevieve? “Your manager told you?”
He nodded.
I swallowed. Unbelievable. What a backstabbing bitch. Holy shit.
“Your face says enough,” he said, tugging me back to continue walking. “I’ll wait for you out here.”
I smiled at the small group and gave his palm a quick squeeze before disappearing into the mostly empty locker room. I should have stayed, listened to Gardner talk about the season, but I couldn’t. I grabbed all of my things, stuffed them into my duffel bag and left. Tomorrow I would go back and return what wasn’t mine. I could also see Jenny and Harlow before they left to go home.
I found Kulti standing against a wall giving Genevieve and the other girls standing by the door a look that could have boiled someone’s flesh right off. I wasn’t going to ask. I raised my eyebrows at him, and just before we took off, I smiled over at the women, choosing one word and one word only: “Bye.”
Have a good life, I added in my head. I had high hopes I would.
“Come on,” Kulti murmured, leading me through the group of reporters crowding the exit.
He shouldered them out of the way, and I kept walking, not giving a crap that I should have said something to them. It seemed to take a year to make it to his car.
I slid in first, watching as he followed after me, pressing that long, muscular build against mine. His arm slipped over my shoulder as he angled into me, smothering me with his broad chest. That was all he did. He didn’t tell me not to keep being disappointed or angry. Kulti didn’t tell me everything would be fine. Kulti just kept on holding me until we made it to my garage apartment.
Wordlessly, we went up the stairs and he unlocked the door. He dumped my bag in its usual spot. I told him I was going to shower. The next few minutes all seemed like a blurry dream, and I took a lot longer than usual. By the time I finished, I was proud of myself for not crying more than I had. I mean, grown men cried in football when they lost, it would have been fine for me to bawl too…
If I was a baby.
I’d cried enough at the stadium.
It wasn’t the end of the world. It really wasn’t. I would keep telling myself that until I got over it.
Kulti was waiting in the kitchen when I finally ambled out of my bathroom. He shot me a look over his shoulder as he scraped something out of a skillet and onto two plates. “Sit.”