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.