Chapter 15 #2
I would never forgive her for it, despite how horrible I felt about her husband, ex-husband, estranged husband, whatever the hell that asswipe was now.
I steadied my heart and shook my head. “Grow up.”
Her blue eyes flared with indignation. “Fuck you.”
Oh brother. “Really? Fuck me? That’s the best you can come up with? I’m a whore, a bitch, and a slut, and I can also fuck myself. Real nice. I wish everyone could hear how pleasant you are in person.”
“You are a slut, you home-wrecker.”
Guilt flashed through my belly, but I beat it back like I had every other time.
I wasn’t a home-wrecker. I wasn’t. I felt terrible, fucking terrible, but it wasn’t like anything had been intentional.
I would never in a million years be interested in a married man, but when you don’t know he’s married…
. “I’m sorry, all right? I’ve told you I was sorry about a hundred times, and you know it.
If I could go back in time and mind my own business, I would.
So, stop. You got what you wanted, and you should be happy and let it go.
It’s been three years; it’s about time you quit with your shit. ”
Beautiful Amber, with her great legs and competitive spirit, bristled. “Don’t tell me what to do. I hate your fucking guts, Sal.”
Acid stirred in my chest. “I know you do, and trust me, I’m not your fan club president either. I just don’t feel the need to remind you of it every time I see you.”
She wanted to fight. I could tell. She had the same look on her face that she’d had three years ago when she approached me during practice one day, three days after I’d gone on a second date with her husband.
“That’s why I hate you. You always think you’re so much better than everyone, but you’re not.
You’re even more of a bitch because you fool everybody with that angel act.
I know the truth—I know you’re a fucking whore. ”
Getting called that? Yeah, it wasn’t exactly fun and games. I would definitely never admit that out loud or show it to someone like her, but it was the truth. Sticks and stones and all that crap.
“You,” the voice from behind me said, “run along before I call Mike Walton and repeat what you said to him.”
Who Mike Walton was, I had no idea.
But the person behind me? I definitely knew him. The bratwurst.
From the look on Amber’s face, as the footsteps behind me got louder with Kulti’s approach, she knew exactly who both Kulti and Mike Walton were. Her face might have paled, but it was too dark to know for sure. What I did know was that she was pissed. Real pissed.
“Today,” Kulti snapped.
The rate at which she moved said exactly what words didn’t. Amber was one of the stars of the national team and had been for years. A few months ago, I’d seen a lotion commercial with her in it. She wasn’t used to having someone tell her what to do.
He didn’t even wait until she was out of earshot before he asked, “What’s her name?”
“Amber Kramer,” I replied, looking over my shoulder.
His face didn’t register the name. “Never heard of her.” He turned his head to look at me. “Do you want to tell me what that was about?”
I said exactly what I meant. “Not really.” I’d gone this long with keeping what happened between me and a select group of people, mainly members of the national team back when I’d been on it.
It was how Jenny and Harlow knew. Having more people know about one of the dumbest things I’d ever done wasn’t exactly on my list of things to accomplish.
And though I’d been assured I wasn’t to blame, I thought I was smarter than to fall for someone’s lies.
He hadn’t been wearing a wedding band or even had the tan line for one, damn it.
“I heard what she called you.”
Shame filled my belly, and I felt my face get all warm, indignation flaring up in my throat. “I’m not like that.”
“You don’t have to tell me you’re not.” The expression on my face must have been unsure enough that he stared me right in the eyes as he said, “I’ve met a lot of women in my life. The only women I don’t like are the ones who are interested in a person’s money and fame.”
His second sentence was the one I got hung up on. The thought of him and a lot of women was probably an understatement. For some reason, I found the idea disgusting. “I’m sure you have.”
I knew how bad some girls were with college soccer players, and I’d seen firsthand how women reacted around my brother.
Some of the guys weren’t even attractive, or had particularly unkind personalities, but regardless after a game, they were swatting groupies off left and right.
And Kulti, well Kulti was on a level of his own. I couldn’t imagine.
And for one brief second, something flared in the pit of my stomach. It was jealousy or something equally stupid, that I could blame on the thirteen-year-old Sal who still lived inside me someplace.
I stomped her back down to her little room under the stairs and smiled weakly. Still feeling a little weird that I’d run into Amber and that he’d overheard her calling me something ugly, I really wanted to get home. Gesturing toward the parking lot, I asked, “Do you need a ride?”
“My driver is here.” He pointed to a corner of the lot furthest away, in the same direction as my car.
I nodded at him, and we started walking, looking back to make sure there weren’t any other Kulti fans standing around like there had been at our last home game.
Parked a lot closer than he was, I pointed at my car.
“If you’re free tomorrow, I can squeeze in a quick game if you promise not to play too rough or long. ” I needed the rest.
“Where?”
It took a second for me to think of a field; the one that came to mind was a small one, but it worked. I rattled off the name. “Need an address?”
He shook his head. “What time?” We agreed that the earlier the better. “Your foot will be fine?” he asked.
“As long as you don’t step on it,” I said, dropping my bag into my trunk. “Good night, Coach.”
“Gute nacht,” he responded, tipping his head as an indication for me to get in my car.
I got in and waved at him through the rearview mirror.
9:30?
It was 9:29 the next morning when I was pulling alongside the curb to Kulti’s home.
I was picking him up. Poop.
I looked at the house through my passenger window and took in the big new two-story construction.
He’d sent me a message at eight in the morning, asking if I could come by to get him after all.
I didn’t ask why he couldn’t have his fancy driver take him to the field, but did I wonder? Of course I did.
I was picking up The King from his house to go play soccer. At no point in my life had I had any signs that this would ever happen. This was friendship or something like it—even if it felt like driving to his house was more of a date than hanging out.
I got out and marched up to the door he’d walked up to on all those occasions I dropped him off. The house was big, but not obnoxiously large, despite the fact it was at least twice the size of the home I’d grown up in. But who cared? I’d been in bigger houses before.
Ringing the doorbell, I took two steps back and found myself clasping my hands behind me while I waited. Less than a minute later, the door swung open and Kulti stood there, dressed in black athletic shorts and a blue T-shirt, holding a big glass of something green.
“Come in,” he ordered, standing to the side to let me in.
I did, trying to be discreet as I looked around at the bare cream walls. “Good morning.”
“Morning.” He closed the door. “I need ten minutes.”
“Okay.” I eyed both him and his drink as he walked around me and headed down the main hallway of his house.
It was impossible not to notice how empty the walls were, or when we walked by the doorway leading into his living room, how there was only a three-seater couch with a massive television in front of it.
No framed jerseys or mounted trophies, no signs of who the owner of the house was.
The next doorway led into a stainless steel and granite countertop kitchen.
Big, open, and airy, it looked like a more expensive version of something out of an IKEA catalogue.
“There’s water, milk, and juice,” he said going in, already tipping his green glass back to chug down whatever concoction he was drinking without a single flinch.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I answered absently, admiring the view of the backyard from the big window above the sink.
There wasn’t much to it besides newly laid grass that could use a good watering.
Most of the lots in the neighborhood had been old homes that had been torn down to build these new ones, and the house took up so much space it only left a small rectangular yard that didn’t have much room for anything besides a patio set, if he’d wanted one.
Kulti brushed up against me as he leaned into the sink to rinse out his glass.
I leaned away from the view and him. “Your house is really nice.”
He seemed to absently look around the kitchen, nodding.
“Did you just move in?”
“Two months now, I think,” Kulti answered.
What a freaking talker. I watched as he placed his glass inside the dishwasher. “This is a really nice neighborhood.” I cleared my throat.
He shrugged. “It’s quiet.”
Something about what he said nipped me. “No one knows you live here, huh?”
The German shot me an incredulous look I couldn’t comprehend before answering. “No one.” He kept on giving me that strange look. “I’m ready to go now.”
So he didn’t want anyone to know where he lived. That wasn’t surprising, but I let it drop. “Let’s go.”
Kulti had a bag waiting in his nearly empty living room and followed out after me, setting the alarm and locking the door. The Audi he’d been riding around in was parked in the driveway when I peeked through the wrought-iron fence that sectioned off the back part of his house.
“So none of your neighbors know you live here?” I asked again once we’d gotten inside the car.