Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It was the knocking.
It was the freaking knocking that finally made me roll out of bed.
I was going to kill whoever was on the other side of the door. Okay, maybe not kill but seriously maim.
The fact that my feet were dragging behind me at ten o’clock in the morning was the first example of how horrible I felt. Though I knew better, I wasn’t actively stretching any of my muscles, which explained why I felt even worse than the day before.
“Coming!” I barked out when the knocking became even more obnoxious.
Murder. Screw it. Maybe I could get away with a crime of passion.
When I looked through the peephole that my dad had installed the minute after he’d finished helping me move in, I thought about slapping myself in the face to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
“Coach?” I asked as I unlocked the top lock and then the bottom, pulling the door open just a crack.
His big German face stared at me through the slit. “Rey is fine. Let me in.”
He would like being called Rey—king in Spanish. I let him in.
Only after I opened the door, did I think about the fact that I’d just rolled out of bed a second earlier.
My hair must have resembled something out of John Frieda’s worst nightmare, and my face…
puffy. It was definitely puffy and drool-stained, definitely.
“I just got up,” I explained weakly, watching him lock the door once he was inside.
“I can tell.” Those brown-green eyes gazed at my face for a second, straying a little lower briefly, before finally taking a look around my small living room. “I called you,” he said absently.
“I put my phone on silent after I called Gardner to tell him I wasn’t coming in,” I explained.
First, I’d slept like complete crap. A comfortable position to sleep in had eluded me the entire night; I’d been miserable.
When my alarm went off at six and I’d rolled over to turn it off, my ribs had told me very calmly that there was no way I was going for a run, much less make it through practice.
Fortunately, in the last four seasons I’d been with the team, I’d missed practice on only one occasion that wasn’t injury related.
My grandfather had died, and I’d flown to Argentina for the over-the-top funeral thousands had attended.
A country in mourning, a telecaster had called it that night when I’d sat in my hotel room watching the news recap the day.
Gardner didn’t even hesitate to tell me to feel better and come back once my mysterious “virus” went away.
I hated lying, but at least I had promised to visit the doctor and stay in bed.
“I see.” He took a couple more steps in, his eyes looking to the small kitchen and the counter island where I had two barstools in lieu of a table.
I stifled a yawn. “Are you okay?”
Kulti inspected me from head to toe, frowning. “I’m fine. I came to make sure you were alive.”
I had a brief flashback to the night before, when he’d rolled down the window as his car sat idling in the driveway, ordering me to take something for the pain. “I’m fine. I feel like roadkill, but I’m all right.”
“You missed practice. You’re not fine.”
He had an excellent point. “I have a doctor’s appointment at noon, just to make sure nothing is broken.”
His expression darkened as he walked around me to head into the kitchen. He stopped after taking two steps and looked over his shoulder, his gaze going to my legs. “Do you ever wear pants?”
“No.” I had shorts on, damn it. Plus, this was Houston. No female wore pants in the summer unless they had to.
He looked for a second longer, glanced up at my face, and then continued his journey into the kitchen. “Do you have tea or coffee?”
I pointed. “Both.”
He made an indiscriminate noise as he searched my kitchen cabinets.
All right. “Well, make yourself at home. I’m gonna go shower and put on some pants, I guess.” I might have given him a dirty look at the mention of putting on bottoms, but he wasn’t paying attention. His back was turned.
Thirty minutes later, I was freshly showered, my teeth brushed, my hair…
well, up in something that could be considered a bun, deodorant applied, jeans that could have passed for leggings, and wearing a real bra, I made an appearance back in the living area of my garage apartment.
Kulti was sitting on the couch, drinking from a black coffee mug with an owl picture on it and watching television.
The fact that the man I’d had on my wall for nearly a decade was sitting on my couch, drinking coffee because he’d come by to check on me, didn’t really hit me much.
I wouldn’t say it was normal, but I wasn’t choking up to talk to him or freaking out that I hadn’t dusted in a couple of weeks. It was just… okay. No big deal.
No big deal that Reiner Kulti was sitting here, hanging out. “Are you hungry?” I was starving. By this point in the day, I’d normally already be on my second meal.
“No,” he replied, still not turning around from his focus on the television.
I eyed him and started looking through my freezer for something easy to cook.
There were some frozen turkey breakfast patties, fruit, and a whole grain baguette.
The frozen fruit I set aside to blend into a smoothie as I got the rest of it ready.
Kulti didn’t say anything as I made my meal, but I knew he was fully aware of what I was doing.
When I was done, I had a blender filled with a weird smoothie of almond milk and leftover frozen fruit. I poured two drinks and put my makeshift breakfast sandwich on a plate.
“Here,” I said, holding a glass over his head from behind.
He took it from me without a word, setting the glass on the coffee table.
Stiffly, I took a seat on the opposite end of the couch, plate on my lap, smoothie on the coffee table, and sat there watching the survival show on the screen.
Kulti manned the side table as I ate my food, making a mess all over myself, because it hurt too much to try and have manners.
“Why do you have so many recordings of this show?” he asked, browsing through my DVR.
“Because I like it,” I told him. Though, okay, it was only the partial truth. I did like it. I also thought the two guys who tried to survive in different conditions and environments were really attractive.
Kulti made a humming noise but clicked on the oldest episode at the top. I definitely wasn’t going to complain.
Not even fifteen minutes into the show, the German completely turned his entire body in my direction, his face suspicious.
I set the plate on my lap and blinked. “What?”
“You like them or the show?”
Oh brother. Marc had laughed hysterically when I admitted how hot I found the two men—they were in their early forties, both graying, one at an early stage of hair loss, but I didn’t care.
They were really attractive, and the whole survival thing only helped.
What did I have to be ashamed about? “Them, mostly.”
Kulti’s facial expression didn’t change, but his tone said it all. “You’re joking.” He couldn’t believe it. What was the problem? They were both good-looking.
“No.”
He blinked those green-brown eyes at me. “Why?” he asked, like I’d just told him I drank my own pee.
I picked the plate up and held it directly under my mouth before taking a bite of my sandwich. “Why not?”
“You are young enough to be their daughter,” he ground out. “One of them doesn’t have hair on half his head.”
I took another bite of my food and watched him carefully, not even thinking it was weird that he seemed so outraged at who I found attractive. “First off, I doubt they’re old enough to be my dad, and secondly, I couldn’t care less about a bald spot.”
Kulti shook his head slowly.
Okay. “They’re both in good shape, have nice smiles and nice faces.” I glanced at the screen. “And I like their beards. What’s wrong with that?”
His mouth gaped a millimeter.
“What?”
“Do you have father issues?”
“What? No. My dad’s great, jeez.”
His mouth still hadn’t closed that tiny gap. “You like old men.”
I bit both my lips, eyes wide. I was sure my nose flared a little bit. How close to the truth he was, and it almost made me laugh. Instead, I shrugged. “I wouldn’t say old, merely… mature?”
Kulti stared at me for so long I started laughing.
“Stop looking at me like that. I don’t think I’ve ever been attracted to guys my own age. When I was younger…” I’d been in love with you, I thought but didn’t say out loud. “I thought they were dumb, and then it just stuck,” I explained.
He still didn’t say a word.
“Quit it. Everyone has a type. I’m sure you do.”
Kulti blinked. “I’m not attracted to senior citizens.”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, fine. You don’t like older men or women.”
He ignored my jab at him being attracted to men. “I don’t have a type,” he said slowly.
Yes, he did, and I knew exactly what it was. “Everyone is attracted to certain things, even you.”
Those hazel-green eyes blinked at the speed of a moving glacier. “You want to know what I’m attracted to?”
I was thirty seconds too late to realize that I didn’t want to know after all.
Did I want to hear him spout off prerequisites I didn’t fit?
No. Hell no. While I completely understood his place in my life, that didn’t mean I wanted to be the antithesis of Reiner Kulti’s dreams. My pride could only handle so much.
But it wasn’t like I could back down by that point. Gritting my teeth, I nodded. “Go for it since you think I’m such a weirdo.”
“I like legs.” Legs? “And?”
His eyes narrowed just barely. “Confidence.”
“Okay.”
“Nice teeth.”
Hmm.
“A beautiful face.”
My eyelid may have started twitching.
“Someone who makes me laugh.”
The twitching went into overdrive. “Are you making stuff up?” Because, really? Kulti laughing? Ha.
“Is there something wrong with my list?” he asked with a stony, even glare.