Chapter 11 #3
I faltered. For one split second I faltered, and then I found myself again and reached for the door handle. My attention stayed forward. I almost said I was sorry, but that would be a lie. “I’m sure just about anyone would give you a ride if you asked nicely.”
A hand that wasn’t my own pressed down on my window, long fingers with short fingernails extended wide, his palm as big as I remembered from our handshake. “I’m asking you.”
“And I’m not the only person that can give you one. I need to get to work.” I jerked the handle, but the door didn’t budge. At all.
“Casillas.”
Holy shit. My name came out of his—Poop.
I glanced at him over my shoulder; this wasn’t a big deal. So he’d said my name when I didn’t think another player’s name had crossed his lips… hell. Ever?
“I would appreciate it,” his deep voice insisted.
I didn’t say a word. I just jerked on the handle again.
His forearm flexed as he held my door down. “I can pay you,” he offered casually.
The hell?
No one in my life had ever offered to give me money for doing them a favor, because it wasn’t necessary. Here was a person who made more money retired than I would in a decade. He had a freaking driver, yet he wanted to pay me to give him a ride.
Ugh.
What was I doing? I might feel like a badass right now telling him that I wouldn’t take him home, or wherever he was going, but later on there was no doubt I’d feel like an asshole for not doing a favor that was easily within my reach.
I didn’t want to be that person who was an asshole just to be an asshole; it wouldn’t make me any better than this jerk off.
I fought the urge to tip my head back and groan; instead I let out a resigned sigh and waved him on. “I’ll take you.”
Kulti blinked and then quickly nodded, getting in. Wordlessly, I pulled out of the lot and made my way in the same direction we’d gone on Friday.
“Same place?” I asked with only the slightest hint of an attitude in my tone as I pulled onto the freeway.
“Yes” was his solitary answer.
All right. This time I did turn on the radio, and I drove quietly to the same house in the same family neighborhood I’d just been in.
Just as I was pulling over, he started shifting in his seat, and I glanced over to see him pulling a slim black wallet out.
Jesus. I pulled over to the curb in front of the square white stone home. “Don’t.”
His silence was deafening as he sat there, duffel on his lap, one hand on the car door, and the other holding a slim coffee-colored leather wallet.
“I’m giving you a ride as a favor. I don’t want your money,” I explained to him carefully.
He started to pull out a bill from his wallet regardless. “Hey, I’m not joking. I don’t want your money.”
Kulti started to shove a fifty at me. “Here.”
I reached up and cupped his hand, crushing the bill between us. “I don’t want it.”
“Take it.” He pushed against me. I pushed back. “No.”
“Stop being stubborn and take the money,” Kulti argued, his face exasperated.
Well, if he thought he was the only one getting aggravated, he was dead wrong. “I said no. I don’t want it. Just get out.”
It was his turn to start with the one-word replies. “No.”
Screw this. I put some muscle behind it and slowly started pushing our hands back toward him. Well, I made it two inches before he realized what I was doing and then began pushing back, only he was stronger and he advanced more than two inches.
“Quit it. I’m not joking. Take your money.” I grunted a little, putting more weight into my push, almost futilely.
Those green-brown eyes flicked up to meet mine with an even look that had annoyance written all over it. “I said I would pay you—”
“I don’t want your money, you hardheaded ass.” Oh, dear God.
I stopped pushing the second I realized what I said. It must have been so unexpected that he wasn’t paying attention because the next thing that I knew, he was punching me in the shoulder.
It didn’t hurt at all.
But for some reason, instinct had me saying “oww” anyway.
We both looked like we’d violated the other.
Like I’d backstabbed him for saying “oww,” and I was sure I looked at him like I couldn’t believe he had the nerve to hit me.
Sure, it was an accident, and an accident that didn’t hurt on top of that, but… .
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, looking down at his hand like he couldn’t believe what he’d done.
I opened my mouth, and then I closed it.
Reiner Kulti had just punched me in the shoulder.
I had driven him home, argued with him over how I didn’t want his money, and then he punched me in the shoulder.
I closed my eyes, pinched my nose, and burst out laughing. “Get outta here,” I said when I started laughing harder.
“I didn’t mean to—”
I threw my head back against the headrest and felt myself shake with how stupid this was. “I know. I know you didn’t. But just get out. It’s fine. I need to get to work before you punch me in the other shoulder.”
“This isn’t funny,” he snapped. “It was an accident.”
Suddenly I stopped laughing and snapped right back at him, “I know it was, jeez. I was just messing with you.” I gave him a wide-eyed look. “A joke, do you know what that is?”
I mean, I’d already gone for calling him a hardheaded ass, and he hadn’t thought twice about it, but that might have been because he’d punched me immediately afterward.
“Yes, I know what a joke is,” he grumbled back.
Whether it was because I was tired of this shit, his shit, or whatever, I found myself caring less and less who he was and how I should probably treat him differently.
Maybe not totally, but at least a little bit.
“I’m happy to hear that.” I scooped up the fifty bucks that had fallen on my lap after the meeting of his fist and my shoulder and tossed it at him.
“I really do need to get to work though, so….” I tipped my head in the direction of the door at his side, indifferent to how rude I was being.
Did he look confused that I was kicking him out? I thought so, but he didn’t argue, and he took the wadded-up money and held onto it as he got out of the car. Straightening up, he held the door in one hand and looked inside. “Thank you.”
Finally.
I blinked at him and nodded. “You’re welcome.” Just like that, he shut the door.
“CAN you confirm that his license is suspended?” the eager man asked.
I rubbed my eyebrow with the back of my hand and stared at the reporter awkwardly.
What I could confirm was that he had an unreliable driver and I had yet to see him behind the wheel.
Then again, didn’t rich people have drivers?
I’d met a few who did. It wasn’t an uncommon thing.
Hell, if I could afford it, I’d have someone drive me around too.
Driving in traffic, in Houston traffic, sucked.
But his question nagged at me, right alongside the incident at the bar.
Marc had given me the impression he hadn’t carried around any car keys with him, and I’d just never gotten around to investigating or finding out if Kulti had left a car at the bar or not. It wasn’t like I’d really cared anyway.
“I can’t confirm anything; I don’t know. I’m sorry, but I really do need to meet up with the team, I’m running late.” I was. I’d overslept big-time.
“Have you seen him drive?” The man was relentless.
I hadn’t, but I still wasn’t a dick enough to admit it.
He might have been an asshole, but obviously he liked his privacy, and I wasn’t about to throw him under the bus.
Then there was the whole issue with Pipers’ management being really uptight about all things Reiner Kulti related, so I sure as hell wasn’t about to dig myself into that hole.
What did that mean? I needed to abort this mission, pronto. That’s exactly what I did.
“I haven’t paid attention. I’m sorry, but I really do need to get going. Sorry!” I hated being rude, but in the long run, I’d rather come off as a jerk than turn out to be an unemployed person with a big mouth.
His license was being suspended? Wow. Really. Wow.
Whether it was true or not, and regardless of how much it wasn’t my business, I couldn’t help but think about it and how something like that could backfire on the team if the rumor got loose. Shouldn’t his agent or publicist or someone deal with it?
The longer I thought about it during practice, the more convinced I became that maybe I shouldn’t keep quiet about it. Most of the other questions I’d been asked had been harmless, but this wasn’t.
Damn it.
Finally, about an hour into practice, I caught Kulti off to the side, going over our playbook.
As casually as possible, I made my way over, and in a voice just loud enough for only him to hear, I said, “Someone from the Houston Times this morning asked me if I knew about you having your license suspended. I don’t know anything, and that’s what I said, but I thought you should know so you can tell your PR person to take care of it, or whatever it is they do. ”
It didn’t escape me that the moment the nine-letter word made its way out of my mouth, he stopped. His entire body strung itself into a tight immovable bow.
His body language wasn’t mine to analyze, I reminded myself as I walked away to let him absorb what he’d learned.
But seriously, wouldn’t he have needed to get a DUI or a DWI to have a suspended license?
I wasn’t disappointed by the possibility that there was a chance he had one; I’d learned from a friend when I was younger that things like that were more luck-based than anything.
How many people didn’t drive home after having a few drinks?
Sometimes you got caught, and most times you didn’t. Whatever.
Then again I’d grown up reading about Reiner Kulti’s strict regimen. How anal he was about his food and his workouts and his life in general. So…
It’s not your business. It really wasn’t. My business was on the field. I had to remind myself of that.