Chapter 19 #8
By the time I made it back to the guest room, Kulti was already lying in bed with the sheets pulled up halfway to his stomach, his legs propped up, and his tablet reclining against them.
I grabbed my nightclothes and stuff from my bag and went back into the bathroom to shower, and put on another long T-shirt and socks that went up almost to my knees.
“Are we going for a run in the morning?” Kulti asked from his spot on the bed once I was back in the room, pulling out a new set of running clothes for the next day.
“As long as you can keep up again,” I teased him, setting the clothing on top of my bag and turning around to see him scowling at me.
Not saying a word, I winked and climbed up to the top bunk, settling in before I remembered what my dad had said.
I got up to my knees and leaned over the edge so I could see him, sitting there on the too-small-for-him bed.
“Thanks for helping me today with the yard. My dad asked me to say thank you too.”
Squeaky clean and so relaxed looking on the bed I’d grown up in, Kulti looked refreshed. He tipped his chin down. “It was my pleasure.”
I flashed him a smile and sat back up, crawling under the covers one more time. I’d barely pulled them up to my chest when Kulti spoke again.
“That was my first time using a lawn mower.”
I fucking knew it! I didn’t say that of course; instead, I stuck with a very grown-up, “Oh really?”
There was a pause before he kept going. “I enjoyed it. I can see why you went to school for it. It’s fitting.”
Wait a second, wait a second. I knew for a fact that I’d never once told Kulti that I got my degree in landscaping.
He’d never asked, not once. Sure, I had told him out of anger that I did landscaping work, if he hadn’t already known, but that was the extent of it.
There wasn’t a single doubt in my mind that I had never mentioned what university I went to school at, much less what I majored in.
“How do you know what I went to school for?” I asked him casually. I was sure I was making some kind of stupid face.
“I looked you up. You have it on your profile,” he said without skipping a beat.
What? I sat up again and looked over the edge of the bunk bed. “You did?”
Even upside down, I recognized that he nodded. “Yes.”
“You… have an account?”
He might have frowned, but I wasn’t positive with all the blood rushing to my head. “Get down before you fall over the side of the bed and give yourself more brain damage than you already have.”
Rolling my eyes, I did as he said but only because it wouldn’t be the first time I’d fallen off a bunk bed. I climbed down way too quickly and went and sat on the edge of his mattress, way too interested. “You use social media?”
Kulti stared at me. “Yes.” Then he added, “I have a fake account.”
“No!” I laughed.
“Yes,” he confirmed.
“Can I see it?”
The German looked like he wanted to deny my request, but he finally nodded and, a minute later, handed me his tablet. The blue and white page had “Michel Reiner” at the top and some bogus, generic picture of a sunset as the profile picture. His number of friends? 25.
Twenty-freaking-five.
I looked at him over the top of the tablet and felt my heart break just a bit. “Do you know how many people like your fan page?”
He shrugged. I looked it up.
The Reiner Kulti Official Fan Page had one hundred and twenty-five million likes.
And “Michel Reiner” had twenty-five.
Something watery pooled in my throat as I handed him back his tablet. “I don’t get on there much, but you could add me as a friend if you wanted to,” I offered in a wobbly voice.
“What an honor,” the bratwurst said, but he said it with a small smile, so I knew he didn’t mean it like an asshole.
I still reached under the cover and pulled his leg hair. At least I hoped it was his leg hair.
Whatever it was, he let out a grunt-squeak noise of surprise as he jerked away, a big smile on his face that seemed to fit into skin that wasn’t accustomed to forming those types of facial expressions. “Do it again, Sal, and you’ll get it right back.”
I made sure he was watching when I crossed my eyes at his threat. “I don’t have hair on my legs, so good luck with that.” I eyed the small screen again. “Who else are you friends with on there?”
“Some old teammates, my mother, my manager, and publicist.” He tapped my name into the search and hit the “add” button once my page came up. “You.”
My phone beeped a second later, and I saw the alert of a pending friend request. I accepted it and set my phone back down on the dresser before taking the seat I’d left next to the German.
The German who was already busy browsing my profile.
“Nosey much?” I asked.
He grunted, clicking on my main album and scrolling down.
They were mainly all pictures that friends or family members had posted and linked me to.
Birthdays, games, get-togethers, more games…
it was a timeline of the last eight years of my life through other people’s eyes.
Kulti didn’t say anything as he looked through them, until he suddenly stopped scrolling.
“Who is this?” he asked.
He didn’t need to point at the picture for me to know who he was referring to, and honestly, I was a little surprised Adam still had pictures of us up. We hadn’t been together in five years, and he’d dated more than a few girls since then.
But there we were on the screen.
I was in my early twenties, him in his late twenties, and me on his lap with his arm around my waist. My ex-boyfriend of four years was blond, built like an Abercrombie model, really cute, and just as nice as he’d been attractive.
“That’s really old. It’s my ex-boyfriend,” I explained to the German.
The man who rarely used words didn’t change his tactic, but he slowly started looking through more pictures with dozens more of Adam and me popping up along the timeline.
It made me feel a little sad that I hadn’t tried harder to work things out with him.
We’d always gotten along really well, and he’d been the exact person I needed and wanted back then.
“How long were you together?” he asked once we’d scrolled three years further back.
“Four years. We met my second year in college.”
“He looks like an idiot.”
It took me a moment to comprehend what came out of his mouth, but it made me laugh once it finally took hold. I nudged him with my elbow. “You’re rude. He wasn’t an idiot. He was really nice.”
Those green-brown eyes slid over to me. He didn’t look amused. In fact his jaw was tight, and he looked a little pissed off. “You’re defending him?” He sounded like he couldn’t believe it.
“Yeah. He was really nice. He’s the only man I’ve ever really dated, Rey. We’d probably still be together if I would have wanted to have kids right after college.”
Kulti’s head jerked to look at me directly.
“What?” I asked, surprised by his expression.
“Have you kept in contact with him?”
I shrugged. “He calls me between girlfriends, but that’s it.”
“To get back together?” Why his voice was so low I couldn’t understand, and I gave him a weird look.
“Yeah, but it wouldn’t happen. He’s slept around a lot since we split.
I’m not one of these girls that think men who have slept with hundreds of women are sexy.
That’s gross. I don’t loan my body out to just anyone, and I don’t like the idea of a bunch of girls knowing what someone I love’s penis looks like, you know? ”
A muscle in Kulti’s jaw ticked, and I swore his eye twitched.
Then I realized what had just come out of my mouth.
“No offense to you. It’s your business whatever you decide to do with yourself. I’m not going to judge. I’m just old-fashioned and picky. That’s probably why I haven’t been in a relationship since him, huh?”
His eye definitely twitched that time, and I felt bad for pretty much calling him an unattractive man-whore.
“Look, I’m sorry. Just because I can’t imagine being intimate with someone I don’t love doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with it. It’s not for me. Different strokes for different folks.”
Kulti’s eye twitched again. I didn’t miss the way he was biting down hard and making his cheek flex either.
“What?” I asked when he didn’t say anything. Nothing.
The German tipped his head back and closed his eyes, his fingers going for the bridge of his nose. One inhale, one exhale. Another inhale, one more exhale. What the hell was wrong with him?
“Rey, are you okay?”
One eye opened as his chest puffed. “Stop talking about sex.”
Jeez. “Okay. Sorry. I didn’t take you to be a prude.”
He choked, his other eye opening. But did he say a word?
No, he didn’t.
I sat there waiting for him to make another comment, but nothing came out of his mouth.
I really hadn’t taken him as a person who would get offended so easily.
The “s” word hadn’t even come out of my mouth, much less anything raunchier.
So I didn’t completely understand why he was getting so bent out of shape.
When he continued to say nothing and he kept looking at the support for the bottom of the top bunk bed, I fidgeted. “Can I see your tattoo now?” He’d been a little too secretive about it, and I’d been wondering what the hell he was hiding all day.
Mr. Secret’s chin moved just a tiny bit to the side before he nodded almost belligerently.
Setting his tablet flat on the bed, he arranged his body to the side and carefully pulled the sleeve of his undershirt up.
Where less than forty-eight hours ago there had been a tattoo nearly as old as me, a cross, it had been covered as if by magic with the outline of a bird. It was a beautiful, regal-looking bird.
“A phoenix,” Kulti explained like he could read my mind.