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All right.
The guy was more muscular. A hint of his tattoo peeked out from beneath the sleeve of his shirt and he still had that even flawless skin tone that was somewhere between a creamy white and a perfect light tan.
His hair was that same perfect brown as it’d always been and if it hadn’t been for the touches of gray at his temples, that familiar aspect would have been the same. Basically, it was obvious he’d gotten older and he wasn’t on his feet as much as he’d been for the largest chunk of his life. His build had become more gym-rat than swimmer, and there was not a single thing wrong with that.
But when I zeroed in his face, something just seemed… off. He’d always been good-looking, really good-looking, in his own untraditional way. Kulti didn’t have the symmetrical high-boned features that companies usually looked for when they endorsed athletes. His facial structure was more raw, smart-assedness oozing from the fullness of his mouth and from the bright color of his eyes. He was such a supreme athlete it had never mattered during his career that he didn’t have a patrician face. His confidence was blinding. Clean-shaven for once, the sharp bones of his jaw and cheeks that made his profile so masculine were on all-out display. A few more lines creased out from the corners of his hazel-green eyes than had been there before.
I forgot he was turning forty this year.
The puzzle pieces were all there, but it was like they weren’t put together properly. I knew it wasn’t anything different outward about him. Being in stealth mode, I couldn’t figure out what it was, and it bothered me. My gut recognized a difference in him, but my eyes couldn’t. What was it?
“Will someone pass me a band?” a girl nearby asked, snapping me out of the human Rubik’s cube I was playing.
Realizing I was the closest person to the mini-bands we used for stretching, I grabbed one and passed it to my teammate.
“Everyone circle around!” Gardner called us, like a shepherd calling his sheep.
Which I don’t think any of us really appreciated but all right. Like zombies, the group flocked to him silently, hesitantly. We were bugs being called to the bug zapper, the shiny bright thing that could potentially kill us, only with a man as the attraction. Gardner and Kulti stood together along with the fitness coach and a few other staff members shaking hands and greeting each other.
I fought the urge to swallow because I knew one of the idiots around me would see, and I didn’t need to give Jenny any more room to give me shit about my former Kulti obsession.
“Ladies, I’m pleased to introduce your new assistant coach for the season, Reiner Kulti. Let’s break the ice real quick before we start. If you could go around and introduce yourselves and tell him what position you’re playing…” Gardner trailed off with an eyebrow that dared us all to tell him how stupid and elementary school this was. I hated it then and I wasn’t a fan now.
Without missing a beat, one of the girls closest to Gardner started off the circle of introductions.
I watched him, his face and his reactions. He blinked and tipped his head down each time a player finished talking. One after another, half the group went, and I realized I was near the middle of the semi-circle when Jenny piped in.
“I’m Jenny Milton,” she grinned in that way that always had me grinning back no matter what kind of mood I was in. “Goalkeeper. Nice to meet you.”
I didn’t miss the way his cheek hiked up a millimeter more in reaction to her greeting. You’d have to be the freaking Grinch to not appreciate Jenny. She was one of those people who woke up in an excellent mood and went to sleep with a smile on her face. But when she was mad, I wouldn’t hold murder past her.
Then it was my turn and when those light-colored eyes landed on my face expectantly, I thoughtpoop. Lots of poop. Clog-the-toilet amount of poop.
Like a pro, I amazed myself by not squeaking or stuttering. Those green-brown orbs that were said to be the windows of a person’s soul were right on me. “Hi, I’m Sal Casillas. I’m a forward.” More like a winger, but what was the point in being specific?
“Sal did your press conference,” Sheena, the public relations employee, commented.
I cringed on the inside, and I didn’t miss the tiny snort that escaped Jenny. I ignored it. Bitch.
By the time I looked back at where he was I’d been dismissed. His attention had gone right on to the girl next to me without a moment to spare.
Well. Okay.
I guess I should have been glad I cancelled our wedding preparations years ago.
I gave Jenny a look out of the corner of my eye. “Shut up.”
She waited until the next player stopped talking before replying. “I didn’t say a word.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” she admitted in a whisper that was way too close to a laugh.
My eye twitched on its own. Neither had I.
Ihad just laiddown on my bed after dinner when my phone rang. My legs ached after my morning run, our fitness test and then the landscaping job I helped Marc with most of the afternoon. Considering it was eight at night and I had a tiny number of friends that actually called me occasionally, I had a pretty good idea of who it was. Sure enough, a foreign area code and number showed up on the screen.
“Hi, Dad,” I answered, sliding my cell into the crook between my shoulder and ear.
