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“—you shouldn’t have to, and I’m not going to let you buy some of myfuckingshoes that you had to work all day to pay for. While we are at it, I’m not going to let you buy any shoes in this store. Not for you and not for your father,” he snapped. “I can get you whatever you want, just tell me.”
I would have opened my mouth to argue with him, but I couldn’t. I just stood there, looking up at him at a complete freaking loss.
Kulti’s fingertips touched the outside of my wrist, his expression hard and serious. “If you were me, wouldn’t you do the same thing?”
Damn it. “Well, yeah.” I don’t know why I hadn’t noticed before how golden his eyelashes were. “I don’t want to take advantage of you. I swear I didn’t bring you along to guilt-trip you into getting them. I promise. I would have bought them in Houston but—“
I stopped talking when I noticed something in his body language change, when I felt his deep breath wash across my cheek. He looked deflated but not necessarily in a bad way.
He put his hand on top of my head, the bottom of his palm resting just barely on my forehead as he let out another chest-filled breath. “You are…” The German shook his head and sighed. “No one could ever make me do something I don’t want to.”
I could believe that.
“Understand?” He dipped his head. His face, so deeply tanned from years of being in the sun, looked younger for some reason in that instant.
“Yes.”
Kulti nodded. “You would do it for me if you were in my position,schnecke.”
“Did you guys decide if you’re getting the shoes?” an unexpected voice asked from behind me.
It took me a second to tear my eyes away from the almost-hazel ones so close to mine. “I’m sorry for wasting your time, but I’m going to have to pass.”
The frown on the employee’s face wasn’t unexpected. He moved his gaze over the German with even more interest. “Say, you look familiar—“
I hated being rude, but I grabbed the German’s wrist and led him out of the store before the kid could think about it too much more. Once we were out, I let go of his wrist and smiled up at him as we walked through the spacious corridor, but he was already pulling his cell out of his other pocket and pecking at the screen with his thumb.
“I need you to send me RK 10s, size nine and a half—“ The fact he’d paid attention to the shoe size on the box didn’t escape me, ‘’—in men’s… What’s your address?” He turned his attention down to me, and I rattled off my parent’s home address. Kulti repeated it to the person on the other end of the line. “I want them there tomorrow... and a sample of the pair you sent me last week… yes, those.”He hung up, just like that. He just called, said what he wanted and hung up. No thanks, no goodbye, nada.
After he finished putting his phone back into his pocket, he looked down at me and frowned. “What?”
“People don’t get aggravated with you when you’re rude to them?”
Kulti blinked. “No.”
“Never?”
He lifted up a shoulder in the most perfect gesture of how much of a shit he didn’t give.
Good God. “If I hung up on someone like that, which I wouldn’t because it’s not nice, they would tell me to go screw myself.” I blinked at him and thought about what he said. “If you hung up on me like that, I would tell you to go screw yourself. Not that I don’t appreciate you getting the shoes for my dad, but it wouldn’t kill you to be polite, you know.”
He shrugged. He freaking shrugged, and I knew me telling him how he could handle the situation differently wasn’t going to change a single thing.
“This isthe worst game of Uno I have ever played in my entire life.”
Kulti looked up at me from across the table and smiled his little smug baby smile. The freaking bratwurst. “You’re being a sore loser.”
My mom and dad both nodded from their spots on either side of me. I looked at both of them and shook my head. Traitors. “I’m not being a sore loser.” Much. “They kept giving me all their crappy cards so they wouldn’t make you draw!”
“It sounds to me like you don’t know how to lose,” he said calmly, taking the cards from the middle of the table to shuffle.
I made a choking noise and turned my attention to the mute sitting next to me. Dad had said maybe six words in the last three hours. He got home and found the German and I in the driveway washing my car. Dad said exactly two words, “Oh, ah, hi,” gave me a kiss on the cheek and hightailed it inside. We’d eaten dinner my mom made with him saying another two words, “salt” and “si.” And the last two words he’d said were, “yellow” and “blue” when he made us change colors playing cards.
My mom on the other hand, had decided not to be fazed, and it wasn’t like I could blame her. She wasn’t particularly impressed by famous soccer players for longer than a second. Been there, done that.
“You’ve never liked to lose,” Mom noted as Kulti slid a card in her direction, which she took with a smile. “When you were little, you would make us play games over and over again until you won.”
She was right. I remembered being a competitive little kid. Whoops. “You guys are ganging up on me. I’m just saying it’d be a fair game if you two quit making me take more cards every turn.”
