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He made a positive grunt. “Coaching was the only thing we could agree on. Short and temporary, it seemed the best fit.” Kulti paused as the pads of his thumbs brushed over my trapezius muscles. That made me snicker, and it made the German dig his thumbs into my muscles. “A friend of mine suggested women’s soccer. I did some research—“
I had to save that for later. I wasn’t surprised he admitted he had to do research on women’s soccer. Of course he wasn’t familiar with it.
“—and the U.S. women kept coming up as consistently the best,” he finished, but something nagged at me.
Something didn’t add up.
“Why didn’t you just join the national team staff?” I asked even as his thumbs really dug deep into my shoulders and holyfreakingcrap, it felt great. It’d been months since the last time I’d gotten a massage.
The German let out a sigh that reached all the way to my toes. “Is anything ever enough for you?” His voice was resigned.
He knew the answer. “No.” Then I thought about it and his reluctance and I gasped. “They didn’t want you?”
“No, you little idiot.” He called me an idiot even as he gave me a massage that made my knees go weak, so I couldn’t take it to heart. Actually, it was sort of his own affectionate way of talking to me. “Of course they would have wanted me if I had asked.”
How the hell I fit in the same room as his ego, I had no idea.
“I won’t involve myself in anything if I believe I won’t win,” he stated.
I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see me. “Who likes to lose? I get it.”
Those magical thumbs slid deep around my shoulder blade. “I know you do.”
“Right... so….”
He stopped all movements with his long fingers; the heat from his rough palms radiated through my skin and somehow into my bones. “You’re the best striker in America,schnecke. Look up ‘best goals in women’s soccer’ and four of the top ten are yours. I wasn’t going to waste my time on anything or anyone but the best. With more training, better coaching, you could be the top striker in the world.”
He wasn’t going to…
It’s like my brain stopped working.
I opened my mouth and closed it, at a complete loss for words.
“I came to the Pipers for you.”
What the fuck do you even say to that?
Is there anything to say?
It seemed like the world came out from under my feet. My lungs felt punctured and bereft. Shaken up didn’t even begin to explain how I felt.
Get it together, Sal.
Breathless and unsteady, I released the oven handle and turned around slowly to face Kulti.Focus. Don’t make a big deal out of this.Damn it, it was so much easier said than done. This had been my lifelong dream when I was a kid. To be singled out by The King… remnants of a younger Sal were still in me, rejoicing and throwing Mardi Gras beads in the air at what he said. I couldn’t think about it, not then and possibly not ever.
I came to the Pipers for you.
Jesus Christ. I needed to keep it together.Focus. “I’m not the best but that’s beside the point. You didn’t recognize my last name when you saw the video?”
He gave a smile that could have been sheepish if he was capable of being sheepish. He wasn’t. It was more of a smirk. “I can’t remember every player I’ve ever injured, Sal, and I wouldn’t care to.”
Not surprising at all, but it still made me shake my head. “You’re something else, pumpernickel.” My shoulders relaxed as I took in the very serious face several inches above mine. “So, you came to the Pipers even though you knew you didn’t like coaching.” I purposely skipped the part about how he’d chosen our team.
“Ja.”
“And you still hate us.”
The German lifted a shoulder in the least apologetic shrug ever. “There’s a few of you who should have stopped playing soccer a long time ago.” He blinked. “And one of you I would love to shake on a regular basis.”
