Page 149 of Kulti


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He gave me a heavy-lidded glare but didn’t say anything before following me over to registration.

Needless to say, the kids went wild when they saw the German. Me, they could have given less of a shit about. Kulti, they were losing it over. They listened to him and were excited out of their minds when we began different drills and exercises.

The bratwurst was right. We were a good team. I had just as much fun with him as I had with Franz if not more, because of the amount of playful shit-talking we had going on with each other.

A crowd triple the size of the one we had on the field, formed on the far end of the school’s blacktop throughout the duration of camp. Camera flashes continued going off, but luckily no one approached us—and by ‘us’ I mean Kulti—while we were busy. I just pretended they weren’t there and told myself to keep acting normal.

When the time came around for us to wrap up, I let Kulti tell his young fans that they were all getting a pair of his latest edition RK running shoes. Any passerby would have thought the kids had been told that they’d won the lottery from the way they reacted. The German hadn’t been joking. There were more than enough shoes for all the kids.

“Can I get one of just the two of you?” the mom of one of the kids asked after we’d taken a picture with her son.

“Sure,” I said, right before the German threw an arm around my shoulder and hauled me up to his side, roughly and deliberately.

Well.

I whacked him in the hard slab he called his stomach with a smile.

“I know this isn’t my place to say anything,” the lady gushed once the picture was taken. “I thought the age difference was a little strange, but seeing you together, it makes perfect sense. You two are stinking cute.”

My face went hot. “Oh, it’s not—“ I started to say before the German reeled me up against him.

“Thank you for bringing your son,” he cut me off.

Thank you for bringing your son?

I almost choked.

The second we were alone, I held my arms out to my sides. He had given those people the wrong impression of our relationship. “What the hell was that?”

He gave me a bored look as he began collecting the cones scattered around the field. “People will believe whatever they want to believe. There’s no point in telling them otherwise.”

Maybe he had a point, but still.

“Rey.” The palm of my hand went to my forehead. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. The stuff I hear on the field is bad enough.”

“Ignore them.”

It was so easy for him to say that when he wasn’t the one hearing it constantly. “I just don’t want it to get worse. That’s all.”

The cone he had been in the middle of grabbing landed back on the ground. He turned his entire body in my direction. “Is the idea of a relationship with me that distasteful?”

The fuck? “What?”

He settled his hands on his slim hips. “You don’t find me attractive? You like older men, you told me so. I’m only twelve—thirteen—years older than you.”

I woke up that morning thinking it was going to be a day like every other. Apparently it wasn’t. What the hell was I supposed to say?

The truth. Blah.

I found myself scratching at my cheek. “You are attractive. You’re very attractive and you know it, you conceited bastard. And you’re not too old. It’s just that…” I coughed. “You’re my coach and my friend,” I added absently, like that was supposed to be the big reason why I couldn’t look at him any different. Unfortunately, I now knew the truth: it was a bit too late for that crap.

His response? “I haven’t forgotten.”

What hadn’t he forgotten?

“Stop worrying about what everyone thinks. You’re the one that said the only thing that matters is what you know about yourself.” He kept right on looking at me until I nodded. “Let’s finish up, yes?”

In less than twenty minutes we were finished putting all the equipment back and helping the teachers put away the tables they had borrowed. I thanked them profusely for their help and watched as Kulti grabbed my bag and the water bottles that had been left over, hauling it all to my car.

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