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Kulti palmed my knees again. That handsome face that had aged gracefully was solemn, but he looked me dead in the eye as he spoke. “You’re going to keep playing. I promise you, Sal. I would never put your career at risk.”
I sniffled and made a watery noise in my throat, my shoulders shaking and warning of another round of tears.
The German shook his head. “No. No more. I won’t let you down; now stop crying. It makes me nauseous.”
That was almost funny. I wiped at my face with the back of my hand and he scowled, reaching back to pull a few pieces of toilet paper off the roll before handing them to me. “Control yourself,” he ordered.
I almost laughed. I sniffled and wiped at my face with the tissue he gave me. “You can’t tell me to ‘control myself,’ it doesn’t work that way.”
“You’re supposed to do what I say,” he said, snatching the tissue away from me and dabbing at my cheeks a little more forcefully than necessary with a frown.
That made me crack a small, pitiful smile. “Who said that?”
He met my eyes. “I did.”
I pressed my lips together. “That’s convenient.”
Kulti reached back and grabbed more toilet paper. “You’re a mess,” he said, continuing his cleanup process. “I didn’t take you to be a crybaby.”
“I’m not.” I tried to snatch the tissue away from him, but he held his hand out of reach. I stretched and he easily pulled his hand away further out of my grasp. “I can wipe my own face off.”
He smacked my hand away. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to,” he grumbled, returning to dabbing at me.
“You know, the world doesn’t revolve around what you do or don’t want to do,” I said as he rubbed a little too hard under my nose, making me wince.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “I’m not used to this.”
“You’ve never had to clean off a girl’s face before?”
He pulled back to observe his work. “Never.”
I let out a deep sigh, eased by his admission. “In that case, thank you for the honor.”
Kulti didn’t say anything; instead he put a hand on each cheek and tipped my head back. I had never been more aware of not having make-up on or looking like hell than I did right then. The man, who had dated supermodels, actresses and probably a whole bunch of sluts, didn’t comment on my freckles, the bags under my eyes or the scars I had.
He finally dropped his hands and gave my thighs a pat with a long, deep exhale. “Let’s go downstairs.”
“I’ll meet you in a minute,” I said.
An exasperated breath later, he’d taken hold of my hands and pulled me up to my feet. “No. You’re fine.”
“Rey, seriously, give me a minute.” I buckled my knees so that he couldn’t drag me along.
With one yank, he pulled me forward. “So that you can cry more? No. Come. I have the coffee you like.”
I sniffled and he gave me a dirty look in return. Why did I even bother? “You’re a bossy bitch, you know that?” I asked him even as I let him lead me out of the darkened bathroom.
“You’re a pain in my ass, do you know that?” he shot back.
I snorted as we went down the stairs one after the other. “I used those exact same words to describe you to Franz, buddy.”
The German turned to peek at me over his shoulder. “Another thing we have in common.”
“Ha. You wish.”
A snicker came out of his mouth, but he didn’t argue anymore. We found Franz in the kitchen sitting on a stool, looking at his phone. He glanced up and immediately frowned.
“I’m fine,” I said before he said anything. “I really am; I’m just being a baby.” Even saying it as an excuse did nothing to lessen the bolt of disappointment that shot straight through my heart.They are going to trade me.
