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“I really need to start warming up,” I said carefully before he had a chance to ask anything else.
“Thanks for your time.” The writer for Training, Inc. smiled as he extended his hand out for me to shake.
“No problem. Have a nice day.”
This guy had done enough in my life.
“What’s goingon with you?” Jenny asked me while we were off to the sidelines, waiting for the rest of the team to finish their ball-touch drills.
I pulled my shirt up to use the bottom to wipe my upper lip and mouth off. The temperatures and humidity were out of this world in Houston—no surprise. The tension headache I’d been rocking all morning didn’t help any either; the conversation with the reporter kept picking at my nerves. “I’m fine,” I told her before snatching a bottle of water off the floor.
She raised a single eyebrow, her cheeks puffing out as a disbelieving smirk crossed her face. Who was I trying to fool? Regardless of whether we’d been friends for five years or fifteen, she still knew me better than almost anyone. “You know you can talk to me about anything.”
She gave the worst guilt trips because she was so nice about it, but still. Sometimes I didn’t want to talk about things. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
“I’mfine.”
“Sal, you’re not fine.”
I squeezed another mouthful of water out as a few more players made their way around to wait where we were. “I really am all right,” I insisted in a lower voice so only she could hear me.
She didn’t believe me and for good reason.
I was a little bit pissed and a little bit annoyed.
I wanted to play, not have people digging up stuff from the past. I didn’t want the world. The most I’d ever gotten out of playing was a deal with a major athletic clothing company that basically just took pictures of me playing and paid me for it. But that was it. Kulti’s presence could potentially put me at risk when the past wasn’t even my fault.
He’d hurt my brother seriously and that was that. I could learn to put it behind me for the time being, especially when he didn’t seem to either know or care about who I was related to.
With that thought I accidentally looked over to where Mr.-Silent-Superstar stood, arms crossed over his impressively sized chest, looking at the players on the field with a plain expression. It was the same unemotional demeanor he’d been portraying since he arrived. He annoyed me, but I was also annoyed with myself for letting his attitude bother me. All I needed was to focus on getting through preseason training.
I wasn’t totally surprised when Jenny blinked slowly. “You’re bitch-facing out there. You only bitch-face when someone pisses you off during a game.”
She had a point. I could feel myself bitch-facing. Smiling and smirking were two expressions my facial muscles were used to. Scowling was newer territory. I took a deep breath and tried to relax my face by stretching my jaw and mouth. Sure enough tension eased its way out of those small muscles, going even all the way up above my eyebrows.
“Told you so.” Jenny smiled gently at me. “You looked like you had during the Cleveland game last year, remember that?”
How could I forget? A defender on Cleveland had twisted the hell out of my nipple when I’d landed on top of her after a play and hadn’t gotten caught. That bitch. I didn’t get her back during that first half, but I sure as hell did in the second when I scored two goals on her team. I couldn’t wear a bra for a week without being in pain, but at least we won.
“My nip still hurts,” I said to Jenny with a small worn-out smile on my face.
She raised an eyebrow. “Is your ankle bothering you?” she asked, looking around once more to make sure other players weren’t around. Injuries were like shark bait. On one hand we were all teammates with the same objective, but I didn’t for a second think someone wouldn’t try to exploit an injury for their own benefit. Competitive people were like that.
I wiped at my face again and took another sip of water. “A little bit,” I told her honestly because it was true, just not the whole truth.
Jenny grimaced. “Sal, you need to be careful.”
This was the difference between venting to Harlow and venting to Jenny. Harlow would have slapped me on the back and told me to walk it off. Jenny worried, she stressed. From now on she’d keep an eye on me, and that was part of the reason why I cared about her so much.
I scrubbed at my face with the back of my hand. “I’m all right.”
She eyed me a little critically before asking, “What else is up?”
Jenny wasn’t going to leave me alone about it. I scratched at the tip of my nose and made sure no one was close enough to hear me. “This morning some writer brought up the Kulti-Eric thing.” Frustration bubbled in my throat. “I’m a little worried about it.”
My friend let out a low whistle, completely aware of the situation.
