Kulti (33 page)

“Yes.” I scratched my cheek and his eyes immediately narrowed. “The employee is getting them for me right now.” Knowing I needed to change the subject, I asked, “Are you getting anything?”

“Here you go,” the unfamiliar voice said from behind me a second before the employee walked around and held out the box.

The big swoosh mark on the top of the box wasn’t a big deal, but the guy pulled the lid and tissue paper back and there they were. The Reiner Kulti 10
^th
edition in black.

“Perfect,” I sort of choked out, avoiding the gaze that had locked on my face. “I’ll take them.”

“Absolutely not,” the German snapped from right next to me.

“I’m taking them,” I insisted, ignoring him.

“Sal, you are not buying those,” he insisted.

The employee looked back and forth between us, his expression confused.

“I buy my dad shoes every birthday and I’m getting these for him. This is what he’d want,” I gritted out, still avoiding his gaze.

“Sal.”

“Rey.”

His hand touched my elbow. “I can get these for you for free,” he said in that exasperated tone he used when his accent really began to bleed through. “In every color. Next year’s edition.” His fingers pressed into the soft indent of the inside of my elbow. “Don’t buy them.”

“Do you work for Ni—“ the employee started to say, his eyes wide and way too interested. Thankfully he wasn’t paying enough attention to the man standing in front of him, otherwise he would have known.

“You mind giving us a second?” I cut him off with an apologetic smile.

What was he going to say? No? Grudgingly, he nodded and turned away.

I finally cradled my guts to me and faced Kulti, who had put his hands on his hips looking just shy of exasperated.
Patience, Sal.
“Tell me why you don’t want me to buy them.”

“I don’t want you to spend the money.”

Oh dear God. “Rey, I’m going to buy my dad shoes regardless of whether they’re yours or not.” Later on I could dwell on the fact I was hanging out with a man that had his own signature shoe line, but now wasn’t the time. “I’d rather you make… what? How much do you make, five dollars a pair? Anyway, I’d rather get yours and you make my five dollars than someone else, all right?”

That didn’t seem to help matters at all.

If anything, Kulti’s jaw went tight and the corners of his mouth pulled down flat. And his shoulders and biceps might have tightened, but I wasn’t positive. “I can get every shoe in this store for free. I haven’t bought a pair of shoes in over twenty years. You shouldn’t have to pay for shoes either. You’re the best player in the country—“

Every cell in my body froze.

“—you shouldn’t have to, and I’m not going to let you buy some of my
fucking
shoes 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.

“
T
his is
the 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.”

She smiled again when the German passed her another card. “It’s just a game.”

It was just a game.

I made sure Kulti met my eyes when I got my next round of cards. Nothing was just a game.

“
D
ad
?” I knocked on the door an hour or two later. “
Papa
?”

He said something from inside that was along the lines of ‘come in,’ so I did. Standing in the doorway between his bedroom and en suite, Dad had a toothbrush in his mouth, already dressed for bed.

“I just wanted to tell you goodnight.” I smiled at him.

He held up a finger and went back into the restroom where I could hear him turn the water on and rinse out his mouth before coming back. “
Buenas noches
. I had fun tonight.”

“You did?”

My dad nodded seriously, sitting on the bed next to me. “Do you know how hard it’s been for me to not tell anyone that he’s staying at my house?
My house
, Salsa!” Dad erupted, seriously. This was more like him. “The King is sleeping in my house, he mowed
my
lawn, and he’s friends with
my
daughter.” He put a hand to his chest and took a big, walloping breath. “This is the best present anyone has ever given me.” He paused. “Don’t tell your mom.”

And he was completely, one hundred and ninety-nine percent serious.

I didn’t bring up how he hardly talked, but I did grin at him. I was happy that at least he was acting normal in front of me and eating up just having Kulti in the house. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel weird.”

“Am I sure?
Pues si
.” He wrapped an arm over my shoulders and pulled me into his side. “I’m going to remember this for the rest of my life.”

I laughed and leaned into him. Only he would be happy just having Kulti in the house even though he didn’t talk to him. “Thank you for not telling everyone.” My parents had decided not to have my extended family come over with the German staying and honestly, I was a little relieved.

“You think he’ll take a picture with me before he leaves so I can send it to your
tios?”

“Yes.”

Dad nodded in pleasure. “I can rub it in their faces later, with their
pinches fotos
of their grandkids. Why do I want grandkids when you bring The King home with you?”

I rolled my eyes and patted his leg. “I want you to tell Mom those exact words the next time she asks me when I’m finally going to get married and give her a couple of babies.”

He gave me another side hug. “You know I’ll love you if you play or not.”

I did. “I know.”

“I just want you to be happy.”

“I know.”

“I mean it,” he insisted.

And I smiled. “I know, Dad. I promise I know.”

With one more side hug, he let me go. “Tell your friend I said thank you for doing the yard.”

“You could just tell him yourself,” I said, getting up.

He shook his head. “No. You tell him for me.”

Stubborn mule. “Okay. Goodnight.”

“
Buenas noches, amor
.”

I backed out of his room with another smile and closed the door behind me. My little sister’s door was closed and that time I didn’t hold back my sigh of annoyance with her. She’d gotten home with my dad after school, said ‘hi’ and then walked into her room and stayed in there for most of the day, only coming out to grab a plate of food and go back in with it. For a second, I debated whether to knock on her door and tell her goodnight just to be a troll but decided against it. We were going out to dinner for our dad’s birthday the next day, and I needed her to chill out as much as possible so it wouldn’t turn into a nightmare.

She was still a turd though.

By the time I made it back to the guest room, Kulti was already lying in bed with the sheets pulled up halfway to his stomach, his legs propped up and his tablet reclining against them. I grabbed my nightclothes and stuff from my bag and went back into the bathroom to shower, put on another long T-shirt and socks that went up almost to my knees.

“Are we going for a run in the morning?” Kulti asked from his spot on the bed once I was back in the room, pulling out a new set of running clothes for the next day.

“As long as you can keep up again,” I teased him, setting the clothing on top of my bag and turning around to see him scowling at me. Not saying a word, I winked and climbed up to the top bunk, settling in before I remembered what my dad had said. I got up to my knees and leaned over the edge so I could see him, sitting there on the too-small-for-him bed. “Thanks for helping me today with the yard. My dad asked me to say thank you too.”

Squeaky clean and so relaxed-looking on the bed I’d grown up in, Kulti looked refreshed. He tipped his chin down. “It was my pleasure.”

I flashed him a smile and sat back up, crawling under the covers one more time. I’d barely pulled them up to my chest when Kulti spoke again.

“That was my first time using a lawn mower.”

I fucking knew it! I didn’t say that of course, instead, I stuck with a very grown-up, “Oh really?”

There was a pause before he kept going. “I enjoyed it. I can see why you went to school for it. It’s fitting.”

Wait a second, wait a second. I knew for a fact that I’d never once told Kulti that I got my degree in landscaping. He’d never asked, not once. Sure, I had told him out of anger that I did landscaping work, if he hadn’t already known, but that was the extent of it. There wasn’t a single doubt in my mind that I had never mentioned what university I went to school at, much less what I majored in.

“How do you know what I went to school for?” I asked him casually. I’m sure I was making some kind of stupid face.

“I looked you up. You have it on your profile,” he said without skipping a beat.

What? I sat up again and looked over the edge of the bunk bed. “You did?”

Even upside down, I recognized that he nodded. “Yes.”

“You… have an account?”

He might have frowned, but I wasn’t positive with all the blood rushing to my head. “Get down before you fall over the side of the bed and give yourself more brain damage than you already have.”