That’s exactly what I did.
At eight o’clock that night, my cell phone dinged with a text.
From my spot on the couch with my socked feet up on the coffee table, I glanced at the screen and saw ‘German Chocolate Cake’ pop up.
I went right back to watching my show. If it was life or death he’d call, and he didn’t.
At five o’clockthe following afternoon, my phone beeped with an incoming text message again.
‘German Chocolate Cake’ appeared on the screen.
For a second I thought about picking it up and possibly reading the message, but I’d ignored the one the day before; during practice today, he’d given me a massive amount of hell during my one-on-one game. Basically, he was acting like nothing was wrong, and like he hadn’t been an ass days before.
Now he was texting me again.
“Did they get your phone number?” Marc asked from behind the wheel.
I set my phone back between my legs and shook my head. Marc already knew about the insanity at practice with the reporters and the mystery behind Kulti’s driving record. He’d been warning me that it was only a matter of time before someone got desperate enough to call, especially since Jenny and I were the only players that had pictures with him floating around the internet.
“No.” I smiled at my friend and before I realized what the hell was coming out of my mouth, I made up something up. “Wrong number.”
“Are you done?”
I pulled my bag up and over my opposite shoulder and straightened, wiping at my forehead with the back of my hand. “I have to get to work.”
The German had his own bag over his shoulder. His handsome, handsome face was tight as he ran a hand over his head.
I raised my eyebrows, forced a smile on my face and turned to start walking.
Kulti’s hand whipped out to grab my wrist, stopping me in place. “Sal,” he hissed, turning me to face him.
I took a breath through my nose and tipped my head back to look him in the eye. “Kulti, I need to get to work. “
His head jerked back, the corner of his cheek rounding like he was sticking his tongue there. “Kulti, really?”
“That’s your name, isn’t it?” I slid my arm up and out of his grip, keeping my gaze locked on those green-brown eyes that seemed lighter today than usual. “Look, I really need to get to work. I need my job to help me pay bills.” So maybe my smile turned a little condescending, a little smug and just the tiniest bit bitchy.
“You shouldn’t give me the power to make you angry.” He lowered his face to mine and I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“What I shouldn’t do is waste my time on someone with an attitude problem.”
Kulti’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his gaze intense on me as he took his time replying. The words were even and steady out of his mouth. “I used to make more money in a day than most people do, you aren’t the only one—“
This wasn’t helping at all. My eye twitched. “Yeah you made more money in a day than most people in third world countries make in a lifetime. Trust me, I understand, and I could care less about how much money you make or don’t make. Don’t be an idiot.”
He wasn’t used to being called an idiot if the look on his face said anything, but by that point I couldn’t have cared less. “I’ve worked as hard as you did to get to where I’m at. Just because I don’t make as much money as you doesn’t make me any less worthy.”
Kulti shook his head. “I never said it did.”
“Well, you sure made it seem like it did. Just like you made me feel this small for having another job,” I told him, holding my thumb and index finger about an inch apart.
“Sal,” he grumbled my name.
I raised an eyebrow at him. “I do landscaping. Did you know that? Because you’ve never asked, but I think you should know if you didn’t. Sorry I’m not sorry that I can’t live up to your standards.”
“What standards?”
“Your standards. I can’t give you advice because I’m too young? Or is it that I’m poor? Wait, it’s because I’m a girl. Is that it?”