With his arms crossed over his chest as he prepared himself to rip us new assholes, he asked in a voice so low only I could hear, “Your foot?” I crouched down and retied my shoes. “It’s bruised.” Kulti looked unimpressed when I glanced up, like I was a total baby for succumbing to something like bruising. “I have oil that will make it go away faster,” he mumbled his reply. “Find me after practice.” I almost choked on my saliva. No joke. Somehow by the grace of God, I managed to get out, “Okay.” But of course nothing with him was easy. If playing softball outside of practice hours was our dirty
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Bit much but love the intent
