Kulti

by Mariana Zapata

It gave you the impression that you could do anything because this other person did. It reminded you that anything was possible.

I didn’t like people telling me I couldn’t do something, even if I didn’t want to do it.

Poop. He poops. He poops.

Zapatas one downfall is her fucking poop humor

Poop, poop, poop, poop, poop.

Oh this is gonna be so annoying…

Those amber-moss eyes, the ones I’d seen from across my bedroom walls for thousands of days in my childhood, were on me.

“Say a word about yesterday, and I will make you regret it.” The low hard-edged accent whispered the declaration so low that if I hadn’t been staring at him, I wouldn’t have thought his lips moved. But they had.

Damn no thank you?????? Went above and beyond to get his drunk ass into a safe environment and the first thing he does is threaten her lmaooo 😭😭

made it as far as the light before one single tear came out of my eye. Just one. How could he threaten me after what I’d done? I couldn’t understand.

My poor baby

“You think….” I was speaking about a word a minute so that I wouldn’t burst a capillary in my eye from how strained I felt on the inside. “He was mean to my dad?” My dad?

I get it, big man. Want to talk shit to us, when you know you’re in no position to say anything about what people should and shouldn’t be doing?”

“And you especially aren’t allowed to be an asshole to my dad.

was one of them. It was like the voice of God had suddenly come down on us and told a prophecy or something.

He was staring at me directly, 100 percent intense and focused on my face.

Another minute dragged itself out and nada. Nothing.

The way he just doesnt respond…i would never speak again i wouldnt be able to handle this

“There was a note in one of the boxes that said ‘My deepest apologies for being a real prick.’ There was a jersey in there, a limited edition one that’s a size too big, but ME VALE!” I couldn’t care less, he whooped. “And it was signed, Sal. Sal! It was signed by him!”

“Her judgment was sound. Nothing was said that didn’t need to be said. I don’t require an apology from either of you.”

Finally he reached for the handle and got out. There wasn’t a sigh or an apology out of his mouth or even a freaking “thank you for the ride.”

WHAT IS HIS PROBLEM

“I need a ride,” he said in his low voice. What was I? Driving Miss Daisy? “Could you give me one?” he asked.

I dont understand this man but this is delicious he straight bumming

“And I’m not the only person that can give you one. I need to get to work.” I jerked the handle, but the door didn’t budge. At all. “Casillas.”

Those greenish-hazel eyes looked around the field as he shoved a big yellow obstacle into place, and he caught me looking at him. His eyelids lowered, and one corner of his mouth pulled up into a smile that was one fourth the size of a normal one. It morphed into a smirk a second later.

Those lazy eyes did that lizard blink. Keeping his gaze on mine for what seemed like a minute straight, he finally lowered his voice and asked, “Do you want to play today?”

“They”—he pointed at Kulti and me, who had surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, played like we’d been teammates for years—“can’t be on the same team together!”

“Now, Sal.”

corner of the seat and placed the other pack on top of his knee. We were sitting on a bench nearly side by side, with ice packs. I burst out laughing. I laughed so hard my stomach started cramping and my eyes got all watery and overwhelmed, and I couldn’t stop.

“If you get kicked off the team, I wouldn’t have anyone else to play with.”

“You play how I like. You don’t hold back.”

“Gute nacht,” he responded, tipping his head as an indication for me to get in my car.

“Because—” He snapped something in German I thought was the equivalent of fuck. “—you’re going to sit there and let me take this away from you? Just like that?” he growled.

You’re the best player on the team.”

“You’re one of the best I’ve ever seen, period, man or woman. What kills me is that you are a complete fucking pushover who’s hung up on worthless words in front of a person that doesn’t matter.” His cheeks were flushed. “Grow some balls, Casillas. Fight me for this. Fight anyone that tries to take this away from you,” he urged.

“Are you crying?” Clearing my throat, I blinked hard twice, lowering my gaze to the small cleft in the German’s chin. “No.” His fingers went up to push at my shoulder lightly. “Stop it.”

I looked up at his face and snickered, but he wasn’t smiling at me. He was just watching like always.

I saw Kulti at the sideline, one foot forward, his hands down at his sides, those muscular forearms flexed. I noticed even his calves were taut. His jaw was locked as he stood there, ready for who knew what.

Before I could even successfully sit up on my knees, the culprit had been shoved to the ground. I mean he was shoved hard. It wasn’t Marc, and it wasn’t Simon. It was Kulti standing with his back to me. Kulti had pushed the full-grown man to the ground.

“Next time, I’ll break your hand.” With that, he turned around. I’d swear on my life he cocked his leg back as if planning to kick the man, but at the last minute changed his mind and kept going… toward me.

His nostrils flared, and I swore his entire upper body seemed to expand as he reached forward, his finger barely grazing my chin.

“I can tell.” Those brown-green eyes gazed at my face for a second, straying a little lower briefly, before finally taking a look around my small living room. “I called you,” he said absently.

His expression darkened as he walked around me to head into the kitchen. He stopped after taking two steps and looked over his shoulder, his gaze going to my legs. “Do you ever wear pants?”

Not even fifteen minutes into the show, the German completely turned his entire body in my direction, his face suspicious.

I took another bite of my food and watched him carefully, not even thinking it was weird that he seemed so outraged at who I found attractive.

“Do you have father issues?”

LMAO

His mouth still hadn’t closed that tiny gap. “You like old men.”

What felt like five minutes later, Kulti finally turned his attention back to the television, one cheek pulled back like he was biting down on it.

He reached over and smacked the side of my knee with the back of his hand. “I’ll be back.”

Stretching up to his full height, he hit my knee with his and made his way out of the small reception area in the direction of the restroom.

The German leaned forward, one elbow on his knee and half his body facing me, but his head was cocked at the stranger.

“I’m sure there’s something else you can look at, friend.” “I’d be looking at the TV, friend, if your lady hadn’t turned it off,” the man explained.

His head jerked back, the corner of his cheek rounding like he was sticking his tongue there. “Kulti, really?”

She’s my best friend.”

Sheena’s desperate eyes met mine. “Sal, what about you? Could you go on a date? Post some pictures⁠—” “No.” That was definitely not me who answered her. It was Kulti who answered almost angrily. I let him.

The German gave an exaggerated sigh. “You are my best friend.”