Kulti

by Mariana Zapata

“I know.” But he didn’t apologize. “I’ve done a great deal of things I regret now, and it’s difficult for me at times to cope with them.”

I would rather stay home.” He nudged me. “Or at your home.”

Instead, almost a minute after I finished talking, as the doors were opening to the main level of the office building, Kulti burst out laughing. I swore he said something like “Reindeer” under his monster laughs.

I didn’t miss the tic in his jaw as he looked from the seven-year-old tank top I had on over my sports bra to the stretchy shorts that looked more like underwear than anything else.

I also didn’t miss the way his eyelid started twitching right before his gaze finally slipped upward and the twitching got worse.

Those murky green eyes flicked down to what I was wearing again. His voice was too steady and slow. “You open the door half naked all the time?”

“Rey, buddy, don’t do it. You’re still really handsome, and honestly you can always tell when someone’s had surgery done to them. I don’t care what the plastic surgeon says, it’s noticeable,” I told him totally seriously.

“Yes. Now go shower and put on something that covers you up more.”

“I saw their work in a magazine.”

“Dex will be out in a minute, if you want to take a seat.”

DEX AHHHHHHHHHG

Because, Jesus Christ. “He’s wearing a wedding ring,” Kulti’s low voice murmured from right next to me.

Something came down over my eyes, and I realized the German had pulled his beanie down over my head. “Hold this,” he said, continuing to tug the material down over my nose.

“If Ritz isn’t back in ten minutes, give her a call,” he said to the redheaded guy.

The guy named Dex immediately came around the desk, scowling. “What the hell are you doin’, babe? I told you to give me a fuckin’ call when you parked so I could help you out,” he snapped

He held the seat up to face level and peered inside, what looked like dark blue eyes narrowing before a smile broke across his harsh face. “How’s my little man?” he whispered, dipping his head even closer into the cocoon of the seat and making an audible kissing sound.

Dear God. A man like that making kissing sounds at what I could only guess was his baby. My vagina… my vagina did...

“We’re just best friends.”

Then, he shut the door in our faces. Kulti and I looked at each other, and a second later, I started laughing as a big grin that caught me totally off guard cracked across his lightly bearded face.

“If she’s going to upset you, I would rather not. She sounds like a brat.”

From below, the German said, “Good night, schnecke.”

Then the fan light came on. I froze. I froze there in my underwear, wearing nothing else. “What are you doing?” Kulti’s sleep-thick voice asked.

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

You shouldn’t have to pay for shoes either. You’re the best player in the country⁠—”

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.”

“You are….” The German shook his head and sighed. “No one could ever make me do something I don’t want to.”

“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.”

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

Bro this girl is awful

Something watery pooled in my throat as I handed him back his tablet. “I don’t get on there much, but you could add me as a friend if you wanted to,” I offered in a wobbly voice. “What an honor,” the bratwurst said, but he said it with a small smile, so I knew he didn’t mean it like an asshole.

Kulti didn’t say anything as he looked through them, until he suddenly stopped scrolling. “Who is this?” he asked.

“To get back together?” Why his voice was so low I couldn’t understand, and I gave him a weird look.

A muscle in Kulti’s jaw ticked, and I swore his eye twitched.

Kulti’s eye twitched again. I didn’t miss the way he was biting down hard and making his cheek flex either.

“Rey, are you okay?” One eye opened as his chest puffed. “Stop talking about sex.” Jeez. “Okay. Sorry. I didn’t take you to be a prude.” He choked, his other eye opening. But did he say a word? No, he didn’t.

“Someone told me I can’t take back what I’ve done, but what I do from now on is what matters. It seemed fitting.”

“Yes,” he answered, dropping his gaze to the scooped neckline of my dress for a split second.

“I don’t like the way your mother speaks to you.”

Carefully, Dad set the shoe back into the box and took a deep breath before meeting my eyes, and in a very low voice said, “Tell him I said thank you.”

He rested his chin on the top of my head. “Thank you,” I told him.

What was awkward was the way he was looking at the freckles on my chest and bare shoulders beneath the thin straps of my sundress.

He nodded absently, still looking at the skin right above my boobs. Not directly at my boobs, just above them. Weird.

His long fingers squeezed again. “Forcing you to be my friend.” I felt myself smile. “You didn’t force me to be your friend.” “I did,” he argued.

He didn’t care. He simply focused on the object of his attention—me.

The German leaned over, putting my notebook down and scooting closer to me, and yanked my foot once more before setting it back on the couch next to him. His hand was wrapped around my ankle.

“You called me Kulti.” My fingers flexed around the oven handle. “That’s your name.” “Turn around,” he ordered.

“You’re the best striker in America, schnecke. Look up ‘best goals in women’s soccer’ and four of the top ten are yours. I wasn’t going to waste my time on anything or anyone but the best. With more training, better coaching, you could be the top striker in the world.”

“I came to the Pipers for you.”

“Such a great deal of anger for such a small body.” A small smile cracked his lips.

What I didn’t see were the hazel-colored eyes going back and forth between myself and the Spanish man.

agreed immediately. Alejandro and Kulti went on one team—I didn’t miss how quickly my German claimed the Spaniard, and Franz and I were on the other.

Kulti’s hands fisted at his sides, and then he brought them up to cover his eyes. “Sal.” He cursed in angry-sounding German. “You say that we’re friends, but you didn’t think to tell me that you’ve been spending time with Franz?”