had been purposely hanging my head low so that the journalists hanging around the training field wouldn’t see me behind the group of players I was heading to the field with.
Damn it.
“Sal!”
Jenny snorted when I stopped, and she kept walking right on past me. Traitor. Forcing a polite smile on my face, I looked around at the female voice calling my name. She hurried over, recorder in hand, a smile so big I really wasn’t sure whether it was authentic or not. You could never really tell anymore.
“Hi,” I greeted her.
“Hey, thanks so much for stopping,” she said, brushing her long hair out of her face. “Do you have a couple minutes for me?”
The “sure” that came out of my mouth sounded strangely convincing. Honestly, it was nothing against anyone in the media, it was just me being awkward and antisocial, knowing that my words could be documented and held against me. Maybe.
She slid me a grin, holding up her recorder. “I’m going to record this, if you can approve it for me.” I did. “Okay, thanks again. My name is Clarissa Owens and I work for Social Jane.”
A website I’d heard of. Okay, that wasn’t too bad.
“What’s it like working with one of the world’s sexiest men?”
Andddddd it was the Hindenburg all over again. Crashing and burning, and then crashing and burning once more.
I blinked at her. “You meant Coach Kulti?” It wasn’t like most women would find Gardner attractive; he was, at least in my opinion, just in an unconventional way. I liked his graying hair, his face was classic, he was in good shape, and he had a perfectly round booty.
But…
Clarissa Owens let out a really feminine laugh. “Oh you know who I’m talking about, silly. Reiner Kulti. What’s it like to being coached by one of the sexiest athletes in the world?”
It took everything inside of me not to look up at the sky and ask for divine intervention. My mouth opened and closed multiple times, like it was trying to make words magically appear in the place of complete silence. “Umm… well. He’s our assistant coach and he was one of the greatest players in our sport, so that’s pretty exciting.”
“I’m sure,” she said. “Tell us, does he wear boxers or briefs?”
How the hell was I supposed to know? Instead I said, “I… have no idea, but I hope he has something on under his uniform.”
“What kind of interests does he have?”
“The only thing he’s interested in is winning, I think.”
Ms. Owens gave me an exasperated look. “Is he single?”
I blinked at her some more and finally looked over my shoulder to make sure no one was fucking with me. When I looked back at her, I blinked again. “Is this a joke?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
It took a moment before I managed to get myself together. “Kulti is my coach. He’s the best soccer player to ever play in Houston, in Texas more than likely, and we’re unbelievably lucky to have him here—“ even if he didn’t do anything, but why kill the illusion? “I respect him and so does the rest of the team because he’s a great athlete. His personal life is his business and I have no idea what he does when he’s not here, I’m sorry.”
“Oh. Okay… Can you tell me anything else about him that you think the public doesn’t know?”
That he was just as much of a bastard as he’d been made out to be? Or that he occasionally drank too much at bars and had to be picked up, without ever issuing a thank you in exchange? I made sure none of those ideas crossed my face as I shrugged at the woman who really was just doing her job. It wasn’t her fault that people really would want to know things like that.
“I’m sorry. I really don’t. I saw him wearing purple socks one day. That’s as much as I know,” I offered her the miserable piece of knowledge. He’d been wearing royal purple socks, that was a fact.
She gave me a look that said that wasn’t what she was looking for, but realized that was as
Damn it.
“Sal!”
Jenny snorted when I stopped, and she kept walking right on past me. Traitor. Forcing a polite smile on my face, I looked around at the female voice calling my name. She hurried over, recorder in hand, a smile so big I really wasn’t sure whether it was authentic or not. You could never really tell anymore.
“Hi,” I greeted her.
“Hey, thanks so much for stopping,” she said, brushing her long hair out of her face. “Do you have a couple minutes for me?”
The “sure” that came out of my mouth sounded strangely convincing. Honestly, it was nothing against anyone in the media, it was just me being awkward and antisocial, knowing that my words could be documented and held against me. Maybe.
She slid me a grin, holding up her recorder. “I’m going to record this, if you can approve it for me.” I did. “Okay, thanks again. My name is Clarissa Owens and I work for Social Jane.”
A website I’d heard of. Okay, that wasn’t too bad.
“What’s it like working with one of the world’s sexiest men?”
Andddddd it was the Hindenburg all over again. Crashing and burning, and then crashing and burning once more.
I blinked at her. “You meant Coach Kulti?” It wasn’t like most women would find Gardner attractive; he was, at least in my opinion, just in an unconventional way. I liked his graying hair, his face was classic, he was in good shape, and he had a perfectly round booty.
But…
Clarissa Owens let out a really feminine laugh. “Oh you know who I’m talking about, silly. Reiner Kulti. What’s it like to being coached by one of the sexiest athletes in the world?”
It took everything inside of me not to look up at the sky and ask for divine intervention. My mouth opened and closed multiple times, like it was trying to make words magically appear in the place of complete silence. “Umm… well. He’s our assistant coach and he was one of the greatest players in our sport, so that’s pretty exciting.”
“I’m sure,” she said. “Tell us, does he wear boxers or briefs?”
How the hell was I supposed to know? Instead I said, “I… have no idea, but I hope he has something on under his uniform.”
“What kind of interests does he have?”
“The only thing he’s interested in is winning, I think.”
Ms. Owens gave me an exasperated look. “Is he single?”
I blinked at her some more and finally looked over my shoulder to make sure no one was fucking with me. When I looked back at her, I blinked again. “Is this a joke?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
It took a moment before I managed to get myself together. “Kulti is my coach. He’s the best soccer player to ever play in Houston, in Texas more than likely, and we’re unbelievably lucky to have him here—“ even if he didn’t do anything, but why kill the illusion? “I respect him and so does the rest of the team because he’s a great athlete. His personal life is his business and I have no idea what he does when he’s not here, I’m sorry.”
“Oh. Okay… Can you tell me anything else about him that you think the public doesn’t know?”
That he was just as much of a bastard as he’d been made out to be? Or that he occasionally drank too much at bars and had to be picked up, without ever issuing a thank you in exchange? I made sure none of those ideas crossed my face as I shrugged at the woman who really was just doing her job. It wasn’t her fault that people really would want to know things like that.
“I’m sorry. I really don’t. I saw him wearing purple socks one day. That’s as much as I know,” I offered her the miserable piece of knowledge. He’d been wearing royal purple socks, that was a fact.
She gave me a look that said that wasn’t what she was looking for, but realized that was as
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