I would never forgive her for it, despite how horrible I felt about her husband, ex-husband, estranged husband, whatever the hell that ass-wipe was now.

I steadied my heart and shook my head. “Grow up.”

Her blue eyes flared with indignation. “Fuck you.”

Oh brother. “Really? Fuck me? That’s the best you can come up with? I’m a whore, a bitch and a slut, and I can also fuck myself. Real nice. I wish everyone could hear how pleasant you are in person.”

“You are a slut, you home wrecker.“

Guilt flashed through my belly, but I beat it back like I had every other time. I wasn’t a home wrecker. I wasn’t. I felt terrible, fucking terrible, but it wasn’t like anything had been intentional. I would never in a million years be interested in a married man, but when you don’t know he’s married… “I’m sorry, all right? I’ve told you I was sorry about a hundred times and you know it. If I could go back in time and mind my own business, I would. So, stop. You got what you wanted and you should be happy and let it go. It’s been three years; it’s about time you quit with your shit.”

Beautiful Amber, with her great legs and competitive spirit, bristled. “Don’t tell me what to do. I hate your fucking guts, Sal.”

Acid stirred my chest. “I know you do, and trust me, I’m not your fan club president either. I just don’t feel the need to remind you of it every time I see you.”

She wanted to fight. I could tell. She had the same look on her face that she’d had three years ago when she approached me during practice one day, three days after I’d gone on a second date with her husband. “That’s why I hate you. You always think you’re so much better than everyone, but you’re not. You’re even more of a bitch because you fool everybody with that angel act. I know the truth—I know you’re a fucking whore.”

Getting called a whore? Especially when you weren’t one? Yeah, it wasn’t exactly fun and games. I would definitely never admit that out loud or show it to someone like her, but it was the truth. Sticks and stones and all that crap.

“You,” the voice from behind me said. “Run along before I call Mike Walton and repeat what you said to him.”

Who Mike Walton was, I had no idea.

But the person behind me? I definitely knew him.

The bratwurst.

From the look on Amber’s face, as the steps behind me got louder with Kulti’s approach, she knew exactly who both Kulti and Mike Walton were. Her face might have paled, but it was too dark to know for sure. What I did know was that she was pissed. Real pissed.

“Today,” Kulti snapped.

The rate at which she moved said exactly what words didn’t. Amber was one of the stars of the national team and had been for years. A few months ago, I’d seen a lotion commercial with her in it. She wasn’t used to having someone tell her what to do.

He didn’t even wait until she was out of earshot before he asked, “What’s her name?”

“Amber Kramer,” I replied, looking over my shoulder.

His face didn’t register the name. “Never heard of her.” He turned his head to look at me. “Do you want to tell me what that was about?”

I said exactly what I meant. “Not really.” I’d gone this long with keeping what happened between me and a select group of people, mainly members of the national team back when I’d been on it. It was how Jenny and Harlow knew. Having more people know about one of the dumbest things I’d ever done, wasn’t exactly on my list of things to accomplish. And though I’d been assured I wasn’t to blame, I thought I was smarter than to fall for someone’s lies. He hadn’t been wearing a wedding band or even had the tan line for one, damn it.