The stranger couldn’t believe I said no, and honestly I was surprised I’d said it too. But when it came down to it, I would rather this stranger think I was rude than Kulti walk over and see that crap playing. He hadn’t been acting weird so I didn’t think he knew he was being talked about on cable television, but what did I know?

“Are you the TV police or something?” the stranger asked with a frown.

I tried to reason with myself that he was just being a dick because I started it. “No,” I said calmly, looking him right in the eye because being shy when you’re being rude just makes things worse. “I’ll put it back on in a sec.”

Hopefully if I waited a minute, the anchors would be talking about something else.

The guy just stared at me. Sometimes you didn’t need to actually say the word ‘bitch’ to get the message across. This guy had obviously mastered that talent.

I sensed Kulti before he actually made it back. He purposely walked right in front of me, the side of his leg bumping into my knees, before taking his spot on the chair next to mine. It took him all of a second to catch onto the ugly vibes the other man was sending.

The German leaned forward, one elbow on his knee and half his body facing me, but his head was cocked at the stranger. Fortunately my hat was pulled down low on his forehead. “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.

Kulti didn’t ask me why I turned it off or why I didn’t turn it back on. He stayed in the same position he was in, his free hand resting on his other knee. “Instead of worrying about the television, maybe you should be worrying about your cholesterol, no?”

Oh God.

“Miss Casillas, will you follow me?” A voice spoke from the door.

I stood up and lightly punched Kulti in the shoulder as he stared across the room at the other man. He stood up after me, not giving the man another thought. Lowering my voice so only he could hear, I whispered, “You might want to call your publicist. They were talking about Kulti on Sports Room, and it wasn’t about him playing soccer.” I tipped my chin down. “Do you know what I mean?”

His eyes moved from one of mine to the other before he nodded his understanding.

I’m not sure why I did it, but I reached over and gave his wrist a squeeze. “You didn’t steal anything or kill anyone. Whatever anyone else who doesn’t know you thinks, isn’t a big deal.”

“Miss Casillas?” the medical personnel called my name once more.

“I’m coming.” Making my eyes go wide at the German, I took a step back. “Let me go get this over with.”

The last thing I did before heading to the back for my appointment was drop the remote on the seat next to the man’s wife. The x-ray went by quickly, mostly because I was thinking about the situation with Kulti. He hadn’t confirmed or denied anything. So what did that mean?

Thirty minutes later, I was sitting in a room with my doctor as he showed me a great set of films. “Nothing is broken. See? Not even a hairline fracture,” he confirmed.

“That’s what I wanted to hear.” I smiled at the doctor I’d been going to since I moved to Houston. His medical assistant stood in the corner of the room.

“You should look into doing some milk commercials. You’ve got some strong bones on you, Sal,” he joked around, scribbling something into my file. “I recommend you take a week off to be on the safe side—“

I choked.

“—but at least four days if you choose to be stubborn and get back.” He looked up with a smile.