“This is my fault. I will take responsibility for the negative attention, but I won’t let you put the blame on her for befriending me,” Kulti said. “Sal has done nothing wrong.”

“I don’t think you all understand. This doesn’t look good,” Sheena said quickly, before anyone cut her off. “Do you think you could… I don’t know, Mr. Kulti, I’m just throwing out ideas for you to talk to your publicist about, but… do something publicly to pull rumors away from… this… friendship?”

“Go on a date?”

Kulti didn’t even hesitate. “No.”

“But—“

“No,” he repeated.

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 that answered her. It was Kulti who answered almost angrily. I let him.

“Sal—“

“No.” That was Kulti again. “Absolutely not.”

“But—“

“Stop asking,” the German snapped. “I’m not doing it and neither is she.”

“I’ve done just about everything that’s ever been asked of me. I don’t want to do this,” I explained gingerly, trying to ease over the hostility radiating off the man next to me.

Cordero guffawed.

Ten minutes later, I found Kulti waiting outside of Gardner’s office. Mr. Cordero had left first, with the German following immediately afterward. Sheena stayed in the office to discuss something. What else could it be besides me or the German?

“There’s nothing for you to worry about,” Kulti’s deep, heavy voice assured me.

I scratched my forehead, trying to urge away the frustration I felt at the conversation that had just finished up. A nasty nagging feeling had taken up residence in my belly. This wasn’t sitting well with me, and honestly I was really worried they were going to try and find something to use against me. I wasn’t sure why I felt so pessimistic, but I did.

An elbow nudged at mine. “Stop worrying,” he ordered.

I blinked at him and didn’t even think about pulling my elbow away. He’d called me his best friend; I’d give him half-credit for that… though he was still a douche. “I can’t,” I whispered to him as we approached the elevator in the office building. “Cordero doesn’t play around. He isn’t a fan of mine.”

Kulti made this face that told me I needed to chill out. “He’s like every general manager on every team. He thinks he’s a god and he’s not.” He nudged my elbow once more. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

My stomach and my head said otherwise. Nerves had started eating up my organs. “I don’t want to get traded, and I don’t want them to bench me.”

I wasn’t going to have a panic attack. I wasn’t going to have a panic attack.

This wasn’t going to be like the national team all over again. I hadn’t done anything wrong.

I pressed my hands against my hips and squeezed, willing myself to calm down.

“Sal.” Kulti stood right in front of me. “Nothing is going to happen. I won’t let them do anything, understand?”

My knees started to shake the same way they did when I was in front of a camera. Oh God, I was going to throw up. Sometime in the last two minutes I had started sweating.

“Sal,” the German’s voice got even louder, more determined. His big hands landed on my shoulders. “No one is going to make you do anything that you don’t want to do. “ He kneaded the muscle there, his voice a gentle reassuring cadence. “I promise.”