“Here you go,” the unfamiliar voice said from behind me a second before the employee walked around and held out the box.

The big swoosh mark on the top of the box wasn’t a big deal, but the guy pulled the lid and tissue paper back and there they were. The Reiner Kulti 10th edition in black.

“Perfect,” I sort of choked out, avoiding the gaze that had locked on my face. “I’ll take them.”

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

“I’m taking them,” I insisted, ignoring him.

“Sal, you are not buying those,” he insisted.

The employee looked back and forth between us, his expression confused.

“I buy my dad shoes every birthday and I’m getting these for him. This is what he’d want,” I gritted out, still avoiding his gaze.

“Sal.”

“Rey.”

His hand touched my elbow. “I can get these for you for free,” he said in that exasperated tone he used when his accent really began to bleed through. “In every color. Next year’s edition.” His fingers pressed into the soft indent of the inside of my elbow. “Don’t buy them.”

“Do you work for Ni—“ the employee started to say, his eyes wide and way too interested. Thankfully he wasn’t paying enough attention to the man standing in front of him, otherwise he would have known.

“You mind giving us a second?” I cut him off with an apologetic smile.

What was he going to say? No? Grudgingly, he nodded and turned away.

I finally cradled my guts to me and faced Kulti, who had put his hands on his hips looking just shy of exasperated. Patience, Sal. “Tell me why you don’t want me to buy them.”

“I don’t want you to spend the money.”

Oh dear God. “Rey, I’m going to buy my dad shoes regardless of whether they’re yours or not.” Later on I could dwell on the fact I was hanging out with a man that had his own signature shoe line, but now wasn’t the time. “I’d rather you make… what? How much do you make, five dollars a pair? Anyway, I’d rather get yours and you make my five dollars than someone else, all right?”

That didn’t seem to help matters at all.

If anything, Kulti’s jaw went tight and the corners of his mouth pulled down flat. And his shoulders and biceps might have tightened, but I wasn’t positive. “I can get every shoe in this store for free. I haven’t bought a pair of shoes in over twenty years. You shouldn’t have to pay for shoes either. You’re the best player in the country—“

Every cell in my body froze.

“—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.”

I would have opened my mouth to argue with him, but I couldn’t. I just stood there, looking up at him at a complete freaking loss.

Kulti’s fingertips touched the outside of my wrist, his expression hard and serious. “If you were me, wouldn’t you do the same thing?”

Damn it. “Well, yeah.” I don’t know why I hadn’t noticed before how golden his eyelashes were. “I don’t want to take advantage of you. I swear I didn’t bring you along to guilt-trip you into getting them. I promise. I would have bought them in Houston but—“

I stopped talking when I noticed something in his body language change, when I felt his deep breath wash across my cheek. He looked deflated but not necessarily in a bad way.