“I’m sure you haven’t made them regret anything they did.”

“Eh. I’m sure I’ve made them wonder what the hell they were doing a time or two.” Or three. Or four. “I used to have a terrible temper—“

The German snorted. Straight-up snorted, lips fluttering, too.

Ass.

I nudged at his hip with my toes. “What? I don’t have a terrible temper anymore.”

Those awesome almost-hazel eyes looked up again from over the notebook. “No, you don’t and neither do I.”

“Ha!” I nudged at him again and he grabbed my foot with his free hand. I tried to yank it back, but he didn’t let go. “Oh please, my temper isn’t anywhere near as bad as yours.”

“It is.” He pulled my foot back toward him, getting a better grip around the instep.

“Trust me. It isn’t.”

“You’re a menace when you’re mad, schnecke. Maybe the refs haven’t caught you pinching girls, but I have,” he said casually.

I sat up straight. “Unless you have any physical proof, it never happened.”

Kulti stared at me for a beat before shaking his head, his thumb pressing a hard line down the arch of my foot. “You’re an animal.”

My shoulders shook but I managed to keep myself from laughing. “It takes one to know one.”

The corners of the German’s mouth tipped up. “Unlike others, I have never pretended to be nice.”

“Oh, I know.” I smiled at him. “There was that time you bit a guy—“

“He bit me three times before I had enough,” he argued.

I raised an eyebrow but kept going. “Don’t get me started on the thousand times you elbowed someone in the face.” Once the words were out of my mouth, I reeled back. “How the hell didn’t you get banned?”

The fact he shrugged at that claim said just how much of a crap he still didn’t give about the staggering number of noses he’d broken and eyebrows he’d busted.

“All the fights you were in—“

“I usually didn’t start them.”

“Debatable.” He blinked at me. “And don’t forget about the tibias you’ve broken.”

With that comment he just kept an even glare on me that had me smiling pretty smugly, even if it was at my brother’s expense.

“You win,” I stated. “All I give are bruises,” and then I added, “and an occasional bloody lip or two and a concussion once.”

The German leaned over, putting my notebook down and scooting closer to me, yanked my foot once more before setting it back on the couch next to him. His hand was wrapped around my ankle. “I’m positive you’ve thought about doing worse and in the end, that’s what matters.”

He had a point, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to admit it.

Instead I just sat on my end of the couch and gave him a flat look of irritation, until he smiled just the slightest bit wider and finally looked back down at the notebook. I went back to the sticky notes on the poster board and reviewed what I had jotted down already.

In the middle of making a few new notes, Kulti tapped the top of the foot I still had right by him. “Tell me how I can help with this.”

If anyone thought for one second that I would ever say no to help from him, they would have been insane. It wasn’t just the endless endorsements he had access to. If he wanted to do any actual work with the kids, it would be like having Mozart give a kid a lesson in musical composition.

I swallowed and felt my entire body brighten. “Any way you can.”

“All you have to do is ask.” Then as if he thought about what he said, his eyelids hooded low. “You aren’t going to ask, I don’t even know why I bother. Let me see what I can do.”