We finished the game with one more last-minute goal that had our fans out of their seats cheering like crazy. Sure the stadium wasn’t packed like the men’s games were, but it didn’t matter. The fans we had were beyond dedicated and that more than made up for it.

The next hour went by in a blur of hugs and congratulations, and Gardner prattling about both the good and the bad in those ninety-five minutes. I showered and got out of there as quickly as I could, not in the mood for anyone but those three people in the audience.

I walked outside following high-fives and butt pats to some of the players on my way out, there were camera crews and journalists prepared, lights bright, microphones ready.

“Sal!”

“Sal!”

Big Girl Socks, on.

“Hi,” I greeted them all with an anxious smile, taking a step back when four microphones were shoved in my face.

“Congratulations on your win, can you tell us how the Pipers managed to do it?”

I summed it up for them: teamwork, great defense and quick thinking.

There were more and more questions. What I thought about this and that.

And then… “Where was your assistant coach tonight?”

“I wasn’t told,” I replied.

“Are the rumors regarding an inappropriate relationship between the two of you affecting your game?” someone else asked.

I bristled on the inside but managed to smile. “I would be distracted if there was something for me to be distracted about, but my only focus this season, like every other season, has been winning. That’s all.”

“So you’re denying that there’s something going on with you and Kulti?”

I’m in love with him and he thinks he feels something for me, I thought to myself but instead said, “He’s my best friend and he’s my coach. That’s the only thing I’m confirming.”

All I got in return were blank faces from the people hoping for something more dramatic. If only they’d been around earlier when I’d received and given the sweetest little kisses in the world from the man in question.

“Thanks for coming,” I said and made my exit, hustling past the other family members and fans who were waiting by the press. I shook some hands, gave a few hugs and waved at people I recognized.

It was that damned Corona cap I spotted first, as far away from the media as possible; next to him were my parents, Marc and Simon. It was my dad who saw me approaching first. He came rushing toward me, his face glowing. Dad grabbed me in a big hug and said the words that he used every time I made him exceptionally proud.

“You could have scored at least two more goals.”

“Next time,” I agreed, hugging him back.

My mom was next.

“You’re not leaving yourself open as much. Good job.”

Finally after my mom let me go, Kulti stepped forward before Marc or Simon could. He put a hand on my shoulder, his eyes holding mine steady and only the faintest hint of a smile on his mouth.

“Yes, oh wise one? What words of advice do you have for me?”

That small smile blossomed. “Your parents said it all.”

* * *

“Buenas noches, amores,” my mom said goodnight to both my dad and I before disappearing into my bedroom. My parents were spending the night.

Dad leaned back against the couch and sipped the beer he’d bought on our way home. Our group of six had all gone out to eat immediately following the game. He waited until the bedroom door clicked shut before saying, “Now can you tell me why Kulti wasn’t coaching tonight?”

The fact he’d made it almost five hours until finally breaking down and asking why the German had sat in the stands was amazing. I had to give him credit for holding onto the question so long when it had to be eating him up inside. “Yes.”