* * *

“…like this,” he said in that deep voice with a hint of a watered-down accent in it.

I blinked at the ball on the ground and nodded. “Okay.”

“Yes?”

Scratching at my neck, I nodded again. “Got it.”

Maybe he expected me to jump for joy or kiss his feet for working with me for the third time, but I couldn’t find it in me to drag enough of a shit together to care that he had singled me out again. After having the weekend to cool off, I’d come back to practice with my head straight yesterday. Needless to say, that included me deciding to avoid Kulti as much as possible. I had better things to waste my time and energy on, and jackasses with short tempers and no manners weren’t at the top of my list.

I managed to make it through one whole practice without expending any calories on him.

Then today he decided to jump into the middle of a five-on-five game I was playing.

To be an adult, I really watched what he did and listened. I sure as hell wasn’t going to do more than that. I lifted my head and gave him an affirming nod, my face neutral. Moving around him, I went back to where I’d been and gestured to the defender I was playing against that we should restart. We did.

Fifteen seconds later Kulti interrupted us again. His long legs ate up the turf as he stopped right between us. “You’re doing it wrong,” he said, showing me what he wanted me to do differently.

I nodded and went back at it.

Another fifteen seconds of uninterrupted playing time went on before he stopped us again. “Watch. You’re not watching,” the German insisted.

I was watching. I was watching him very carefully.

“All right, I got it,” I said as soon as he’d finished his demonstration.

The other player shot me a look that I returned.

Not even ten seconds later, “Twenty-three! What the hell was that?” exploded out of Kulti’s mouth.

My hands clenched at my sides, and I asked myself, why? Why it’d been decided that this ass-wipe would make an appearance in my life ten years too late?

Taking a deep breath to steady my frustration, I put my hands on my hips and slowly faced him. “Please tell me what I did wrong because I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said before I could even comprehend the fact that words had come out of my mouth.

Catching him so off-guard must have been a testament to how much he was not accustomed to people talking back to him, or at least not accepting his word as something holy to be treasured.

Those light-colored eyes narrowed on me, and his eyelids dropped just enough to shield the interesting shade. “You would have a clearer shot if you—“ He broke off his words as he quickly changed the foot he was leading with and turned around with the ball.

I looked at him and asked someone, somewhere for patience. “Wouldn’t it be better if I passed the ball?” Of course it’d be better, I was asking a hypothetical question.

A question that he obviously didn’t understand by the way he shook his head in response. “No.”

No?

“If you have the shot, take it.”

I glanced at Genevieve, my teammate who was standing off to the side watching us, and then looked back at Kulti. “It’s not sure I’ll have it.”

“Unless you’re not paying attention or you suddenly can’t move your feet, you’ll have it,” he ground out in an irritated tone.

Fighting the urge to pinch my nostrils, I squeezed my fist tighter. “All right. Whatever you say.” Whatever you say for me usually meant yeah, sure, and then I’d end up doing whatever the hell I wanted anyway. He was wrong. What he was telling me to do was too risky, and it was selfish. But, whatever. I knew how to pick my arguments.