For some reason he didn’t look appeased by what I said at all. It was almost as if he knew I was just saying the words to get him off my back, which I was, but he didn’t know that. At least he shouldn’t.

He didn’t say anything else, and a minute later time for our game ran out. Another ten players headed out onto the field for their practice game. I watched and shouted out encouragements, Harlow receiving some of them. As much as I tried not to pay attention to Kulti, I couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t stop that game to make any suggestions.

Of course not, I thought almost bitterly.

Sometime later practice ended and I found myself walking to my car. I was debating whether to try and catch a yoga class that night, or just do some serious stretching at home, when I happened to look up and find someone standing by the driver side door of my car.

Only it wasn’t just someone. It was the German.

My muscles immediately tensed up at the sight of him leaning so casually against my beloved car.

I took a calm casual breath and tried to push my emotions down as I kept walking. Kulti had his duffel bag thrown over his shoulder, his hands tucked into the pockets of his white polyester workout shorts. He looked exactly like he had a dozen other times on a magazine cover. Show-off.

Oddly enough, I wasn’t affected in the least bit.

I felt smug and disinterested. Mostly I didn’t find myself giving a single crap that Reiner Kulti was standing by my car. Not anyone else’s, mine. He wasn’t the first guy I’d seen doing it, and he wouldn’t be the last.

My face didn’t betray me as I closed the distance between us. I didn’t think about the fact that I’d ripped my headband off as soon as I finished cooling down, that I hadn’t tweezed my eyebrows in a week or taken care of my upper lip.

My muscles were tight from exercise, I felt strong mentally, and that was more than enough for me.

Kulti’s lake-colored eyes stayed locked on my face as I walked right in front of him to pop my trunk and drop my things inside. I hadn’t finished slamming it shut when I said, “I have to get to work. Do you need something?”

“My driver isn’t here.”

So that’s why he’d gotten into the backseat the one day I saw him getting into his car, and why he’d hitched a ride with me the day before.

I left my hand on the trunk and looked at him over my shoulder, at his short hair, his stern face, his full mouth. Yeah, I still didn’t care. “Okay. Do you need to borrow my cell?”

“I need a ride,” he said in his low voice.

What was I? Driving Miss Daisy?

“Could you give me one?” he asked.

Was this real life? Was this really happening? “You want me to give you a ride again?”

To give him credit, he didn’t break eye contact once. “It would be appreciated.”

It would be appreciated. My eyes almost crossed in response. “I have to get to work,” I told him in a calm voice because it was the truth. Sure I was meeting Marc at a house about a mile away from Kulti’s, but he didn’t know that. Also it wasn’t like spending one-on-one time with an ungrateful jerk was at the top of my list of things I wanted to do.

The look he gave me in response said that he didn’t exactly believe me. At all. For one second, I felt guilty for lying. Then I remembered how I’d tried being friendly with him time and time again and for what? To get snapped at? I didn’t owe him a thing.

The corners of his mouth tightened and a noticeable deep breath made its way out of lungs that used to carry him across the length of a full-sized soccer field effortlessly. The “please” caught me totally off-guard.