And this fucking frankfurter…

I swallowed the fucking bratwurst bitch, sauerkraut shit, German pieceofshit Chocolate Cake insults, which were all throwing a party in my mouth. They each begged me to let them come out and play.

Inside, oh my God, inside I was raging and trying to talk myself out of doing something that would land me in jail. I wouldn’t cut it. I enjoyed being outside too much.

“Sorry guys,” I said in a deceptively calm voice once Kulti had finished his rant.

Harlow and Jenny’s faces stood out at me from the semicircle we were standing in. Harlow looked like she was on the verge of laughing, and Jenny looked like she was contemplating how quickly she could grab me in case I decided two to fifteen years behind bars wasn’t that long.

None of the girls said a word.

Our post-game meeting finished soon after that, leaving a clammy awkward feeling in the air that I’m sure I was responsible for.

Like a sane rational person, I grabbed my things and casually went about preparing to leave. Harlow gave my arm a squeeze as she walked by me, not saying anything, but I felt like she was giving me her blessing—her inner fearlessness. Jenny crept over to me and wrapped her arm around my shoulders and in a low voice said, “Salamander, please don’t make me visit you in jail. Orange isn’t your color, and I don’t think you’re cut out to be some lady’s… you know… bitch.”

Leave it to Jenny to make me lose focus. I laughed and wrapped an arm around her waist. How did she know me so well? “I swear I’m not going to do anything violent.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

She didn’t exactly look like she really believed me, but eventually she dropped her arm. “Please.” Jenny looked me right in the eye as she pleaded.

I couldn’t help but smile at her and nod. “Promise.”

Her eyes dropped low but she eventually nodded. “See you tomorrow?”

I assured her I would, and she bid me goodbye. The area had mostly cleared out by then, but the person I was looking for was still there. Taking a deep breath, I calmed my nerves and told myself I was doing the right thing. I couldn’t keep doing this crap with him.

I wouldn’t. I knew exactly what I needed to do to resolve it.

There he was standing, just as I finished sending Marc a text letting him know I’d be late. Standing at the curb where I’d picked him up time and time again. He wasn’t expecting me to come up behind him. Or maybe he was, except possibly with a knife in one hand.

“I can’t do this with you anymore,” I warned him. I wasn’t having any of this being-discreet crap. I stood there and I faced him. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that my face was flushed, I was sweaty everywhere. There was a slight chance that I might smell too, but I had to get this out. Now. I pointed at the field behind us. “Come on.”

Kulti reared back, his face scrunching up. “What are you talking about?”

I waved him onward more insistently. “Come on. I’m not going to be your punching bag the rest of the season. You and me, whoever makes it to seven first, wins.”

His bottom lip dropped and he blinked. Then he blinked again, confused.

“Come on.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on,” I repeated.

“Twenty-three, no.”

“Kulti.” I waved him forward, giving him one more chance to do this the easy way.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

All right. I sniffled and took a deep breath. “And you’re being a coward.”

That might have not been the smartest thing to say because the next thing I knew his shoulders stiffened, and his mouth had slammed closed. Well I couldn’t say I hadn’t gotten the job done. “What did you say?”