He cornered me at one point and managed to get the ball. While he did it, he shouldered me a little more than was necessary. I mean he was a foot taller and at least fifty pounds heavier, yet he was playing as rough as my brother and his friends did. I’d been playing with the boys since I was a kid, and they’d missed the memo that said I was a girl seven years younger than them. Apparently, Kulti had too.

“Playing a little rough, aren’t you?” I asked as I ran up behind him, trying to block him from getting a clear shot of the goal.

He looked up at me from under his eyelashes. “Are you whining?”

I huffed. Asshole. “No, but if that’s how you want to play, then that’s how we’ll play.” Between the people I played with for fun and Harlow, I could take it.

We ran after each other for what felt like forever. I’d steal the ball from him; he’d steal the ball from me, over and over again. Sweat poured down my face, arms and lower back. He was breathing hard—had he ever breathed hard before?

It was a miracle that he was playing pretty sloppy, and I think that’s the reason why he didn’t manage to score. I wasn’t egotistical, I knew I was good, but I wasn’t as good as he was. But I watched and I learned. That was all I ever wanted.

“You’ve had like… eight opportunities… to score…on me…” I huffed.

His back was to mine, butt pressed to my hip. “And… you’ve…. had three…if…you’d known what you were—doing!” He kicked the ball up high and tried to do a header to get it in. My miracle was obviously still in effect because he didn’t score.

We both hauled ass for the ball, and I might have slammed my body up against his pretty rough, but whatever, he could take it.

“I know what… I’m doing…” I pushed my shoulder into his chest and took the ball away from him.

Back and forth, we went chasing and stealing, chasing and stealing, until I was breathing hard from the spike of adrenaline. We played aggressively, battling it out. In a real game, you knew how to keep your energy perfectly balanced. You had ninety minutes to get through, and you couldn’t wear yourself out within the first fifteen.

You also had ten other people on the field to move the ball back and forth.

My morning run and practice had already taken their toll. Playing with Kulti made every muscle feel that much more intense, even the backs of my knees were wet with sweat.

But when his breath was in my ear and his body was right behind me, I could hear and feel the exhaustion radiating from his own body. I smiled.

“Getting winded?”

He grunted but didn’t respond; a second later, I realized why. In a move that was Reiner Kulti at the height of his career, he stole the ball from me and powered toward the goal using the advantage of his long legs. I saw it coming but I still didn’t slow down as I ran to catch up.

With a swift kick I didn’t have a chance of blocking, the soccer ball flew through the air in a sharp powerful line. Perfect. It was a perfect shot.

I smiled and shook my head despite the fact that under normal circumstances, I would have been pissed off I was down a point.

But that had been beautiful.

And when Kulti turned around with the most smug triumphant smile I would probably ever see, and that was saying something considering I’d played against some pretty egotistical people, it pleased me. It went straight into my sternum because it was so… him. It wasn’t the blank indifferent man I’d seen so many times over the course of the last month.

“One-zero, Taco,” he said like I was an idiot and had no idea what the score was.