Page 65 of Man Advantage

Was he…

Were we…

His eyes flicked to my mouth, that subtle gesture flooding my brain with memories of our past life, and holy shit, I wanted one of us to work up the courage to lean in and?—

An alarm on his phone screamed to life.

We jumped apart, both gasping. He snatched the phone off the kitchen island and swore under his breath as he silenced it.

“Damn it,” he whispered. Then he met my gaze with apologetic eyes. “I, uh… I have to go.”

“Right. Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Don’t be late for practice.”

“I won’t.” He laughed, and was I imagining how nervous he sounded? “Uh… dinner and watching a game when I get back?”

“Sure. Yeah. Sounds great.”

He flashed me a quick smile. Then he left the kitchen.

I let out a breath, both frustrated and relieved that the moment had passed. Just as my heartrate was starting to tick down, though, I noticed Trev’s travel mug on the island.

“Shit!” I grabbed it and jogged toward the door.

Just as I was getting to it, he was coming back in, and we nearly collided, which almost sent the coffee cup flying. Somehow, we both stayed on our feet, and I kept my grip on the mug.

“You uh…” I held it up. “You forgot something.”

He laughed, and was he blushing? Oh fuck me, he was blushing. “Thanks,” he said as he took it. “Now I won’t pass out on the ice.”

We both chuckled, and he left for real this time.

Alone in the hallway, I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. God, I was so confused. One minute, I was weirded out by the way he looked at me when he didn’t think I’d notice. The next, we were bantering like old times. And the one after that, we were so close, looking at each other like we might?—

No. That wasn’t who we were. Not anymore. I was working for him and helping him out of a jam his ex had put him into.Hewas helpingmeout of a jam thatmyex had put me into.

Everything else? That was high school. A pair of clueless teenage dumbasses marinating in too many hormones. We were adults now. Friends. Employer and employee, if I really wanted to keep the lines clear.

We both needed each other too much right now to indulge in the kind of recklessness.

Not even if Trev’s eyes had told me he wanted it as much as I did.

Like almost every kid I knew growing up—well, aside from Trev, who’d been deeply ensconced in hockey by kindergarten—I played soccer in elementary school. Only two seasons, though. My parents had signed me up for the first season because every kid I knew was playing and I’d wanted to join. Then they’d put me in for the second because, “You’re still learning—once you get the hang of it, it’ll be a lot more fun!” and “You wanted to play—you can’t possibly hate it that much.”

They were wrong. Ihadhated it that much, and there’d been no third season. Soccer was awful and boring and stupid, and I wanted no part of it. As a teenager, when some self-righteous classmate had informed me I was going to Hell (I don’t recall why, it could’ve been any number of things), I’d snarked that if she was right, that probably meant an eternity being forced to play soccer.

Years later, I still thought any hell for me would be soccer-oriented, but I’d revised my stance a little. Rather than playing the awful sport for all eternity, I would instead be condemned to stand on the sidelines and make small talk with parents while we watchedotherpeople play soccer.

I demand a raise.

Again? What now?

I replied with a photo of the soccer game.

LOL You still hate soccer, don’t you?

(grimacing emoji)

LOLOLOL Hey it could be worse.

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