Page 66 of Man Advantage

How?

They could be playing hockey. YOU would be the one airing out all their gear. (gagging emoji)

But I wouldn’t have to watch soccer.

No but you’d have to deal with the smell of hockey gear.

Still not really seeing the downside if soccer is the alternative.

OMG stop being so dramatic. At least it’s only like an hour. Football games are 3 business days long.

I swear to God if you get these children into football while I’m employed (knife emoji)

Worse than soccer?

(knife emoji)

LOL brb registering them for football.

You’re a dick.

(halo emoji)

I chuckled as I lowered my phone and shifted my attention back to the field. Zach was on his way out with two otherforwards. In the goal, Zane was laser-focused on the activity in front of him—poised and ready for action, but calm and collected.

“It’s a good thing they play different positions,” one of the moms, Sheryl, said to me. “I don’t know how you’d tell them apart otherwise.”

I laughed. “Well, the numbers on their jerseys…”

“Still. If you can’t see the number…” She waved a hand.

She did have a point. Admittedly, I was grateful Zane wore the bright blue goalie jersey while Zach and the other players wore yellow. I was getting better at being able to tell the boys apart, but it was definitely easier when they were dressed for soccer.

And that was probably the one andonlyconcession I wouldevermake in favor of this sport. Everything else about it could go straight to hell.

Another mom appeared beside me. “So which one is yours?”

“Oh. Uh.” I scanned the field. “The goalie, and number?—”

“Oh! You’re here with the hockey player’s twins!”

“Yeah.” I didn’t know why face got hot. “I’m their nanny.”

That seemed to slightly short-circuit her brain, though she recovered quickly, and we made that excruciating small talk that soccer parents did. I wondered if it bothered her, the kids having a male nanny. I’d definitely encountered some people who were weird about it. Most didn’t seem to care, though.

Maybe they didn’t think anything of it. Or maybe they were just glad Bryan wasn’t here.

The thought made me chuckle, but I kept it to myself.

After a period of time during which empires had probably risen and fallen, the ref blew the whistle. Both teams trotted toward their respective sides of the field, and a mom opened up a container of orange slices. The kids grabbed handfuls oforanges along with their water bottles, and they snacked while they listened to their coach giving them a pep talk.

“You looked good out there,” she told them. “In the next half, let’s work on not letting them take away the ball, okay?”

The next half?

The next?—

Wait. It was halftime. Fucking hell—it was onlyhalftime?

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