Page 19 of A Match Made In Evan
I cringe. “Sorry,” I tell him, glancing at my watch. “I’ve got a bit on my mind.”
“Yeah, well,” Brett huffs and ties his long, dark hair up in his customary man bun, “try and concentrate on the game for the next sixty minutes, yeah?”
I salute him then, when his back is turned, turn the gesture into my raised middle finger.
Jack chuckles. “That’s right,” he says as I finish tying my boots, “you were hanging out with teenagers the last time we really chatted, weren’t you?”
I snort. “I guess I’ve picked up some of their habits.”
“That’s okay,” Connor teases as he pats his new son-in-law (who is a couple of years older than him) on the shoulder, “this one likes to channel his three-year-olds, too.”
Jack rolls his eyes. “I’ll teach them to call you Gramps, Con. You know I will.”
I can’t help but laugh at the scrunched, unimpressed expression on Connor’s face as we all make our way onto the pitch.
Even though I mocked Brett earlier, I do manage to put all thoughts of Jay out of my head for the duration of the game. This one is fast paced, with the other team seeming to channel Brett’s competitive energy. I spend the entire time focused solely on where the ball is and how to get it into the goal. I even manage to keep James from my thoughts during the half-time break, allowing myself to be distracted by the goings on the guys’ lives.
Jack talks about his boys, acting a little strangely when Connor mentions his nanny, but otherwise seems to be well and truly settling into the single dad lifestyle. Brett asks Connor how wedded bliss is suiting him, and he laughs and admits that his and Will’s relationship is very much the same as it was before they got married, but jokes that it’s nice to be able to say that he has a sexy fireman husband (and brushes Jack aside when Jack reminds him that Will has retired).
“What about you?” Connor asks Brett. “Still single and loving it?”
Brett shrugs. “I miss having adult company sometimes,” he admits. “Tom’s going through a Spiderman phase and, while that means I get to watch a lot of Marvel movies, conversations at my place are pretty limited. And my work is kind of solitary.”
I realise belatedly that I have no idea what it is he does for a living. I’ve always assumed, from the way he dresses and speaks, that he’s a tradie of some sort. “Sorry,” I apologise, “what is it you do again?”
“I’m a data architect for the uni up the road,” he gestures vaguely southbound, but that could mean a couple of different universities. “It’s a fancy title for someone who basically just collects, sorts and stores data. There’s a bit of software development and management involved, too. I don’t really need to talk to anyone much, and I’m pretty sure the faculty forget I exist.”
I blink. I’ve got to learn to stop judging books by their covers. “Wow. That sounds…complicated.” Pulling out my phone, I Google ‘data architect’ and then blink again at the average salary listed on SEEK. “Yeah. Yeah, wow. That’s…more complicated than being an accountant, for sure.”
He snorts. “Nah. I’d be a shit accountant.” Checking his watch, he drops his water bottle to his feet and stands up again, shaking out his legs and shoulders. “C’mon, then. Let’s win this thing.”
Sadly, we do not win. We draw at two-all and basically collapse on the bench on the sidelines after the final whistle blows.
“That was a tight game,” Brett says, grinning despite his exhaustion. “I’m buzzed now.”
“I could sleep for, like, a week,” Connor moans. “I don’t know how the professionals do this.”
“Speaking of,” Brett says, “Did you hear they’re starting up a professional team on the Coast now? It’s probably still a year or so away from happening, but we could get season tickets for them instead of for the Roar in Brissie. Travelling up there every couple of weeks is a pain in the arse.”
“That’s assuming they’re any good,” Jack says, though I already know that he’s on board. Jack’s mad on almost all sporting events.
“It would be easier to bring the boys to games if we’re travelling locally,” I argue, just to further convince him.
His eyes light up. “True.”
“I can bring Tom, too,” Brett says. “Plus, I hear they’re talking about bringing over someone from the UK Premier League to coach the Gold Coast team.”
“Have we run out of Aussie coaches?” Henry, our goalie for the day and Connor’s best friend, saunters over. He’s a great guy, for a lawyer, but he only joins us every so often. He’s got a toddler at home, and it sounds like he’s super busy with his job, though, so none of us mind that he’s in and out of the social games. It’s not like we don’t have lives on the side.
“Probs not, but it seems to be universally accepted that the Premier League is superior to the A-League,” Brett is answering him. “I just hope they don’t fill the team with newbies and ring-ins. It would be nice to have a solid local team.”
Henry snorts. “Just so you don’t have to travel up to Brissie?”
Brett laughs and nods. “Pretty much.”
Connor, who has been typing away on his phone, scrunches up his nose. “Are they seriously trying to call the team The Thunder?” He looks up at us dubiously. “Don’t they know that it sounds like the Thunder from Down Under? You know, the Vegas show with the male strippers?” He points a finger at Jack. “Don’t you dare make a gay joke about me knowing about the strippers.”
“I was only going to ask if you’ve been to Vegas,” Jack tells him with faux innocence.
