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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. He was helping me out of a jam that my ex 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. I had hated 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 watched other people 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.

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 other forwards. 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 and only concession I would ever make 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 of oranges 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 only halftime ?

Jesus. I was going to be here until I was seventy, wasn’t I?

The coach’s pep talk wrapped up, and the players focused on eating, hydrating, and talking to each other.

I checked in on the boys, making sure they had enough water and they both had some orange slices.

They were far more interested in hanging out with their friends than talking to me, so I left them to it.

Still keeping an eye on them, I texted their dad again.

It’s only halftime. I just sat through eternity, and now I have to sit through it AGAIN?

I heard they’re thinking of making it like hockey. Three periods instead of two.

You won’t be able to afford me if that happens.

(violin emoji)

(middle finger emoji)

As much as I hated soccer, I did enjoy this part—the snarky texts with Trev. It was something we’d started doing as soon as we’d gotten our first phones, and I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it until we’d picked it up again.

I knew I wouldn’t be Zach and Zane’s nanny forever. This job definitely had a shelf life. And that was fine.

But God help me, even after I found another job, I was never letting this friendship slip through my fingers again.