The Player Game

Chapter 6

VOTE, COMMENT, FAN. THIS IS IN THE WATTY'S.

Slideshow of the guys on the side. --->

Two little balls of fur throw themselves at my legs.  Jack and Tyler, dressed in cat gear, grab hold of one leg each.  Their little arms and legs wrap around my legs tightly in a hug.

I haven’t seen them for the whole week, which is a miracle.  It’s Friday now, and every single night they’ve been sleeping over at other kids’ houses.  It’s an understatement to say that I’m a little surprised.

“Hey, kids!” I shout, grinning as I ruffle their little blonde heads with both hands.  I dump my satchel on the floor, closing the door behind me.

It’s funny how the whole of our family turned out blonde, despite having a father with dark brown hair.  I guess we all decided to take after my mom.  I know that she’s adamant that the female genes must have overpowered dads, but she’s always been sexist.

“We’re not kids.” Jack pouts.

They both pull away from the hug, faking upset.  Of course, their way of faking sadness is by looking at their feet and pulling an expression which suggests that they've been offended by the smell of rotting eggs rather than something someone said.

If they were genuinely upset, I’d know by now.  They’d be screaming and throwing stuff across the room before I had a chance to hear what was wrong.

“Oh, really?” I raise my eyebrows as I kick off my shoes and add them to the pile next to the door.  “Then I suppose you don’t want any ice cream tonight,” I say tactically.

As expected, they both look up, sea blue eyes widening.  At least they have inherited dad’s eyes.

Pretending not to notice, I lock the door loudly.  “I guess I’ll just have to eat it all myself!” I shout.  With that, I sprint past them both into the lounge.

I duck behind the sofa just as they enter the room, faces flushed red with excitement.

“Emily!” Tyler whines, eyes searching the empty room. “You’re right!  We’re kids,” he admits.

“Yeah, we’re definitely childish and naughty  We’re really small kids!” Jack joins in, running to the curtains and peering behind them while Tyler looks behind the door.

I stifle a laugh.  The best way to get kids to do what you want?  Mention ice cream.

“There you are!”  Two heads appear over the head of the armchair.

“Please give us ice cream!”

“Pretty please!”

“We’ll be really well behaved.”

“Can I have sprinkles?”

“And chocolate!”

“Oh, please let us!”

“We’ll love you forever.  Right, Tyler?”

“Right!  I’ll even-”

All goes quiet as I raise a finger to my lips.

“Okay guys, I’m convinced,” I say, smiling.  “Ice cream time!”

Ten minutes later, the three of us are cuddled up on the couch, singing along to The Simpson’s theme song.

“Dooh, dooh-dooh, do-dooh, dooh dooh duh-doo-doo-duh-doo, duh duh duh duh duh, doo-doo-doo-doo, duh duh duh duh duh, duh-duh-”