Page 104 of Playing His Game

Mo had belonged to the Phoenix car scene long enough to have connections. With Oleander’s help, he spent two days meticulously detailing all four cars, while Rose kept them fed. On day three, all four went to new homes, and Mo and Oleander scoured used-car lots and online ads until they unearthed a surprisingly well-equipped Nissan Rogue that fit his criteria and his budget and was still fun to drive.

On day four, Oleander introduced Mo to Gerry Lawson, an old friend who owned a garage with a vacant loft apartment. Gerry eyed Mo up and down—he probably shouldn’t have worn his designer jeans for this, but he hadn’t figured out where his coveralls had ended up yet—and then had Mo walk him through a lube, oil, filter, and tire rotation.

Mo figured he had the job when he asked, “Hey, did the owner purchase the extended warranty? Because the manufacturer’s recommended oil underperforms in desert conditions. I’d go with something rated for higher temperatures—we’re not worried about sub-freezing startups. Unless they do a lot of winter road trips north?”

So less than a week after getting kicked to the curb, Mo had a job, a place to live, and all his worldly possessions piled around him in boxes and bags.

He was so exhausted after moving, working, setting up the apartment, opening a new bank account and depositing his funds into it that he barely had any energy at the end of each day to miss Adam.

Barely.

Okay, so he missed him like a lost limb every night. Wished Adam was there to curl up around him and tell him he would survive this because he was stronger than his parents knew.

Five days into his new job, Mo stepped into the front office to grab the next set of keys from the peg board behind the counter, and the client, whom Mo hadn’t spared a glance, said, “Hi, Mo.”

Startled, Mo threw the keys halfway across the room. They skidded under a metal shelf and out the other side.

Mads stood at the counter, snatched as always. She didn’t look the least bit surprised to see him.

Which meant she must’ve come here to find him.

“Uh.” Mo licked his lips and tried to quell the urge to follow the keys under the shelf. “Hi. What are you doing here?”

“Me?” Mads gave him a smile. Mo wouldn’t have called it predatory, but it certainly unsettled him. “I’m here to get my husband’s car serviced. It’s making a weird noise. A friend of mine said you’re the best in the city.”

Mo looked at Gerry, who was watching this exchange with a mild expression, obviously aware of the tension.

Fortunately, Gerry knew when to stay out of a girl’s business. Mo respected that about him. “Well, looks like you’ve got this in hand. I haven’t had a moment with my coffee all morning. I trust you can finish signing in the client’s car.” He patted Mo’s shoulder on his way to his office, then shut the door behind him.

Great. Now there weren’t any witnesses, but also, thereweren’t any witnesses.

Mo swallowed and tried to joke. “Did you hire a private detective or something? Or just bug my phone?”

Mads rolled her eyes. “Please. I have a very persuasive stage actor in my DMs.” She crossed the floor, flicked her keys up with the toe of her high heel, and caught them neatly. “And a mopey papa bear of a husband who tells me everything. Unlike some people. I thought we were friends, Mo.”

Fuck.“We were. We are.” Were they? Could they be? “I loved painting with you, I just—everything got so fucked up?—”

“Yeah.” She pressed the keys into his hand. “Kinda like Steve’s car. Think you can figure it out?”

It didn’t take Mo long to diagnose the fan belt issue. He could get a replacement from a warehouse in the city, but they’d already closed for the day, so he’d have to keep the car overnight.

“Great.” Maddison had taken a seat at the bar stool in the garage where Mo did invoices. “So. You work here now.”

Mo wiped his hands on a rag, more for something to do with them than because he’d gotten particularly dirty. “Yeah.”

“Since when?”

He blew out a breath. “Sage didn’t tell you?”

“Maybe I want to hear the truth from you for once.”

“Ouch.” He deserved that, though. Mo rubbed his jaw. “Since a few days ago.”

“I thought your parents didn’t want their son shaming them with such a lowly occupation.”

Ugh, why had he told her that? “They didn’t. But since they’ve cut off the gravy train, they don’t get a say anymore.”

She raised an immaculate eyebrow. “How did that happen?”