Page 108 of Playing His Game
“Yes, please,” Mo’s mouth said before his brain could catch up. “I mean—if it’s still—I’m so stupid because it wasn’t until I panicked about you getting injured that I finally admitted it to myself.”
“Admitted what?” Adam stepped closer, so Mo matched him with another step.
“That I like you. I want to date you for real and maybe, if I’m lucky, get to go back to New Brunswick someday.”
“I think that’s pretty likely. Mum and Dad will riot if I don’t. Not to mention what Chuckie will say.” They were reaching out for each other now, entwining their limbs.
“I mean, I wouldn’t want to disappoint my favorite members of the Murphy clan?—”
Adam kissed him.
For the first time in weeks, Mo settled. Yes, his life was still in chaos, his tiny apartment was a mess, his boyfriend was moving to Seattle, and Mo had only been working his first-ever job for less than a fortnight, but those were details. He’d figure it all out, and Adam would be with him while he did.
“So,” Mo said some minutes later, arms twined around Adam’s neck. “Wanna go on a not-fake date with me and get some dinner?”
“Can’t think of anything I want more.”
The memory of Adam’s grin was going to keep Mo warm the rest of the night.
He stepped back, tangled their fingers together, and tugged Adam to his feet. “I just need to shower and change and then we can go. You’re driving. Your ride is nicer than mine.”
“Since when?”
“Since last week. I’ll tell you all about it over dinner.”
Adam lifted Mo’s—still pretty dirty—hand to his mouth and kissed it. “I’ll hold you to that promise.”
“Good. Now let’s get moving. I’m hungry.”
Two months after Adam and Mo’s first officialrealdate, the Canyons’ last Stanley Cup dreams died on home ice, a brutal game-seven loss in the Conference Final. Adam held his head up high, knowing Mo was in the stands, ready to catch him.
That night, he curled around Mo and buried his face in his neck, and they both pretended Adam’s face wasn’t wet.
But he didn’t have time to dwell on it. He had responsibilities as team captain. And for once, the end of the season didn’t feel like pushing Pause on life. He had teammates to bolster and preparations to make.
And also, a boyfriend who took the opportunity of Adam hosting a team barbecue to reveal his alter-ego as the terrifying and awe-inspiring love child of Ru Paul and Martha Stewart.
Adam normally woke early and got a workout in while Mo slumbered on. But the morning of the Canyons’ farewell party, Mo threw open the curtains at an hour he normally would’ve called ungodly and chirped, “Up and at ’em, sunshine, we’ve got stuff to do!”
Mo put his socialite-hostess training to work transforming Adam’s house and yard for the final team barbecue. Well, as the Arizona Canyons. Adam knew how to host a barbecue in New Brunswick weather; he could figure out Seattle.
When the cleaning and decorating and food and drink prep—Adam had cut so much citrus, his skin had chapped, and Mo ordered him out of the kitchen to wash and bathe in moisturizer—had finished, Adam had hoped for a half an hour just to spend with Mo. But he’d only gotten as far as stealing a lemon-scented kiss when the doorbell rang and Mo kicked him out to the backyard to supervise.
Because his mother hadn’t raised a fool, Adam stayed in the backyard, where he kept an eye on the pool, the drinks, and the grill. With Jorts acting as the team’s grill master and Beauchamp, a son of New Orleans, as his deputy, Adam didn’t have to worry about that, at least.
“Hallsy! Remove your hands from those tongs and no one gets hurt!” Jorts held him at tong-point, clearly ready to defend the meat with his life.
Shaking his head, Adam stepped away.Hewasn’t foolish enough to get between Jorts and his postseason grill therapy.
He found Picks near the drinks cooler, staring morosely into a beer.
This was the part about being captain Adam had worried might not suit him. Time for the ultimate test.
Adam grabbed his own drink, claimed the deck chair next to Picks, and nudged their knees together. “Hey, kid.”
Picks jumped. “Oh, hi. Sorry.”
“For?”
