Page 16 of Playing His Game

“And the snakes,” Adam pointed out. “And the coyotes, and the owls?—”

Mo hissed and pulled the kitten close to his face. “Okay, okay! Point taken. Freedom is not without its perils, I guess. No need to scare the little guy.”

“It’s okay, I don’t think he’s developed language yet. He won’t be fluent in English until he’s a year old, at least.”

Rude and sassy, if understated. Mo was starting to suspect Adam had a hidden sense of humor.

Keeping his gaze away from the other man, Mo locked eyes with the kitten and said in a cutesy talking-to-babies-and-animals voice, “Captain Grumpy Pants is mocking me. I may not know much about kittens, but I know you only talk in cat, yes, I do.”

The kitten mewed and reached out its front paws, batting at Mo’s nose.

“So no cats as a kid,” Adam said as he stroked the orange kitten’s head. “Any other pets?”

“Nope.” Mo kept his focus on the adorable kittens.

“None?” Adam pushed.

“Well… sorta.”

“How do you sort of have a pet?”

He really wanted to talk about Mo’s childhood? “It didn’t last.”

“Why not?”

“I’m allergic.”

“Oh. You had to send it back?”

“Not really. I just couldn’t return to the stables, so my parents sold Mr. Rainbow Cupcake.”

“Stabl—your only sorta pet was ahorse?” Adam’s eyes went wide and his tone had reverted to the default judgmental.

Mo shrugged like the memory didn’t sting. “Animals do not live in Du Pont homes. I was ten and the only animal I could talk them into was a pony. Horseback riding is genteel and, most importantly, is done outdoors and in stables.”

“Wow. So your childhood actually involved Mommy and Daddy getting you a pony?”

“For my tenth birthday.” Mo’s kitten, long since bored of his face, had climbed onto his shoulders and was now digging his tiny pinprick claws into his traps as it tried to figure out where to go next. Winching, Mo held out his hand and the little thing stepped forward. “I started wheezing and coughing almost immediately,” he confided in the kitten.

He’d gotten as far as naming Rainbow Cupcake and touching his nose. It had been so soft and warm and velvety under his little hand, and he’d gazed adoringly at the increasingly blurry equine features until his dad had scooped him up into his arms and hauled Mo out of the stable. It was the only time he could remember his father holding him.

A doctor gave Mo antihistamines and delivered the bad news. Mo had cried for a week straight, so he looked permanently impacted by allergies.

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

Mo forced himself to shrug. “It was a long time ago. Besides, can you imagine me on a horse? Not really my vibe.”

“No, not really,” Adam said after a pause.

“What about you? Grew up in a menagerie, did you? Surrounded by furry friends?” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Er, no, just?—”

“Wait, wait, let me guess! Goldfish? Gerbils? Chinchillas? Boa constrictors?”

Adam gave him a deadpan look, which would have been more effective if the orange beast weren’t trying to climb his shirt and the black kitten hadn’t just slipped off his thigh to land in the V of his legs.

“Fine. Tell me the boring truth. I can take it.” Mo lifted the kitten and pressed him next to his cheek so that they’d both be staring at Adam. “And so can Georgia Bartholomew Adrian Hampstead the third.”