Page 30 of Playing His Game

He should get a second one of those, Mo thought, as he wiggled under the Land Rover so he could lie next to Adam and point out the damage. “See this?” He motioned to a slight bow in the car’s frame.

Adam followed his finger. “Yeah.”

“Great.” Mo turned his attention to the opposite side of the vehicle, where the frame should have been a mirror image. It wasn’t. That side was firm. Unbent. “Seethat?”

Adam looked back and forth between them. “Yeah, but like… the car still drives, so…?”

“Yeah,” Mo said sharply, “the car still drives. But the frame—the part of the car that is built to take the impact of a collision to keep the squishy humans inside it from becoming splatters on the pavement—is weakened. Once it crumples, it’s never the same. That’s why it feels like your alignment’s off. No insurance company would’ve paid to have this car rebuilt. It’s not safe.”

And Mo wasupsetabout it. Not just because the garage had done something shady to get the job, but because Adam had been driving around in a safety hazard.

He shoved the creeper back out from under the Land Rover and wiggled out after it. “Get a new car, please. You’re putting enough of a crimp in my sex life while you’re alive. If I have to fake mourn you, I’m going to pretend to go off the deep end just so I can have my slut era back.”

Adam made a muffled noise, and his cheeks went pink—not from exertion this time, Mo thought. Who knew hockey players could blush? “I thought you enjoyed the opportunity for drama.”

“Shockingly, pretending to be head over heels and pretending to be bereaved are different experiences.”

“Point taken.” Adam gave him an assessing look. Something about it…

“What?” Mo asked.

Adam lifted a shoulder and gave a quick, almost shy grin. “Uh… you want to go car shopping?”

Mo refused to get back into the death trap, so he grabbed the keys to his Porsche, bullied Adam into it, and pointed them toward the city’s best luxury vehicle dealership.

For the first half of the drive, Adam stayed quiet. Brooding, probably, at the thought of having to talk cars.

“We should talk parameters.”

Mo glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “You need a safe word for car shopping, big boy?”

Adam snorted. “Probably. But I meant about dating. We need… rules, guidelines.”

“Didn’t wejustdo that?”

“Yeah, but—how long do we keep this up? How often do we go on dates? What kind of dates?”

Ugh.Unfortunately, Captain Cardboard had a point. Mo drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “What do you think?” Adam was the one stewing—he could start the conversation.

“We should trade off planning. One date a week when I’m in town, and you should probably come to home games.”

Mo pulled a face but didn’t argue. He’d gotten them into this mess. He could sacrifice some of his leisure time—which was all of it—to this dumb charade, even if it meant playing picture-perfect boyfriend.

Gag.

At least he’d be off the hook when the Canyons had road games.

“Luxury vehicles?” Adam read as Mo turned into the lot. “Somehow, I doubt this is going to be my speed.”

“A car pun, Adam? We might make a gearhead out of you yet.” He sprang out of the car and slammed the door on Adam’s grumbled “I didn’t?—”

Figuring the best offense was a good offense, Mo bustled Adam into the building and pushed him at an Aston Martin. “You could be like James Bond.”

Adam gave him a look. “Never in my life have I wanted to be like James Bond.”

Mo recoiled. “Not even a little? All the cars and suits?—”

“And het sex?”