Page 34 of Playing His Game

She laughed. “Exactly. You’ll learn fast that the best of them might be sweet and more responsible, but they’re still just big boys.”

“Not sure anyone’s ever described Adam as a boy, even when he was one,” Mo mused. Adam might be funny and able, apparently, to laugh, but he wasn’t “boyish.”

“Adam is more the exception that proves the rule, really,” Maddison agreed.

Maddison turned out to be the best of allies. She introduced him to a tasty cocktail and casually shared gossip about the team and their families—though she only told stories their subjects wouldn’t mind others hearing.

“Obviously you’re the first confirmed non-straight non-woman to join the ranks, but me and few others changed the acronym to SaPs the moment Adam got drafted. Should have pushed for it sooner, but I was young. Happily, any of the former WaGs that were against the change have left. Most of the ladies have had plenty of time to get used to the idea or are young enough not to care.”

Mo gave a wan smile. “Most?”

She pulled a face. “Most. I wish I could say it will be smooth sailing, but…” She shrugged. “Anyway, I’ve been acting as head of the group, since Adam’s been chronically single and I’m an elder now, so they know better than to say anything too loudly ortome.”

Mo looked at her smooth face and almost gray-free hair. “Darling, if you’re an elder, there’s no hope for the rest of us.”

“You say that like I don’t know exactly how young you are.”

“You can’t be that much older than me,” Mo said, not bullshitting.

“Another couple years and I’ll officially be closer to forty than thirty.”

“Girl. I need your skincare routine.”

She laughed and smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand.

Then the other part of the conversation registered. “Wait—don’t tell meI’msupposed to—” Was Mo supposed to be head WaG—SaP? Had this fake relationship just made himpresident of a sorority?

“Relax,” Maddison said soothingly. “No one’s going to expect you to take charge midseason. We’ll get you ready by September.”

Oh God, Mo thought,please no.

When the puck dropped, Mo found himself leaning forward in spite of himself. Hockey might have hurt him—if not the sport, then the people he’d played with—but he’d loved it. He still did. His relationship with Adam might be as fake as a Day-Glo spray tan, but he didn’t have to pretend to enjoy the game.

He didn’t even have to pretend to think Adam was good at it. From the opening face-off, he played like a man with his life on the line. He won the draw with a movement so quick, Mo barely caught it on the replay.

“Your boy’s looking sharp for you tonight,” Maddison teased, giving him a gentle elbow.

Unaccountably, Mo felt his cheeks heat. Which was silly. He and modesty had never even shared a cigarette. Adam wasn’t even his real boyfriend! He cleared his throat and hoped he hadn’t made himself too conspicuous. “You know how hockey players are. They love to show off.”

As if he’d scripted it, at that moment, Adam chased an opposing forward into the corner, bodied him off the puck, and skated away clean. He and Jorts made it all the way to the offensive zone for a scoring chance and two rebounds that had Mo on the edge of his seat. Toronto’s goalie got just enough of the puck to keep it from crossing the goal line.

Maddison whistled. “Maybe we should get you to come to every game.”

Please don’t let anyone suggest to a hockey player—or Mo’s parents—that Mo brought good luck. He’d already agreed to attend most home games until the fake breakup. He had no desire to see all of them.

Even if part of him thought being some kind of unofficial good luck charm would be kind of fun.

On paper, Toronto had a better team than the Canyons. But tonight, Adam had the team all fired up. Even from the press box, Mo could feel the jump on Arizona’s bench. Halfway through the second period, the Canyons had held Toronto to eight shots on net to their fifteen, though no one had scored.

And then, just as the game returned from a broadcasting break, the Jumbotron camera—no doubt after some prompting from Audrey—showed Mo sitting in the press box.

Maddison nudged his shoulder. “Wave to your sweetheart.”

God. The text under Mo’s picture read:

Moritz Du Pont, boyfriend of Adam Murphy.

Like, right out there in bright lights for every homophobe in the country to see.