Page 49 of Playing His Game

…That did sound like something an English teacher would say, Mo had to admit.

“I have to go Christmas shopping,” Mo said, at a loss for any other comment. He couldn’t show up empty-handed. “How many siblings do you have again?”

“I’ll quiz you on the family photo album at home.”

Claire cleared her throat, reminding Mo that they were committing the cardinal sin of pretending the world didn’t revolve around her and her husband. He covered Adam’s hand with his and gave him a practiced soppy look before turning to Claire. “Sorry. You know how it is with new love.”

And what could they say to that? Nothing.

Eventually, dessert arrived. Not even Mo’s parents could spoil his appetite for a rich dark chocolate mousse with raspberries—an opinion Adam seemed to share.

Which Mo felt good about until Claire said, “Oh—Adam, you’re not worried about the heartburn?”

Adam had polished off three-quarters of the dessert and was eyeing Mo’s plate like he’d make a play for that next, but he pulled his spoon out of his mouth long enough to reply. “It’ll be worth the pain,” he said seriously. “I have a soft spot for sweets.”

And then he turned that gonna-eat-your-dessert expression on Mo instead of his mousse, and made itsoppy.

Mo could’ve cackled, but somehow, he kept a lid on the impulse. “Aw, babe.” Then he pulled his plate closer. “But I’m still not sharing.”

Adam played up his disappointment. “Oh well. Worth a shot.”

As far as dinners with his parents went, this was downright tolerable.

He should’ve known it was too soon to count the W.

They wereso closeto getting out of there with his sanity intact. They had ordered their espressos. Mo had to endure another fifteen or so minutes of brain-numbing gossip about Rita, the woman who had done Claire’s nails in her home for the past decade.

Mo was zapped out of his placid, head-bobbing agreement, in which he let Claire’s monologue wash over and through him, when Adam went ramrod stiff.

Oh Christ, she’s said something extra heinous.

“I was absolutely shocked to hear suchlanguageout of her mouth. I said, ‘Rita, those officers are just doing their jobs. Everyone has to make a living.’ Andshesaid, ‘That’s what the people they are arresting are trying to do.’ And then sherefusedto do my manicure! I had to go to asalon.” She eyed her nails despairingly.

Mo breathed through his nose and kicked his foot firmly against Adam’s. Of course Claire waited until she’d lulled them into a false sense of security before dropping a racist bomb. Reacting to it wouldn’t change her mind about anything except allowing Mo to have his trust fund next year so he could leave this family forever and live in peace.

Fortunately for his blood pressure, Claire didn’t require his input to have this tantrum.

Orson took her perfectly manicured hand and brought it to his lips. “It’s for the best, dear. I know it’s hard when people disappoint us, but I’ve been telling you for years?—”

“What the fuck?”

For a moment, Mo thought the glitchy filter between his mouth and brain had failed him for the last time. Then he realized Adam was beet-red and getting to his feet.

Oh Christ on a pogo stick.

“I beg your pardon—” Orson’s tone reminded Mo of the one he’d used when Mo was a naughty child.

Mo cut in before Adam could make things worse. He stood and looped Adam’s arm around his shoulders. “Babe, is it the heartburn? Itoldyou to pace yourself!” Out of his parents’ eyeline, he pinched Adam’s waist for good measure.Get your head in the game, Murphy. We are so close to the finish line. Don’t fuck this up for me.

Fortunately, Adam recovered by bending double and clutching at his stomach, apparently obeying Mo’s silent but desperate order to pretend to have the worst digestive pain known to man. “Oh—I’m so sorry, that was rude.” He’d flushed almost purple. “I think?—”

“Goodness.” Claire leaned back from the table as though afraid Adam might have indigestion all over it. “You do look a bit… unwell. Should we call an ambulance?”

“No, no,” Adam said hurriedly. Almost too fast, as he clearly forgot to play up his pain for a second. Mo figuredAmbulance Called for Hockey Star While Out for Dinner with Future In-Laws, Current Employerswas not a headline Adam wanted to see.

Not that Mo wanted it either.

“Not necessary. I’ll get him home where he can down a bottle of Pepto and call it a night.” He hastily gathered their jackets and began leading Adam away. “Thanks for the dinner. Talk again soon.” They wouldn’t. Not least because his parents were always terrible at dealing with the Arizona-to-Europe time difference.