Page 51 of Playing His Game

Mo snatched the garage-door opener from the dash and smashed the button. His baby deserved better than a night exposed to the elements.

Adam, still clearly annoyed and still refusing to let it impact his driving—the freak—pulled the car perfectly into its spot.

Mo barely waited for the vehicle to stop. Sitting still for the ride had taxed him to his limit. He stomped into the house, irrationally annoyed at the stupid motion-sensor lights that meant he didn’t get to slap angrily at a switch.

He’d warned Adam. Why was Adam mad athim? He wasn’t the psycho.

He wanted to moodily pour himself a glass of water and throw it back with an air of general disregard for his own being. But the stupid model home his parents oh-so-generously let him live in had a water dispenser in the fridge door, so he didn’t even have a pitcher he could crack against the counter. He had to stand there like an asshole and wait for the pathetic stream to fill his enormous glass.

Hateful.

He didn’t realize Adam had followed him inside until he said, “Got another one of those?”

Oh, now Mo had to stand here like an asshole fortwiceas long. He wordlessly passed Adam the first one, like a proper host, and then let himself seethe through chugging.

“Are you okay?” Adam asked after a moment. His own irritation had clearly cooled. “You seem, uh…”

Finally, Mo got to thunk his glass against the counter and turned to look at him, lips pursed and eyebrows raised. “Yes?”

“Stressed,” Adam offered. He’d left his shoes by the entryway and was standing in Mo’s kitchen in sock feet. A furrow had appeared between his brows.

“My parents have that effect on me.” The itch under his skin had been his constant companion since he realized he was gay. Probably Mo should’ve noticed his parents were terrible people before that, but show him a preteen who wasn’t self-absorbed and he’d show you a flying pony.

At first, he’d worked out his anger on the ice. He’d just graduated to a hockey league that allowed checking. Unfortunately, the growth spurts that had blessed his teammates and opponents had fallen a bit—ha—shortwith Mo, so after a while, he’d moved on to punching bags and sarcasm and then alcohol.

Until he’d turned seventeen, and he’d realized?—

Adam cleared his throat. “Yeah. Uh, I can see that.” He’d finished his water as well, and was holding the glass loosely in one hand. His fingers almost touched around the width of it.

Well. Late-teen Mo had found another way to deal with his attitude.

“Are you okay?”

Unfortunately, due to the fact that he currently had a fake boyfriend and a single strike before his parents cut him off for good, his usual avenue was no help to him.

Which only contributed to the problem.

“I’ll be fine,” he said tersely. “Believe it or not, I’ve been dealing with this since before I could drive.” Mo was lucky Sage’s dad had drilled a sense of responsibility around cars into him, or he probably would’ve taken up street racing. “I just need to figure out a different way to cope this time.”

Adam leaned against the counter, drawing Mo’s attention to the front of his pants. His eyes followed the lines of them down his thick thighs to Adam’s feet, and then back up.

“Why? How do you usually deal with it?”

“Go to a club, knock back a couple shots, and find someone to fuck me against the nearest wall.”

A brilliant flush bloomed on Adam’s face. “Oh.”

Mo broke eye contact to pontificate dramatically at the nonexistent audience. “But it turns out everyone thinks I have a famous athlete boyfriend, so I have been enduring a prolonged period of chastity.” Ugh. If Adam were hisrealboyfriend, they could’ve fucked it out in advance so they were both mellow enough to make it through dinner, and then gone a second round at home anyway. “I haven’t had a dry spell like this since I was seventeen, okay? But I’m committed to seeing this through, so unless you know someone who’s willing to get over here and bereally discreetabout plowing me into next week?—”

“I’ll do it.”

7

It took Adam a moment to realize the words had come out of his own mouth.

Across the kitchen, Mo mirrored his surprise. He blinked rapidly, then said, “I beg your pardon?” Apparently, Adam had shocked him right back to private-school manners.

He should backtrack.Ha, ha,got you again with my dry humor.