Page 65 of Playing His Game

The thundering of their footsteps as they pounded back into the house carried all the way to the car.

Looked like Mo wasn’t getting the option of a sneaky entrance after all.

“So much for subtlety.” Chelsea unclicked her seat belt. “Best get inside before the heathens let all the heat out.” She went ahead, presumably to corral the children, leaving Mo and Adam behind to gird themselves.

“Hey.” Adam reached into the back seat and put his hand over Mo’s. Mo didn’t understand how it was so warm compared to his own. “It’s going to be fine. They’ll like you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Not just because he felt a sudden, unexpected pang of regret for letting these people get emotionally invested in their sham of a relationship, but also because Mo didn’t have a filter between his mouth and his brain, and if someone tried to banter with him, he might cross a line and commit some horrible faux pas.

But he couldn’t sit in the car forever because he’d freeze to death, so he let Adam open the door for him and lead him up to the house.

“How many people are we expecting, exactly?” Mo’s airplane-appropriate shoes slipped on a patch of ice. Adam caught his hand and righted him before he could do more than exhale gustily, and didn’t let go as they climbed the stairs.

“I don’t usually count. My parents, Chelsea and her family, a couple of my aunts and uncles and their kids, maybe my grandma. I don’t think my brother’s coming until tomorrow or the day after.”

Was it too late to throw himself down the stairs? That sounded less terrifying.

The front door led onto a large, open entryway with clear sightlines into the open-concept living room and kitchen. Those were a lot of eyes on them.

Chelsea’s prediction proved accurate. Adam had barely stepped across the threshold before he got reeled into a hug. First in line were an older couple that had to be his parents—he was tall, pale, and ginger; she was almost as tall as her husband, but solidly built and with bright eyes matching Adam’s.

As soon as they released Adam, they turned to Mo.

“It’s great to meet you, son.” Two large hands encased Mo’s, giving a strong pump and patting the back of Mo’s hand. “We’re so happy Adam brought you.”

“Thanks, Mr. Mur?—”

“None of that, now, we’re not in the classroom. Call me Duncan.” He wouldn’t stop smiling.

His wife hip checked him out of the way with a scold. “Don’t hog the boy. Mo, it’s lovely to meet you. I’m Katie, Adam’s mum.” The pronunciation must be a regional thing.

She pulled him into a hug, and good Lord, she was several inches taller than he was. Suddenly alarmed, Mo cast a quick look around the room and breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed there was at least one woman shorter than him.

Still, he was going to scold Adam as soon as he could for not warning him he came from a family of giants.

A child—excellent, someone else shorter than him—barreled down the hallway in a blur of ginger curls, and straight into Chelsea’s arms. “Mum, Mum, Mum!” Chelsea scooped the kid up as they began a rapid-fire retelling of everything that had happened in her absence. Something about cars and boys?

Not that Adam or Mo got to listen, because as soon as their shoes were off, they were tugged further into the home and installed into some sort of informal greeting line.

These people sure did love handshakes and hugs.

“’Bout time the boy brought a feller home!” A man who stood taller than Adam clasped Mo’s hand and pumped it hard. He didn’t introduce himself, but fortunately, the Motor Monkey did that for him: Uncle Ian. “We always knew you’d be from away if you was from anywhere ’t all.”

Mo didn’t know what to say in the face of so much East Coast Canadian. “Um.”

“Lemme tell ya, the whole family’s been wonderin’. I’s been telling Dunc and Katie-did, is a hard go. That boy o’ yours is fartin’ around and if he don’t brings you home a horse’s arse tomorrah, he ain’t gonna for twen’y years!”

Mo scrambled to translate and came up about seventy-two percent sure Uncle Ian doubted Adam’s romantic game. “Well, um, sorry to prove you wrong?”

Uncle Ian laughed. “You’re a right card, I can tell. Now, you looks drier’n a covered bridge. Let’s find yous some beers.” He turned away and Mo breathed another tiny sigh of relief.

He turned back to Adam and found himself being watched. Adam crooked a smile and stepped, slipping an arm around Mo’s waist and pressing a kiss to his temple. Mo’s heart rabbitted. What was hedoing?

Then Adam turned his face toward Mo’s ear to hide his mouth and murmured, “You okay? You look a bit overwhelmed.”

Mo blinked in surprise, then suddenly noticed the family watching them with indulgent smiles. Well shit, points to Adam for figuring out a way to give Mo a breather without having to drag him from the room. Thinking fast, Mo Yes And-ed, and turned into the embrace.

“I’m fine. Just a bit…morethan I was expecting.” Honestly, when strait-laced, restrained Adam said his parents were teachers, Mo had pictured a lot more quiet reading time in home libraries.