Page 67 of Playing His Game

Chuckie followed with, “Come on, I’ll show you,” and then squirmed for Adam to put her down. Before Mo could even wave goodbye to the rest of the family, she grabbed him by the hand and dragged him deeper into the house.

Honestly, Mo felt relieved. He might not have experience with children, but he didn’t have experience meeting his fake boyfriend’s entire enormous, incomprehensible family either, and a one-on-one with a car-obsessed five-year-old seemed the lesser of two evils.

10

Chuckie executed Adam’s plan perfectly. Once she and Mo had disappeared from sight—and hopefully earshot—he turned to his family.

“Was the ambush necessary?”

“Ambush!” Mom tutted, but her green eyes sparkled, giving away the mischief. “Don’t be silly.” She cast a glance around the foyer, but the rest of the children had scampered off after hugs and introductions; Adam could already hear the hollow whack of ping-pong balls coming from the basement. Obviously, their arrival had interrupted a tournament. “You can hardly blame us if we all had to see for ourselves if this boyfriend was any more real than Santa Claus. Years and years of ‘it’s just not the right time to look for love, Mum. I’ll get to it by ’n’ by.’”

Adam might have been raised in New Brunswick, but he’d never saidby ’n’ byin his life. “I didn’t realize you needed proof of life.” Or how guilty he’d feel bringing home a boyfriend for his family to get attached to. His parents had always been invested in his romantic happiness. They thought he’d sacrificed too much for hockey already. If they found out this whole thing was a facade to, once again, prioritize the Canyons and their reputation…

Adam squashed his guilt. His parents never had to know. In a couple weeks, he and Mo could amicably fake break up, and Adam could pretend to be heartbroken, and his parents would lay off about his love life for a while. Maybe next off-season, he’d let them try to set him up as a consolation.

“Well,Ican’t believe you’re now dating the guy we’ve been watching you make stank faces at for seven years.” Chelsea shepherded the family toward the sitting room. Fortunately, everyone knew the drill by now; Adam could only take so much of everyone all at once. His parents and Chelsea always got first dibs. She nudged him onto the love seat in the corner and then plopped down after him and pulled her knees up to her chest. Their parents settled in the armchairs opposite. “What changed?”

By now, Adam had given the response enough times, it should’ve come out by rote. Instead, he opened his mouth and said, “I don’t know. We did, I guess. Or maybe we were never that different in the first place.”

“Aww.” Chelsea nudged her foot against his thigh. “Look at you, evolving.”

Adam shot her a quelling look.

“He’s different here,” his dad offered, sounding thoughtful.

Adam turned toward him so fast, his neck twinged. “Pardon?”

“Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t remember, but we did meet him before. At your draft,” he elaborated.

Oh God, Adam’s parents had in-person memories of tiny underage twink Mo.

“Boy’s got more personality than oughta fit in his body, for sure. I watched that time they tried to interview you and he got the claws out.”

…Oh. For some reason, the back of Adam’s neck went hot. “Yeah, uh, he’s not afraid to say what he thinks or to put someone in their place.”

Dad crossed his arms and rocked back in his chair, looking thoughtful. “Where’d all that backbone go just now, hm?”

“Mo doesn’t care what most people think about him. He wants you to like him.”

The rest of Adam’s face burned to match his neck. He hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t even been conscious of thinking it. But he knew it was true. Reporters, strangers, the general public, his own parents—Mo didn’t respect those people. He only treated his parents with faux affection and deference as a survival mechanism. But he respected Adam, and he respected the team—at least as much as they deserved. And he wanted Adam’s family’s approval, even though they weren’t really dating.

Chelsea kicked his thigh again. “Oh my God. Are you going to be bright red this whole holiday, like a color-inverse Christmas tree? We could get you some ornaments. Or some concealer.”

Adam grabbed her foot. “Poke me again and see what happens.” He ran a warning finger up her instep, making her yelp in surprise and kick reflexively. She would’ve kicked him in the teeth if he didn’t have such a strong hold.

“Mum! Adam’s bullying me.”

“She started it!”

Mom played along. “And if I have to end it, you’ll both regret it.” She shook her head, then addressed Adam. “Go bring your things in, hm? I bet you’d both like a shower after your trip.”

Ugh, yes, now that she mentioned it.

“Separately!” his dad put in, mock-stern.

Maybe Adam should’ve taken Chels up on that makeup offer.

Groaning, he got to his feet. “Goodbye! I hate you all.”