Page 80 of Playing His Game

Adam bankrolled his family holiday get-together. Paid for the food, hosted the annual hockey game. And he didn’t seem to doubt that heshould—no, not should,would. There was no sense of obligation for him. That might come with resentment. No, Adam had means that outstripped any of his relatives, so of course he’d host and cover the bills. To do otherwise would be unthinkable.

Wild.

“Your parents don’t care?”

“What?”

“That you pay for everything?”

“Why would they?”

“Um, because their kid is paying for stuff?”

Adam shrugged. “They’re not asking me to. It’s not like they couldn’t get together elsewhere, but they know it’s easier on me to host. They’re doing me a favor, honestly. They save me so much money by looking after the house during the season.”

Mo needed to lie down. He needed to think. He needed to process this. He couldn’t imagine trusting his parents that much, or believing they had his best interests at heart, nor could he imagine spending so much time with them, or wanting to. God, they barely even did Christmas dinner together. Mo couldn’t picture “gathering” like this even if he’d had siblings. He thought his parents weretoo closebecause they lived in the same city, and the drive to them definitely took longer than ten minutes.

No wonder he’d been chafing this morning. Mo didn’t have a framework for this.

He didn’t have time for this crisis, though, because the garage door opened.

“Are they driving your cars too?” he asked without thinking.

“What? No.”

Just parking in his garage. Which they had the remote for.

That didn’t make him feel better.

“Why do you look like you’re having a nervous breakdown?”

Mo heaved a sigh and sat up.

It had been so easy to hate Adam, once upon a time. When Mo was young and determined to find fault with everyone, and Adam was another cookie-cutter hockey player, now with barely-visible-to-the-naked-eye rainbow sprinkles. They weren’t evengoodsprinkles—subtle shades, no icing keeping them in place, trying to blend in with all the other players. Mo, who could never blend in even when he tried—and hehadtried—had hated him for that.

Now it turned out Adam didn’t fuckingneedsprinkles. He’d had an idyllic childhood. He liked his family and genuinely wanted to spend time with them. The flash and substance were all in the goddamn dough. Next to him, Mo felt tawdry. One of those store-bought monstrosities covered in petroleum frosting that crumbled into dust on the tongue.

If they’d actually been dating, Mo would have already known all this. Then again, if Mo had already known about Adam’s childhood and family, he’d have understood how incompatible they truly were. No one—nofamily—as stable and wholesome as the Murphys would be interested in the hot mess that was the Du Ponts.

“Promise me something,” he said as he finished dressing.

Adam tilted his head. “Okay?”

“Next time you bring a boyfriend home to meet your parents for the holidays…” He stood and put a hand on Adam’s chest.

Adam furrowed his brow. “Yes?”

“Pick a room with a little more privacy.”

The chaos continued. Mo was pretty sure Adam was monitoring him like a bomb that might go off and explode into a sparkly butt plug reference. Every time Mo got close, Adam asked for help washing dishes or suggested they go for a walk or otherwise got Mo somewhere he could vent without consequences. The first time it happened, he used the cover of making a charcuterie platter in the kitchen while everyone schmoozed around the tree. Mo pulled a pair of nitrile food gloves up to his elbows, gave Adam the crazy eye, and told him to bend over.

Adam made him one of Auntie Pattie’s vodka crans and let him queen out with the sausage while Adam sliced cheese.

It was… nice. Different. Adam didn’t seem to expect him to change. No one mentioned his odd mid-conversation departures.

Unfortunately, there was no getting around the commentary when Ted arrived early in the afternoon on the twenty-fourth, because Ted was close to seven feet tall and built like a sexy Dorito and Mo’s self-restraint had limits. He shook hands with Shauna, Ted’s girlfriend, first, and then watched Ted’s hand absolutely swallow his own, looked over his shoulder at Adam, and accused, “You didn’t tell me there was a bigger model!”

Shauna, who only towered over Mo a little bit now she’d kicked off her boots, cackled and slid her arm into the crook of Mo’s elbow. “I like you. Let’s be friends.”