Page 98 of Playing His Game

“Adam.”

“Steven.”

Jorts sighed. “Does this have something to do with the wunderkind? You’ve got the same mopey face you had when telling me about your not-affair.”

“What?” Adam frowned. “I told you about…”

“Not-dating Moritz Du Pont?”

“Mo,” Adam corrected without thinking.

“Yes, you told me all about how you and Mo were never dating, but he still managed to break your heart because you, shockingly, caught feelings for the cute boy you were sleeping with.”

Heat rushed to Adam’s cheeks. “When?”

“The night of your concussion. You told me more than once, actually. Don’t ask me how you got stuck on a topic but couldn’t remember discussing it.”

Oh God. Adam couldn’t decide what was worse—knowing he’d spilled his guts and not remembering, or knowing he’d talked about Mo but not how far he’d gone.

“So is Mo the reason you’re grumpy?”

“He keeps coming around. A lot. And it’s confusing.”

“Oh?”

Adam sipped his water to give himself a moment to gather his thoughts. The first few times Mo had shown up, Adam was too discombobulated to question his presence. He’d mostly been grateful to have someone read to him and help him eat and not puke on himself. But for the past few days, as Adam improved, he had more time to be confused by Mo’s insistence on helping, even though they weren’t dating. Worse, he had time to be hopeful. Because it had to mean something that Mo was there, right?

“He said we should break up, but then he said we could keep having sex, and now he wants to sit on my couch and read me books while I just lie there. And I started to think, hey, maybe he wanted to fake break up because he also doesn’t want to fake date.” After all, if Adam had asked Mo to date for real and he said no, he would have wanted to fake break up too.

“Reasonable,” Jorts said into the silence. “Started to think? What stopped you?”

“I asked why he was here. He said we were friends.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“You know, some people might say that a boyfriend is a best friend that you want to write poetry about and sleep with.”

Adam snorted.

“Don’t laugh! Maddison is my friend,” Jorts protested, though he was grinning. “I’m just saying,friendsdoesn’t have to meanjustfriends. Unless he said that. Did he say that?”

“No. Yes? I don’t know.”

“Wow.”

“Shut up, I have a concussion. Details are fuzzy.”

“Okay, martyr.”

They sat in silence for a while. It was perfect weather for sitting outside with a dog. Maybe Adam should get a dog.

No, he shouldn’t do that. Who would take care of it while he was away?

A boyfriend, a traitorous part of his mind whispered. Would Mo want a dog? More importantly, would Mo want to be his boyfriend?

Jorts’s phone chirped. Then chirped again. Then it played a whole symphony of birdsong. He grunted and pulled it from his pants pocket. Adam had left his inside; he couldn’t look at it anyway.