Playing His Game

It turned out that what Mo had was an inconvenient boner.

Well, that and a stitch in his side. Adam played professional hockey and Mo didn’t, but that didn’t mean Mo could let Adam embarrass him. Mo might not be prone to toxic manliness, but he had pride.

They skated a couple of warmup laps—enough to remind Mo that he liked going fast on the ice too—and then Adam’s arena friend appeared at the bench with a handful of sticks and a puck.

“I feel like I’ve been set up.” Mo took a stick—the only right-hander in the bunch—and knocked the puck back and forth a few times. It was heavier than he remembered.