Chapter 3
Adam didn’t consider what agreeing to Mo’s claim would entail until his afternoon workout got rescheduled so he, Mo, and Audrey could talk public relations strategies.
At least Orson and Claire Du Pont had opted out. Adam respected them as the team owners and one of Phoenix’s power couples, but their presence made him uneasy. It was like having the school principal breathing down your neck, waiting for you to step out of line.
Little did they know Adam had already stepped out of line—way out of line. What had possessed him to go along with this charade? Off nothing more than a pleading glance from Mo, no less!
Audrey led them to a quiet conference room down the hall, equipped with a mini fridge and a coffee maker and more donuts than Adam should be left alone with.
A donut on an off day wouldn’t hurt him, probably. But if he ate that much sugar before lunch, he’d fall asleep in twenty minutes. He needed to be awake for this—or he’d get caught in a lie for sure.
Mo, apparently, had no such compunctions. He grabbed not one but two donuts and poured himself a coffee with an appalling amount of creamer before taking his seat next to Adam at the table. Come to think of it, he barely looked awake.
Well—he’d been pretty drunk last night. Now he was here, preparing to discuss strategies to publicly announce his relationship, which hadn’t existed an hour ago. And to top it off, Mo didn’t even like his fake boyfriend.
Audrey asked a series of questions to get the basic details of their romance. How long had they been seeing each other? How serious was it? When did they tell friends and family?
Somehow, they stumbled through a basic backstory: they’d been dating a few weeks, but keeping it a secret because intra-organizational romances had to be disclosed to make sure Adam wasn’t getting exploited or whatever.
“We’ll have to inform the oversight committee, of course, but I doubt the league rep will object. After all, Mo has limited connection to the team business,” Audrey said as she tapped away at her iPad.
Finally, she stepped into the hallway to field a call from God knew who—Adam had the distinct feeling he didn’t want to know—and left the two of them alone.
Awkward.
He cleared his throat.
Because he couldn’t sit here with empty hands, Adam grabbed a donut. “So—”
“I’m so sorry.” Mo looked up at him, eyes wide. They were still red-rimmed. Obviously, he hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. Not surprising, considering the shape Adam had dropped him off in.
“Uh—”
“I didn’t mean to—I just said it.” His lips twisted and he looked down at the table. “Guess my parents were right after all—my mouth does move faster than my brain.”
“And I agreed.” The idea of claiming a fake relationship might be madness, but obviously, it was a shared one.
“Why did you?” He looked back, gaze searching.
It was Adam’s turn to look away. What could he say?
That the idea of being the one in the middle of the scandal—again—hurt?
That he needed to protect his team’s morale and reputation?
That he hated the idea that, already, the Internet was arguing about whether Mo was good enough for him or if Adam would reject him?
Or worse, that people thought Adam could hate someone so much that it would get physical?
Or that young people would think he was hiding from his sexuality—from happiness—just to avoid having his private life exposed?
“The video looks bad. I’d rather have people think we’re dating than that we almost got in a fistfight at a bar.” Adam shrugged.
Mo visibly gathered himself, leaning forward and fluttering his lashes in an obvious attempt to reclaim some of his camp. “Just trying to avoid a scandal, then, darling?”
Adam let it pass. “Aren’t you?”
“Touché.” He poked at the remnants of his donuts.
“Shit. Sorry.”
For a moment, Mo stared at him as though he were afraid he might be hallucinating. Then he groaned and shook his head. “No, God, don’t apologize. That’s terrible.”
Well—Adam had expected more surliness, if he were honest. “Um. Sorry?”
Mo made another animal noise and then something that sounded like it might want to be a laugh. “Fuck. Stop it. This whole thing is a clusterfuck, and the only thing I am actually sure of is that it isn’t your fault, and if you’re nice to me about it, that’ll make it worse.”
“Um,” Adam said again. He stopped himself before he could apologize for a third time. “Do you want me to be mean?”
“Could you, actually?” Mo tilted his head. Beneath the redness, his eyes were a bright hazel.
“I probably wouldn’t be very good at it.
” Chirps didn’t come naturally. Adam could mostly tell when other people were joking, when they were saying something to get someone riled up on ice and when they were just being silly.
And he could be silly back, but he’d never mastered the art of saying mean things to be silly.
He always worried people would take him seriously.
“Not without being provoked.” Adam wasn’t any good at starting a fight, but he could definitely end one.
“Like every previous conversation with me, you mean?”
Adam winced. Yes. But he hadn’t meant to admit it.
“No, no, it’s fine. I probably did start it every time,” Mo agreed with a sigh. He wore the ghost of a smile now, though. “If you couldn’t tell already, I don’t like hockey players very much.”
“Yeah, I remember you saying that.” He even remembered the reason.
Adam probably wouldn’t like hockey players much either if his parents had expected him to play at an elite level and homophobia had drummed him out of the game before he could even find out if he had what it took.
Not everyone had the same experience he did.
And his own experience hadn’t been that great. “What about just guys?”
“Just guys.”
Adam nodded seriously. “Guys who keep you from falling on your face and accidentally end up fake dating you. For example.” The last thing he needed was for Mo to spend the next however many months resenting his presence. He’d like to make this as tolerable as possible.
Mo regarded him for a moment before nodding. “Just guys are okay,” he agreed. “As long as they understand the ground rules. Like, this?” He gestured between them. “Not going to happen for real.”
Adam snorted. “You think a lot of yourself. But yeah, obviously.” He paused. “It’s Mo, right? Not Moritz? Any other no-gos?”
“Yeah. Adam?” He wrinkled his turned-up nose a little. “Or do you prefer Murph?”
“Not from a boyfriend. Even a fake one. Adam’s fine.”
Mo hummed. A smirk played at his lips.
Before Mo could say whatever thought had prompted that look, Audrey returned and closed the door behind her. “Gentlemen! Let’s talk about soft launching your relationship.”
Posted on Rainbowhockey Threads October 28
Holy shit, did you guys see this?
[TEAM REPRESENTATIVE CONFIRMS MURPHY, DU PONT RELATIONSHIP]
Is this even legal!? (I mean from an ethics standpoint given Moritz’s parents OWN ADAM’S EMPLOYER) I’m just kidding, I don’t actually care if it’s legal-legal, God is real and she loves me personally.
Reply: OMG we stay winning
Arizona Canyons Captain Adam Murphy confirmed his romantic relationship with Moritz Du Pont, son of team owners Orson and Claire Du Pont, amid rampant speculation.
After video surfaced of the two outside of a bar in Biltmore Saturday night, #Modam and #DuMurphy started trending as Canyons fans debated the video’s content and the nature of their relationship.
Picture and video of Du Pont and Murphy trend periodically online whenever the pair meet at Canyons’ events, sparking debate as to whether their seemingly heated exchanges reflect interest or mutual dislike.
Fans—and anti-fans—have discussed the possibility of a relationship between the pair since the elder Du Ponts stated that drafting the first openly gay player was important to them because their son was gay.
While many claimed speculation of a romance was inappropriate given their ages at the time, rumors have continued during Murphy’s eight-year playing career in Arizona.
Over the years, Mo had done a lot of stupid shit thanks to his parents.
Like spending four years getting a business degree he’d never used.
Why? He didn’t give a flying fuck about his parents’ business, and the only way they were getting him in the office full-time was if he died and they cremated his remains to keep on Miss Daisy’s desk.
But they’d said, Jump, and he’d said, How high? Just like he always did.
Like he did for the etiquette lessons. The extra hockey tutoring.
The hockey camps in the summer, every year until he turned fifteen.
Twice-yearly ski trips. Endless socialite dinners.
Dance classes so he could properly entertain people six times his age at aforementioned interminable events.
He was lucky he turned out to be allergic to horses, or they would’ve tried to get him into polo.
So he’d done a lot of dumb shit and most of it had sucked. But fake dating his parents’ pet hockey player might be the dumbest.
Sign the first? Adam insisted on driving.
“Aww,” Sage cooed through the phone. “Is your masculinity that fragile?”
Mo huffed. “No! Shut up. I like my cars, okay? What if he shows up in a—a—” He cast about, trying to think of a truly despicable automobile. “—a Nissan Cube?!”
There was a pause. Presumably, somewhere across the Atlantic, Sage was googling. Finally, they said, “Do you know a lot of hockey players who drive those?”
“No,” Mo admitted, sullen, “but Adam’s weird. He might! And I can’t be seen in one of those.”
“Oh, it’s Adam now,” they teased, deftly changing the subject away from Mo’s extremely valid point about cars. He hadn’t even gotten to complain he didn’t know the last time this car had scheduled maintenance.
“Since I will be publicly dating him for the foreseeable future, yes. Adam.” He pulled a face. The name was a reminder of all the pseudonyms he’d given him over the years. Captain Cardboard really did suit him better. RIP.