Chapter 4
Adam wanted to ignore his alarm, but he was due at practice in an hour.
He fumbled around his nightstand until he located the alarm and silenced it, then hauled himself out of bed for his morning routine.
He’d shower after practice, so he dressed in casual clothes and went to the kitchen to start the coffee. Then he picked up his phone to catch up while he drank his banana, strawberry, and protein powder smoothie.
He didn’t get to the news—not that he’d complain about that—because the team group chat had over a hundred missed messages. He also had several from Chels. Figuring hers would be the easier one to start with, he opened it.
YOU FINALLY GOT A BOYFRIEND AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME?
Adam, I’m wounded.
WAIT, HE’S THE OWNERS’ SON?! I THOUGHT YOU HATED THAT GUY. ARE YOU OKAY?!!
Adam swallowed back the creeping shame of having to lie to his big sister and best friend. He couldn’t blame her for her reaction. After all, the last time they’d talked about Mo, Adam was complaining about him being a spoiled brat.
Yeah, it’s true. And I’m good.
She sent back some heart emojis and another slew of question-mark-exclamation-point hybrids.
You owe me a chat later. I want to know when you admitted to yourself all that bad blood was just a front for the sexual tension.
Adam very much did not want to “chat later.” Not until he and Mo could figure out more of the backstory. Chels would want details that didn’t exist, and Adam sucked at improv.
K. When we can find the time.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the team chat, then noped out of it. That would be easier to deal with in person instead of trying to catch up on the backlog. And the messages were still coming in.
Adam poured himself an extra-large thermos of coffee, added his favorite nutritionist-disapproved flavored syrup, and got on the road.
It might not be a long drive, but he wasn’t about to risk being late when the boys would take it as a sign that Mo had kept him up late. Or busy this morning. Or both.
“Here he is, boys, the man of moment!” Hallsy crowed when Adam stepped through the locker-room door. “And looking fresh as a daisy. Don’t tell me you had an early night, Murph!”
Adam hoped his smile looked enigmatic rather than strained.
“Just because it was an early night doesn’t mean it was a bad one. Maybe our captain is well rested,” Jorts cut in with a comical leer.
“You know I don’t kiss and tell,” Adam protested. Not that he usually had much to tell, but no teammate ever disputed his “no details” policy. Of course Jorts, and a few others over the years, wanted the romantic gossip too, but they were in the minority.
“So there was kissing!”
Adam rolled his eyes and took his seat to get dressed.
At his stall a few feet down, Smitty was studying Adam thoughtfully. Adam met his gaze and cocked an eyebrow.
“Could get messy, dating the owner’s kid. Especially for you,” he said at last in an undertone.
Adam couldn’t say he knew where he stood with Smitty. The guy was hard to read. But he hadn’t expected this kind of concern from him. “Yeah. Why we were keeping quiet. Lawyers and reps and paperwork’s involved now.”
Smitty nodded. “Good. Just ’cause you’re Adam Murphy doesn’t mean you can’t be taken advantage of.”
Well. That was… weird.
Adam put it out of his mind and focused on hockey—that had always come easy to him. Fortunately, this distraction with Mo couldn’t change that. If he got a little vicious practicing face-offs with Picks, well, the kid would never learn if everyone went easy on him.
Besides, it had been a short practice since they had back-to-back home games tomorrow and the day after. Picks would have lots of time to recover.
“No, that’s too far. The refs’re gonna see that. See the lights? The shadow’s making it more obvious. Great for me, though, because I can take advantage.”
“Murph! Stop teaching the kid algebra. Can’t you see it’s nap time?”
Picks looked up. “Cap’s teaching me how to cheat at face-offs.”
“It’s not cheating if the refs don’t catch you,” Jorts said, at the same time Adam said, “If you’re not cheating, you’re not trying.”
Picks blinked at them, then looked back and forth. “You know, actually, I do think I’m kind of tired. I’m just gonna—yeah,” and then he skated off toward the bench.
Fuck.
Jorts’s hand landed heavy on Adam’s shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “Go shower and I’ll take you to lunch.”
Adam knew where this was going. Jorts might not have ambushed him by text message, but he’d only held off so he could catch Adam in person, where he couldn’t put the phone on silent and pretend he’d been napping.
Which meant he had ten minutes at the outside to figure out how to get through this conversation without Jorts catching him in a lie. Maybe twenty, if Jorts let him drive separately to the restaurant.
By some miracle, he got until they’d been left alone in a booth at one of their favorite lunch spots before Jorts tugged his menu out of his hands and laid it on the table. “So. Moritz Du Pont.”
At least Adam had a ready answer for that. “It’s Mo.”
“Of course it is.”
Adam got another brief reprieve when their server stopped by to take their orders, but she just asked, “The usuals?” with a cheerful smile, and unfortunately, Adam was a hockey player so he did want the usual, and then he was right back into the fire.
“And how long has he been Mo?”
Adam poked the circle of condensation that had appeared under his water glass.
What a nightmare. He felt shitty for having to lie, and shitty that Jorts thought he’d been hiding something when he hadn’t.
“I mean, since he was old enough to pick, I think.” Adam remembered that from his draft day, even.
His sidestep didn’t deter Jorts. “Cute. Good to know.” He sipped his water. “And how long have you and Mo been playing five-hole on the down-low?”
Bristling, Adam hunched his shoulders. Which was stupid. He wasn’t even dating Mo for real; he had no reason to be upset with Jorts for making their fake relationship sound trivial. “Really?”
Jorts must’ve read something in his expression—God knew what—because he backed off with his hands raised.
“Sorry. Just… not that it’s not like you to be private, but this is kind of a big deal.
The owners’ son and all. Besides, I thought you two didn’t get on.
Like a pair of wet cats when you’re in the same room.
I’ve never seen anyone get under your skin like he does.
” He wasn’t wrong. No matter how many times Adam promised himself the next time would be different, that he wouldn’t let Mo needle him into an argument, it never held.
At least Jorts—and Chels—had provided him with a built-in excuse.
“Guess all that tension wasn’t dislike. Something just…
shifted. And we couldn’t exactly advertise it until, like, the ethics commission signed off or whatever.
” He was pretty sure that wasn’t what it was called, but Jorts wouldn’t care.
“You could’ve told me,” Jorts pointed out.
What a clusterfuck. “I wanted to,” Adam said. It wasn’t even a lie. He was dying to tell someone the truth. “But it didn’t seem fair until Mo could talk about it too.”
Jorts relented, and for a few minutes, the conversation was almost comfortable. Their food arrived. Adam tucked into his burger.
They had almost finished their plates when Jorts wiped his fingers on a napkin and said, “So what’s he like?”
They’d been talking about their upcoming game against Dallas—one of the toughest in the league—and before that, Jorts’s oldest’s science project on the life cycle of the frog—so Adam thought he could be forgiven for not making the conversational jump. “What’s who like?”
Jorts rolled his eyes. “The Armadillos’ mascot. Mo, obviously.”
“You’ve already met him.”
Jorts gave him a look. “I’ve met the owners’ kid and the guy who makes you wanna break champagne glasses.”
“I never broke—”
“I thought you were going to snap it in half,” Jorts said blandly, and Adam huffed. “I haven’t met the guy you’re dating. So what’s your Mo like?”
“Oh.” Shit, now what was he supposed to say? Jorts would meet him again soon enough, so he couldn’t lie. “He’s kind of a brat, actually.”
He realized his error when Jorts’s eyes bugged out. He set his glass down, sputtering. “Okay, wow, that’s not what I was asking.”
Adam buried his burning face in his hands. “Not—I didn’t mean in bed,” he hissed. Nightmare fuel, this whole thing. “He’s… sassy. He likes to pull people’s pigtails. Um, metaphorically.”
Jorts finished wiping his eyes and raised his brows. “You don’t get enough of that at the rink?”
“Nobody at work wants to have sex with me.”
This time Jorts full-body laughed. “Now I know that’s a lie. There are at least two guys we regularly play against who absolutely would hit that.”
“What?!” Adam was blushing again, damn it. Maybe he should go without sunscreen for a few days and let himself turn into a lobster. Then at least no one would be able to tell. “Who?”
And how had Jorts noticed when Adam hadn’t?
“I’m not outing anyone’s ill-advised crush on you.
” He wagged his finger. “And anyway, stop trying to change the subject. He’s bratty.
You’re into it. No shock there given all previous interactions.
But that can’t be all the time, otherwise you’d never have moved past wanting to strangle him. What else?”
I am not into it, Adam wanted to protest. He didn’t think it would help his case. “I don’t know! He’s, uh.” What did he even know about Mo? “He’s smart.” He’d mentioned going to college, so Adam figured that was a safe bet. “He likes cars. And kittens. He’s allergic to horses.”
“Wow. What amazing insights.” Jorts raised an eyebrow. “I can see now why after years of denying and ignoring rumors and suggestions that the two of you would make the cutest gayest couple that you decided to date him.”