Chapter 4 #5
Oh. Despite having grown up with hockey bros incapable of referring to anyone by their given name, Adam wasn’t overly fond of nicknames. There was a reason his teammates called him Murph and not, say, Jorts. “Just… nothing weird.”
“What qualifies as weird?”
“I don’t know. Weird.”
“What about honeybun? Muffin?”
Adam couldn’t help but pull a face. Years of media training went out the window when confronted with the prospect of have to answer to one of those.
“No? Hmm, pookie? Sugar lips?” God, each one was worse than the last, and each had its own unique horrifying flavor.
“Please stop.”
“Darling, pumpkin pie, I must have something to call you,” Mo said with a flutter of his lashes.
“Call me pookie in public, and I’ll start calling you Moritz.”
Mo sniffed. “That’s just mean. Here I am trying to find an expression of my affection and you threaten me with violence.”
“You started it,” Adam grumped.
“Fine, outlandish pet names aren’t allowed,” Mo said in a less dramatic tone. “We’ll workshop it.”
Adam was too tired to speculate on, let alone ask about, what workshop could mean. He let it drop.
The silence lasted long enough that he put the car in Drive and pointed it toward Phoenix.
“I’m going to assume you’re not huge on the idea of anyone talking about our relationship in public. Especially not us.”
Adam chanced a glance at Mo out of the corner of his eye. “Gosh. Am I that easy to read?” he deadpanned. He’d basically been saying that without saying it.
Mo waved him off. “Right, right, but here’s the thing. I am me. I am over-the-top. I am outlandish. I could tell everyone we’re waiting till marriage or that you have a ten-inch dick, and no one will believe me.”
“…Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“It’s supposed to be a silver lining.” Mo turned in his seat, facing Adam.
“The idea of talking about our relationship in public sucks for you. I get that. So let me do it. There’s nothing real to tell, but I’ve got lots of imagination.
I can make it sound like we’re completely besotted and yet no one will actually believe a word I say. ”
For a quarter mile, Adam thought about it. He’d never gotten to the public-dating stage with anyone. The idea horrified him. But he knew he’d never get away with saying nothing. Until the relationship became old news, people would ask.
“That’s—actually. Yeah, that might work.” That might make Adam’s gut biome feel less like he’d just guzzled a gallon of hot sauce. “But don’t, like… nothing too intimate. And nothing about what we do in bed.” If Adam survived the embarrassment, the team’s chirping would kill him.
“Well, shucks,” Mo drawled. “There goes my plan to sell a lurid tell-all about your sex dungeon. I was so looking forward to telling them about your naughty maid outfit.”
“The NHL just got rid of the dress code on game days. Don’t make me put a suit back on for your funeral.”
Mo gasped. “Adam! Death threats and on the second date. What will people say?”
“Whatever they say is probably less ridiculous than what you’ll say.”
“Exactly.”
Adam took the ramp off the highway. All this talk of interviews and Mo jumping in reminded him… “You should come to my next game.”
“Uh, what?”
“If you don’t show up to a home game soon, people are going to think it’s weird.” They might even start to gossip about the whole relationship being fake.
“You just want me to take over your media scrum. No, no, don’t deny it. You might be able to pull the innocent act with others, but I see through you now, Adam Murphy, to your shrewd, manipulative center. Secretly a calculating diva. I should have known.”
Adam snorted. “Right. Because I want more media attention.” He shoved away the thought that he’d probably find comfort in having Mo there with him, taking the heat, answering questions. Using his claws and sharp tongue in Adam’s defense instead of against him.
“Fiiine. For you, pookie bear, I will brave the crush and chaos of the Du Pont”—he shuddered as he said the name—“Center and watch you be all manly as you hit vulcanized rubber in front of thousands.”
“Gee, thanks.” Adam hoped he sounded dry and sarcastic and not grateful.
“Maybe I’ll luck out and stumble my way in front of the media.”
“Of course you’d think that was fun.”
“I do love attention,” Mo agreed.
“Even if you don’t get to make up stuff about our fake sex life?”
“I’ll tell everyone you rescue possums in your spare time and rub my feet and always let me pick what to watch, even though it’s always Drag Race and you hate it.”
“Don’t make me fake shame Drag Race!”
“Fine, I’ll say it’s K-Pop Demon Hunters.”
Okay, yeah. That would work. Probably. He’d never seen it. “I’ll send you the tickets.”
“Don’t forget a jersey,” Mo said. “I can’t be showing up to my fake boyfriend’s real hockey game underdressed.” He paused. “Not a game-worn one, please. Have mercy on my nose and the noses of those seated near me.”
Adam flicked the signal to turn onto Mo’s street. “You never let me have any fun.”
“Ha!” He just caught Mo’s grin, a weak reflection in the windshield. “Look who’s talking.”
Twenty yards down, the garage at Mo’s house started going up. “Now. Humor me and drive in. I want to see what’s going on under this thing.”