Chapter 5
Wonders never ceased, Mo thought. It turned out Adam Murphy was not the world’s most boring hockey player. He was just unexpectedly tied up in his own head about stuff he couldn’t control. Maybe Mo couldn’t relate, but at least he sympathized.
But now that they could share the same space without wanting to murder each other, Mo needed to figure out what was up with the Land Rover.
He had Adam drive up onto the lift blocks—unnecessary given the height of the frame, but Mo liked having room to look around—and then hopped on the creeper and rolled underneath.
Oh.
Shit.
“Hey,” Mo said, “when were you in an accident?”
He didn’t need to see Adam’s face to register his surprise. “You can tell it was in an accident? Uh, maybe eight months ago, I guess?”
Eight months. Jesus Christ. Mo released a forceful breath and tried to keep his tone neutral. “Who’d you take it to for repairs? I’m guessing you didn’t go through insurance.”
“Uh—my usual garage? It’s close to my place, so I take it there for service.”
Mo inhaled deeply, then rolled himself out from under the car. “You should sue them.”
Adam blinked down at him. “What?”
Rolling to his feet, Mo gestured for Adam to get on the creeper. “I’ll show you.”
He should get a second one of those, Mo thought, as he wiggled under the Land Rover so he could lie next to Adam and point out the damage. “See this?” He motioned to a slight bow in the car’s frame.
Adam followed his finger. “Yeah.”
“Great.” Mo turned his attention to the opposite side of the vehicle, where the frame should have been a mirror image. It wasn’t. That side was firm. Unbent. “See that?”
Adam looked back and forth between them. “Yeah, but like… the car still drives, so…?”
“Yeah,” Mo said sharply, “the car still drives. But the frame—the part of the car that is built to take the impact of a collision to keep the squishy humans inside it from becoming splatters on the pavement—is weakened. Once it crumples, it’s never the same.
That’s why it feels like your alignment’s off.
No insurance company would’ve paid to have this car rebuilt. It’s not safe.”
And Mo was upset about it. Not just because the garage had done something shady to get the job, but because Adam had been driving around in a safety hazard.
He shoved the creeper back out from under the Land Rover and wiggled out after it. “Get a new car, please. You’re putting enough of a crimp in my sex life while you’re alive. If I have to fake mourn you, I’m going to pretend to go off the deep end just so I can have my slut era back.”
Adam made a muffled noise, and his cheeks went pink—not from exertion this time, Mo thought. Who knew hockey players could blush? “I thought you enjoyed the opportunity for drama.”
“Shockingly, pretending to be head over heels and pretending to be bereaved are different experiences.”
“Point taken.” Adam gave him an assessing look. Something about it…
“What?” Mo asked.
Adam lifted a shoulder and gave a quick, almost shy grin. “Uh… you want to go car shopping?”
Mo refused to get back into the death trap, so he grabbed the keys to his Porsche, bullied Adam into it, and pointed them toward the city’s best luxury vehicle dealership.
For the first half of the drive, Adam stayed quiet. Brooding, probably, at the thought of having to talk cars.
“We should talk parameters.”
Mo glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “You need a safe word for car shopping, big boy?”
Adam snorted. “Probably. But I meant about dating. We need… rules, guidelines.”
“Didn’t we just do that?”
“Yeah, but—how long do we keep this up? How often do we go on dates? What kind of dates?”
Ugh. Unfortunately, Captain Cardboard had a point. Mo drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “What do you think?” Adam was the one stewing—he could start the conversation.
“We should trade off planning. One date a week when I’m in town, and you should probably come to home games.”
Mo pulled a face but didn’t argue. He’d gotten them into this mess. He could sacrifice some of his leisure time—which was all of it—to this dumb charade, even if it meant playing picture-perfect boyfriend.
Gag.
At least he’d be off the hook when the Canyons had road games.
“Luxury vehicles?” Adam read as Mo turned into the lot. “Somehow, I doubt this is going to be my speed.”
“A car pun, Adam? We might make a gearhead out of you yet.” He sprang out of the car and slammed the door on Adam’s grumbled “I didn’t—”
Figuring the best offense was a good offense, Mo bustled Adam into the building and pushed him at an Aston Martin. “You could be like James Bond.”
Adam gave him a look. “Never in my life have I wanted to be like James Bond.”
Mo recoiled. “Not even a little? All the cars and suits—”
“And het sex?”
Mo made a face. Terrible—there he went having another good point. “Okay, but you have to admit, the car is nice.”
“It looks okay,” Adam admitted.
“Want to sit in it?” An attractive salesperson in a curve-hugging dress favored him with a dazzling smile.
Adam took a step back like he suspected the woman might shiv him. “Oh, no, I don’t think so…”
“Come on,” Mo urged. “How often do you get to sit in a six-million-dollar car?”
Adam spluttered. “It costs what? Lord love a duck. No. No, thanks.”
“Like you can’t afford it.” Why would the Lord love a duck? Or not? The theoretical Lord would have theoretically made it.
“That’s not the point. I’d never want to drive it. I’d be too terrified.” He wrinkled his nose. “Besides, it’s a bit… much.”
Mo heaved a sigh. “What about a Lamborghini? Or a Porsche?”
“Are they also six million dollars?”
The salesperson—“Call me Cynthia”—laughed and led Adam to a Lambo Revuelto.
Adam was definitely judging the orange paint job, but he said nothing as Cynthia detailed the specs, suggestively running her hand along the car’s curves.
Mo had to give a girl props for knowing her game, even if it went right over Adam’s head.
“I don’t think I’m a sports-car guy,” Adam protested, but Mo had weaponized stubbornness at a young age and waited him out until he said, “Fine.”
Cynthia opened the door and waved him in. Adam sat, then turned belligerent eyes on Mo. “See? This is why I don’t drive sports cars.”
In going from standing to sitting, Adam had turned into human origami. The steering wheel was between his knees, which were pressed up against the dash. His shorts pulled taut across his thighs.
Mo cleared his throat. “Ah.”
Cynthia laughed and shepherded them to the SUVs. Whether it was Mo’s reaction to the Adam-and-car porn or something else, she’d caught on well enough to change her approach. She stopped feeling up the cars and instead asked direct questions about Adam’s needs.
Still, he looked just as daunted by the shiny Bentleys and Maybachs. Mo couldn’t blame her when she politely left them to consider the G63 on their own to go chat with another customer.
“Can we go now?” Adam pleaded the second she was out of earshot.
Okay, so Mo had known Adam probably wouldn’t want any of these cars, but a girl could dream.
They returned to the car and Mo tapped his fingers on the wheel again. “Having choices isn’t helping, is it?”
Adam pulled a face. “No.”
Mo considered everything Cynthia had pulled out of him. Adam wanted comfortable, reliable, safe. “Let’s simplify. Lexus, Audi, or”—he made his own face—“Cadillac.” Boring but respectable. More styling than Land Rovers. And at least this one wouldn’t be a safety hazard.
Adam started googling. Mo left him to it and considered the idea of parameters.
Deciding expectations, including an end date, wasn’t a bad idea.
Could they wait it out until Mo’s next birthday?
Mo planned to leave Arizona anyway. He could move and Adam could blame him and the distance for the breakup.
Sports media would vilify him, but what did Mo care?
He’d have his money and be hundreds of miles away from his parents.
“I want this.” Adam waved his phone. A black Cadillac Vistiq filled the screen. Damn it. Maybe he could talk him out of it.
“Why that one?”
“It’s electric and made in the US.”
So much for that. At least he didn’t want a Tesla.
“All right, let’s go buy your—shudder—Cadillac.”
“You were the one to suggest it.” Adam pouted.
“Just because they were an option doesn’t mean they’re the one I wanted you to pick.”
Adam sniffed. Mo ignored him.
“We should break up this summer.”
Mo hit the brakes a bit too hard at the red light. “Why this summer?”
“Because if we stay together longer, we’ll hit our fake anniversary.”
“Right. Why not sooner?”
Adam shrugged. The light turned green. “We could end things sooner, I guess, but the whole point of this is less press attention, right? Hard to get less attention if you abandon me midseason.”
“Wow. Okay there, drama queen.”
“Just being honest. Break my heart midseason and you’ll be the cause of every missed pass, hit crossbar, and stupid penalty.”
“I know my worth, honey, but I didn’t realize my influence.”
Adam snorted. “Don’t act surprised. You know what the Internet is like.”
The Internet was how they’d gotten here in the first place. “Okay so, a quiet summer breakup it is.”
The Cadillac dealership was more fun. Adam was less tense and the sales rep, who instantly recognized Adam, offered to send them on a test drive in the only Vistiq on the lot—shockingly not black, white, or silver.
Adam shimmied in the seat, clearly pleased with the space. It was still boring but there were definite perks to space, Mo mused as he slid into the passenger seat. Like a back seat big enough to fuck in.
The rep gave Adam a sly look and wished them a happy ride with a wink.
“Should I be offended he thinks I’m a sugar daddy with arm candy? Or happy that he doesn’t care we’re gay?” Adam mused as he pulled out of the parking lot.