Chapter 5 #2
“If anyone deserves to be offended, it’s me.
As if I’d ever be impressed by this basic bitch.
” Not that Mo would waste the energy on offense.
He wasn’t the first man to assume Mo could barely drive let alone rebuild an engine, and he wouldn’t be the last. At least this time, Mo got some amusement out of watching the guy waste his energy trying to sell Adam on specs with jargon that went right over his head.
“Get on the highway,” Mo urged.
“Why?” Adam asked even as he flicked the blinker and eased onto the on ramp.
“Because this bitch might be boring, but she’s an EV, so at least she knows how to go.”
“Wha—”
“Hit the gas, honey.”
Adam followed direction. The car jumped from thirty to seventy. “Holy shit.”
Mo fought the urge to pet the dash. Adam eased back down to sixty, like the good law-abiding boy he was.
A couple miles down the road, Mo figured it was time for him to bite the bullet and set his boundaries. “I’ll go to regular games and share the date planning fifty-fifty, but I’m not hanging out with the team.”
Adam chewed his lip. Then he pulled off the highway and parked in the first lot he found. What a dork.
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve had my fill of hockey bros.”
Adam’s face pinched. “I get that but…” No but, Mo wanted to snap, but he bit his tongue. He wanted Adam to agree, not fight. “What do you mean by not hanging out with them? Like not going to bars? Not coming to team family events? Not going to dinner with Jorts and his wife?”
“Yes.” All of that sounded like hell.
Adam blew out a breath. “I get not wanting to bar crawl with a bunch of rich straight boys.” Mo was pretty sure that only appealed to other straight boys. “But you can’t opt out of meeting Jorts.”
Mo narrowed his eyes. “Why not?”
“Because my best friend will think I either made you up or I’m being taken advantage of if you refuse to meet him.”
Mo sniffed. “Not my fault your social circle is so small.”
“Jesus.” Adam rubbed his face. “Can’t we compromise?”
Mo shrugged. “On my boundaries?”
Adam’s mouth tightened and he shoved the car back into gear.
Either accidentally or on purpose, Adam found the best weapon to against Mo’s stubbornness: quiet.
“I’m already going to the games, so he’ll know I’m real. And I’m sure his wife can vet me to make sure I’m not a toxic gold digger.”
“Fine. That could work for now. But we’ll have to revisit this.”
“We will, will we?” Mo regarded him with narrowed eyes.
“Yes, Mo, because avoiding thirty of my closest friends doesn’t exactly paint an image of scandal-free romantic bliss.”
Ugh. Captain Cardboard was right again, damn him. “Fine. We’ll revisit in a couple of months.”
“Fine.”
They rode in silence until the dealership came back in sight. Mo cracked again.
“So… what do you think about the color?”
Mo hadn’t been to a Canyons game since he was fourteen.
Parts of the experience had not changed. The ice smelled the same. The seat still dug into the backs of his thighs. Despite the fact that he could now buy it legally, the fifteen-dollar beer tasted the same.
Other things, it felt like he was seeing for the first time.
The Canyons had had a difficult season the year before, after multiple injuries left them at the bottom of the standings.
That, coupled with the fact that Arizona was simply a wild fucking place to put a professional hockey team, had cut ticket sales down a fair bit.
The fans that filed into the arena with him barely filled it halfway.
From the VIP box, Mo had a depressing bird’s eye view of all the empty red seats. He shifted in his own, overly conscious of the brand-new jersey Adam had left for him at the private entrance along with his “ticket” and a staff member who’d guided Mo up to the box reserved for friends and family.
Adam had done as directed and ordered him a home-game jersey: MURPHY sat across the shoulders in white over the Canyons’ blah burgundy polyester weave, with a matching C over the heart. No way for anyone to miss who Mo was here to see.
“You must be Mo,” said a soft voice from over his shoulder. He twisted to see a curvy, athletic brunet taking the seat on his right.
“I am. Alas, I can’t repeat your trick—Adam didn’t warn me I’d have company,” he said cheerfully, throwing his fake boyfriend under the proverbial bus. If Adam wanted to have a better reputation among his team’s partners, he should give Mo background.
“Oh, Adam didn’t know I was coming. I didn’t know I was coming until Steve texted that you’d be here, and, well, how could I pass up the opportunity to remake your acquaintance?” She lifted one dark, sculpted eyebrow.
Another hint as to who she was, but Mo’s knowledge of the Canyons’ current roster was limited enough that the name Steve and the number 74 on her arm didn’t help.
Not even with the suggestion that Steve had been around long enough that Mo and his wife had met.
Mo wished he was a good enough person to say he remembered her, but well.
He wasn’t. Ever since college, he spent most of those events drunk and hiding from everyone of consequence.
Then he’d bait Adam into an amusing argument and flee the scene of the crime.
“Well, I’m always happy to satisfy curiosity,” Mo returned without a hint of irony. He might be a slut for attention, but he was hardly an open book.
“Oh, I hope so,” she said with a sweet smile and a twinkle in her eye. Thank God she didn’t look bothered by his lack of memory. “I’m Maddison Jortner.”
Oh, of course. She was here to vet him. That was fast. “Not Mrs. Jorts?”
“God, no! I love the man, but nothing could convince me to go by that stupid nickname.”
“In sickness and in health, but not shared stupidity?”
She laughed. “Exactly. You’ll learn fast that the best of them might be sweet and more responsible, but they’re still just big boys.”
“Not sure anyone’s ever described Adam as a boy, even when he was one,” Mo mused. Adam might be funny and able, apparently, to laugh, but he wasn’t “boyish.”
“Adam is more the exception that proves the rule, really,” Maddison agreed.
Maddison turned out to be the best of allies. She introduced him to a tasty cocktail and casually shared gossip about the team and their families—though she only told stories their subjects wouldn’t mind others hearing.
“Obviously you’re the first confirmed non-straight non-woman to join the ranks, but me and few others changed the acronym to SaPs the moment Adam got drafted.
Should have pushed for it sooner, but I was young.
Happily, any of the former WaGs that were against the change have left.
Most of the ladies have had plenty of time to get used to the idea or are young enough not to care. ”
Mo gave a wan smile. “Most?”
She pulled a face. “Most. I wish I could say it will be smooth sailing, but…” She shrugged. “Anyway, I’ve been acting as head of the group, since Adam’s been chronically single and I’m an elder now, so they know better than to say anything too loudly or to me.”
Mo looked at her smooth face and almost gray-free hair. “Darling, if you’re an elder, there’s no hope for the rest of us.”
“You say that like I don’t know exactly how young you are.”
“You can’t be that much older than me,” Mo said, not bullshitting.
“Another couple years and I’ll officially be closer to forty than thirty.”
“Girl. I need your skincare routine.”
She laughed and smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand.
Then the other part of the conversation registered. “Wait—don’t tell me I’m supposed to—” Was Mo supposed to be head WaG—SaP? Had this fake relationship just made him president of a sorority?
“Relax,” Maddison said soothingly. “No one’s going to expect you to take charge midseason. We’ll get you ready by September.”
Oh God, Mo thought, please no.
When the puck dropped, Mo found himself leaning forward in spite of himself.
Hockey might have hurt him—if not the sport, then the people he’d played with—but he’d loved it.
He still did. His relationship with Adam might be as fake as a Day-Glo spray tan, but he didn’t have to pretend to enjoy the game.
He didn’t even have to pretend to think Adam was good at it. From the opening face-off, he played like a man with his life on the line. He won the draw with a movement so quick, Mo barely caught it on the replay.
“Your boy’s looking sharp for you tonight,” Maddison teased, giving him a gentle elbow.
Unaccountably, Mo felt his cheeks heat. Which was silly. He and modesty had never even shared a cigarette. Adam wasn’t even his real boyfriend! He cleared his throat and hoped he hadn’t made himself too conspicuous. “You know how hockey players are. They love to show off.”
As if he’d scripted it, at that moment, Adam chased an opposing forward into the corner, bodied him off the puck, and skated away clean.
He and Jorts made it all the way to the offensive zone for a scoring chance and two rebounds that had Mo on the edge of his seat.
Toronto’s goalie got just enough of the puck to keep it from crossing the goal line.
Maddison whistled. “Maybe we should get you to come to every game.”
Please don’t let anyone suggest to a hockey player—or Mo’s parents—that Mo brought good luck. He’d already agreed to attend most home games until the fake breakup. He had no desire to see all of them.
Even if part of him thought being some kind of unofficial good luck charm would be kind of fun.
On paper, Toronto had a better team than the Canyons. But tonight, Adam had the team all fired up. Even from the press box, Mo could feel the jump on Arizona’s bench. Halfway through the second period, the Canyons had held Toronto to eight shots on net to their fifteen, though no one had scored.
And then, just as the game returned from a broadcasting break, the Jumbotron camera—no doubt after some prompting from Audrey—showed Mo sitting in the press box.
Maddison nudged his shoulder. “Wave to your sweetheart.”
God. The text under Mo’s picture read: