Chapter 10 #4
He was on a roll now. Something about changing into matching pajamas with those button-flap things on the ass, and speculating about whether Adam’s would fit or if his mom would have to add extra material.
Adam let him go. Eventually, he’d get all the nervous energy out of his system and then—
Mo went suddenly silent. Adam flicked on his turn signal as they approached the intersection that would bring them to the liquor store. When he glanced over, Mo had sunk down in his seat so far, his nose barely reached the bottom of the window, and was staring at the sun visor.
“Adam?”
His voice was so quiet, Adam wouldn’t have recognized it if he hadn’t been the only other person in the car. “Hmm?”
He could hear Mo swallow even over the hum of the engine. “Was I just… a lot?”
Adam pulled into a parking spot, cut the engine, and turned toward him.
Mo had his shoulders hunched up to his ears. His mouth turned down, and he was pressing his lips together so hard he had little dimples in his chin.
The answer was yes, obviously. But Adam wanted to be gentle. Mo might be a spoiled brat, but Adam was the one who’d left him alone with his mom, knowing she’d do her best to include him.
He should’ve warned her about Mo’s shitty family. He should’ve thought of it himself. Instead, he’d left Mom to unwittingly rub Mo’s nose in the Murphys’ happy family, not suspecting the level of toxic garbage he’d experienced in his own home growing up.
“Maybe a little.”
Mo groaned and buried his face in his hands. When he resurfaced, the agonized expression had gentled, but he still had regret written all over him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. Fuck, your parents probably hate me now.”
“My parents think you’re hilarious,” Adam corrected without thinking about it. “My dad’s convinced I’m going to propose.”
Mo blinked.
Adam probably shouldn’t have said that. “You obviously noticed we like giving each other a hard time,” he said. “So you were a little over-the-top. Mum and Dad thought it was funny. They probably think it’s good for me to have someone who gets me to take life less seriously.”
Slowly, some of the color returned to Mo’s face. “Okay. Okay, that makes sense. I still can’t believe…”
That you went to DEFCON 1 on the camp scale as a defense mechanism against the wholesome shit you never got as a kid?
The same way he had when he’d gotten defensive about perceived slights against him?
“I should’ve warned you what you were getting into.
Or told Mum to dial it back a little with the cutesy growing-up stories. ”
Deflecting the subject back to Adam’s own embarrassment worked.
“Absolutely not. I want to hear all about the wolf she says you tried to adopt.” Then he paused. “Oh my God, I just said size queen in front of your niece!”
“Yeah, I kind of figured you needed a break before you made a fisting joke. Hence the shopping trip.” He popped the handle on his door. “We really do need booze, though. Are you helping me carry it or what?”
Since the trip was spur-of-the-moment, Adam had no idea what needed buying. Good thing alcohol would keep.
He grabbed a cart and started with a case each of Molson and Moosehead. “Any beer requests?”
“Me? No. Beer’s a warm-weather-and-arena drink.”
Those two didn’t really go together, but far be it from Adam to employ logic to Mo. “Right, what about wine? You have wine opinions?”
“Sure, doesn’t everyone?”
“Not too much beyond red or white.” Adam shrugged. “So go pick some stuff out. At least five bottles each—red and white, I mean.”
“Right…” Mo said, and wandered off to complete his assignment.
Adam picked up some of the local craft brew Chels and Simon preferred, and the one that Ted liked best, then turned toward the liquor.
He probably had all this on hand, but it wouldn’t hurt to have extra.
In went the bottles of Irish cream, Captain Morgan, Kahlua, Prince Igor, and his uncle’s favorite Canadian rye.
Job done, he turned the cart in Mo’s direction. He was holding a single bottle of red and squinting at the label.
“Wow, haven’t even picked out one yet?” Adam teased.
Mo kept eyeing the label as he spoke. “I have, but my cart wandered off, so I left them on the shelf.” He put the current bottle back, almost warily, then turned to Adam and his bulging cart. “Uh, pookie-bear, just how many people are going to be at this Christmas?”
Pressing his lips together to bite back a laugh, Adam cleared his throat and shrugged. “You know, one or two dozen or fifty.”
“Adam, honey, studmuffin.” Mo’s eyes went wild. “That is not a real number.”
He broke and the smile stretched wide across his face. “Sorry, sorry. We won’t make it through all this by the time you and I leave, don’t worry.”
“So, what, you’re just buying drinks for the end times?” Mo grabbed a bottle of chardonnay and a shiraz and placed them in the cart before turning back to relocate the rest of his choices.
“That and I don’t want to deal with anyone who can’t find their holiday drink. No one wants to see Auntie Pattie when she can’t find Igor for her vodka cran. Especially now that she’s addicted to Canada Dry’s seasonal cranberry ginger ale.”
“I don’t know whether to believe you and avoid ‘Awn-tee Pattie’”—Adam could hear the air quotes as Mo mimicked his accent, badly—“or call bullshit.” He loaded in a couple Bordeaux.
“Definitely believe me. Auntie Pattie’s not to be underestimated.”
Mo counted the number of bottles, then turned back to the shelf to find the rest. His lips pursed adorably and he fiddled with the cuff of Adam’s hoodie while he perused.
Adam needed to stop staring like a creeper. Oh look, his mom’s favorite. He put three bottles in the cart and made a note to self to slip them into her luggage and out of everyone else’s reach.
At the register, Adam didn’t bat an eye at the total, while the barely-legal cashier looked like he wanted to freak out about the NHL star at his checkout. Usually, locals were more chill about seeing Adam in this neighborhood.
He handed over the sleek black credit card that still felt weird to own and then surreptitiously checked his pockets for a Sharpie.
Then, as the kid was distracted loading the alcohol back into the cart, Adam grabbed a seasonal flyer and wrote:
Thanks for being chill :) AMurphy51
He left it front and center for the kid to find, loaded up the last of his bottles, and headed out.
“So smooth,” Mo teased.
“What?”
“Couldn’t resist, could you?”
“He looked like he was dying to ask and only held back by nascent professionalism,” Adam admitted as they unloaded their haul into the SUV.
“Nascent? Look at you and your SAT words.”
“One, I never took the SATs—Canadian—and two, what part of ‘Mum’s an English teacher’ did you miss?”
“Dork,” Mo accused, but his gaze and tone were—dare he think it?—fond.
Which really was the issue, Adam realized as he shut the hatch and watched Mo spirit the cart back where it belonged. Not just that Mo might be increasingly fond, but that Adam wanted him to be.
By the time Mo had returned, Adam had pulled up a Christmas playlist on Spotify. No matter what Mo might say, Adam was pretty sure he enjoyed a singalong, and December was the season for singing along.
He was turning onto Gibson when the idea hit him. They didn’t have to go straight home. The booze would keep, safely hidden under the trunk cover. Nah, Adam had a much better idea than taking Mo straight back to family time.
“York Arena.” Mo read the small sign above the door as Adam parked.
“Yup.”
“Why are we here and why does this building look so sus?”
“I did explain that this province is small town, right?” Adam unbuckled his belt. “And we’re here because someone needs practice.”
“I mean, I know it’s been a while for you—”
Laughing, Adam got out and waited for Mo to give in and join him.
“I don’t need to practice for a pond hockey game,” Mo whined. “And even if I did, hello, I went to family skate day.”
“Yes, and spent ten seconds on the ice before you decamped with the most uninterested SaPs to prop up the snack table and gossip.”
“Okay, first of all, not wanting to skate with children—of both the actual and the NHL player variety—is not a criminal offense, thank you! And second of all, I wasn’t gossiping.”
“No?” Adam held open the door to the arena.
“No, I was ingratiating myself with the ladies by asking for the tea and listening with rapt attention. I’ve got one shot at making a good impression, Adam, and your hockey bros are not the group I need to charm.”
“Uh-huh.” Adam smirked, knowing it would make Mo puff up like an indignant bird ready to squawk. Not that Adam let him. He was a man on a mission.
“I’m serious! When were you going to tell me about the Canyons’ most adorable playoff tradition?”
Oh no, they hadn’t.
“Writing sweet nothings for your sweetie to keep in his gloves? Like a knight wearing a favor from his lady?” He mock-swooned. “So romantic.”
Adam tried not to tense. “I guess.”
Naturally, Mo noticed anyway. “What, you don’t think it’s lucky?”
Damn it. “I wouldn’t know. Never had anyone to make them for me.”
Fortunately, before Mo could follow up on that, or look at Adam in a way that made him self-conscious, or… whatever might be worse than that, they reached the attendant booth.
The perks of a small town? Everyone knew everyone, and Adam had long since made friends with the staff at his local arena. After a quick catch-up—or as quick as they could ever been up here—he wrangled them loaner skates and tugged Mo to the ice.
“Don’t we need to pay?”
“I have a membership.” Or free admission for life since he cut them a generous check once a year during their fundraising events.
“I don’t.”
“It covers a plus-one.”
“Right.”
Adam handed over the smaller skates and then laced up. “Come on, champ, time to show me what you got,” he teased and headed for the ice.