Page 11 of Playing His Game

“Sometimes, you grow apart; sometimes, you grow together,” Adam said blandly.

“Of course, of course,” Orson said, like he was in a board meeting he wanted to wrap up. He even shuffled some pages around. “Now that’s cleared up, your mother and I will leave you in Audrey’s care. She can work out the details of the statement.” He waved in Audrey’s direction.

“Do we need to make a statement?” Mo asked, feeling like a petulant kid.

Claire sniffed. “Of course we need to make a statement.”

“Sometimes, saying nothing is a valid option,” Adam offered, flicking his gaze between Mo and Claire.

Audrey got the last word. “Not in this case. There’s too much speculation. Silence will only fuel the rumor mill.”

“Given your history together,” Orson cut in, “controlling the narrative now is important. The last thing we need is people thinking we’re hiding a systemic problem.” He met Adam’s eyes and offered an insincerely apologetic nod. “Especially as more recent events have brought unwanted attention to alleged tension in the organization, particularly on the team itself.”

Murphy nodded.

“So, you’ll go with Audrey and figure out a press release. Maybe make some plans so we don’t get caught short again.” He shot Mo a look. “And do try to keep any further…intimatemoments private. You’re twenty-four years old. Your mother and I can’t be cleaning up your messes forever.”

3

Adam didn’t consider what agreeing to Mo’s claim would entail until his afternoon workout got rescheduled so he, Mo, and Audrey could talk public relations strategies.

At least Orson and Claire Du Pont had opted out. Adam respected them as the team owners and one of Phoenix’s power couples, but their presence made him uneasy. It was like having the school principal breathing down your neck, waiting for you to step out of line.

Little did they know Adam hadalreadystepped out of line—wayout of line. What had possessed him to go along with this charade? Off nothing more than a pleading glance from Mo, no less!

Audrey led them to a quiet conference room down the hall, equipped with a mini fridge and a coffee maker and more donuts than Adam should be left alone with.

A donut on an off day wouldn’t hurt him, probably. But if he ate that much sugar before lunch, he’d fall asleep in twenty minutes. He needed to be awake for this—or he’d get caught in a lie for sure.

Mo, apparently, had no such compunctions. He grabbed not one but two donuts and poured himself a coffee with an appalling amount of creamer before taking his seat next to Adam at the table. Come to think of it, he barely looked awake.

Well—he’d been pretty drunk last night. Now he was here, preparing to discuss strategies to publicly announce his relationship, which hadn’t existed an hour ago. And to top it off, Mo didn’t evenlikehis fake boyfriend.

Audrey asked a series of questions to get the basic details of their romance. How long had they been seeing each other? How serious was it? When did they tell friends and family?

Somehow, they stumbled through a basic backstory: they’d been dating a few weeks, but keeping it a secret because intra-organizational romances had to be disclosed to make sure Adam wasn’t getting exploited or whatever.

“We’ll have to inform the oversight committee, of course, but I doubt the league rep will object. After all, Mo has limited connection to the team business,” Audrey said as she tapped away at her iPad.

Finally, she stepped into the hallway to field a call from God knew who—Adam had the distinct feeling he didn’t want to know—and left the two of them alone.

Awkward.

He cleared his throat.

Because he couldn’t sit here with empty hands, Adam grabbed a donut. “So?—”

“I’m so sorry.” Mo looked up at him, eyes wide. They were still red-rimmed. Obviously, he hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. Not surprising, considering the shape Adam had dropped him off in.

“Uh—”

“I didn’t mean to—I just said it.” His lips twisted and he looked down at the table. “Guess my parents were right after all—my mouth does move faster than my brain.”

“And I agreed.” The idea of claiming a fake relationship might be madness, but obviously, it was a shared one.

“Why did you?” He looked back, gaze searching.

It was Adam’s turn to look away. What could he say? That the idea of being the one in the middle of the scandal—again—hurt? That he needed to protect his team’s morale and reputation? That he hated the idea that, already, the Internet was arguing about whether Mo was good enough for him or if Adam would reject him? Or worse, that people thought Adam could hate someone so much that it would get physical?