Page 13 of Playing His Game

After video surfaced of the two outside of a bar in Biltmore Saturday night, #Modam and #DuMurphy started trending as Canyons fans debated the video’s content and the nature of their relationship.

Picture and video of Du Pont and Murphy trend periodically online whenever the pair meet at Canyons’ events, sparking debate as to whether their seemingly heated exchanges reflect interest or mutual dislike.

Fans—and anti-fans—have discussed the possibility of a relationship between the pair since the elder Du Ponts stated that drafting the first openly gay player was important to them because their son was gay. While many claimed speculation of a romance was inappropriate given their ages at the time, rumors have continued during Murphy’s eight-year playing career in Arizona.

Over the years, Mo had done a lot of stupid shit thanks to his parents. Like spending four years getting a business degree he’d never used. Why? He didn’t give a flying fuck about his parents’ business, and the only way they were getting him in the office full-time was if he died and they cremated his remains to keep on Miss Daisy’s desk.

But they’d said,Jump, and he’d said,How high?Just like he always did.

Like he did for the etiquette lessons. The extra hockey tutoring. The hockey camps in the summer, every year until he turned fifteen. Twice-yearly ski trips. Endless socialite dinners. Dance classes so he could properly entertain people six times his age at aforementioned interminable events. He was lucky he turned out to be allergic to horses, or they would’ve tried to get him into polo.

So he’d done a lot of dumb shit and most of it had sucked. But fake dating his parents’ pet hockey player might be the dumbest.

Sign the first? Adam insisted on driving.

“Aww,” Sage cooed through the phone. “Is your masculinity that fragile?”

Mo huffed. “No! Shut up. Ilike my cars, okay? What if he shows up in a—a—” He cast about, trying to think of a truly despicable automobile. “—a Nissan Cube?!”

There was a pause. Presumably, somewhere across the Atlantic, Sage was googling. Finally, they said, “Do you know a lot of hockey players who drive those?”

“No,” Mo admitted, sullen, “but Adam’s weird. He might! And I can’t be seen in one of those.”

“Oh, it’s Adam now,” they teased, deftly changing the subject away from Mo’s extremely valid point about cars. He hadn’t even gotten to complain he didn’t know the last time this car had scheduled maintenance.

“Since I will be publicly dating him for the foreseeable future, yes. Adam.” He pulled a face. The name was a reminder of all the pseudonyms he’d given him over the years. Captain Cardboard really did suit him better. RIP.

“I can tell this is a very difficult time for you.”

It was a voice-only call, but Mo stuck his tongue out anyway. “Shut up. Tell me aboutTwelfth Night. Who’s your most terrible coworker?” Sage had studied theater in college and had appeared in a handful of small productions since they graduated. After the original Viola broke her leg in a freak Tube accident, Sage suddenly found themself graduating from swing to the lead role in a Globe production.

“Oh, David, for sure.”

“You said he was lovely!” A word they’d no doubt picked up since relocating to London.

“He is! And he’s married, so it’s terrible!”

God, a married actor who could keep it in his pants. What would they think of next? Mo snorted and twitched his blinds. What the hell was wrong with him? Adam wasn’t even supposed to pick him up for five more minutes.

Or maybe right now. Of course Adam was early. Heaven forbid the golden boy be late.

At least, Mo assumed Adam owned the three- or four-year-old Land Rover. All that money and youth and sex appeal, and he bought the rich man’s Subaru. What a waste. He didn’t need to buy a Lamborghini or a Ferrari, but he could have at least gone for a Mercedes or a Corvette, or hell, even a Lexus SUV. Something with personality. Something that matched Adam’s looks and his personality.

“Mo? Hello?”

“Shit, sorry, Sage. He’s here. I was having a moment to grieve. It’s a Land Rover.”

“However will you cope,” Sage said dryly. He should have known better than to appeal to them. They didn’t appreciate cars. They probably thought Land Rovers were nice.

“The English have ruined you.”

“Bye, love! Have fun with the new boyfriend!” Sage sing-songed with a laugh and hung up before Mo could give a rejoinder.

Consigning himself to his fate, Mo slipped on his shoes and grabbed his keys. Adam was halfway out of his car when Mo stepped out the front door. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment on the fact that Mo had obviously been watching for him. Damn it.

Prickly at being caught, Mo couldn’t stop the sarcasm. “Wow, flashy.” Despite the Land Rover’s age, the inside was well-kept and free of clutter. Mo doubted even Adam had consigned himself to a cost-saving secondhand vehicle, though. “You go off-roading in this thing?”

Adam rolled his eyes behind his aviators and put the car into gear. “I’m sorry this car isn’t to your tastes, but the Porsche is in the shop and it’s the limo driver’s day off, so you’ll have to make do.”