Page 26 of Playing His Game

“Washed them,” Mo said with a grin. Their arms brushed together as they crossed the parking lot. They had both worked up a sweat. “Every single item, even the dry-clean-only stuff. Their own clothes too. I don’t know how they did it—I swear they must’ve had to pay off every other resident in the dorm to get access to that many washing machines at one time. But there was nothing for Charlotte to wear on her fancy date except the same clothes she’d been wearing all day.”

“How’d they do it all with a broken foot?”

“Fuck if I know. Probably batted their eyelashes at one of the football team hopefuls and had them do all the lifting and carrying. They’d never tell me the truth.”

Adam snickered, imagining the roommate’s face. “Remind me not to get on Sage’s bad side.”

“You’ll be fine as long as you don’t fake break my heart.”

What a concept. Adam shook his head, mock-serious. “Are you kidding? I’m a professional athlete—I’m definitely fake winning this fake breakup. Sorry. Prepare to be fake devastated.”

“Ha! Joke’s on you. I grew up best friends with anactor. You want devastation? I’ll give you devastation.”

Adam should’ve known better than to issue Mo a challenge. He swooped out in front of Adam and then whirled around, his face a mask of dejection. “Baby,please.” Heedless of the state of Adam’s shirt, he put both hands on his chest and arched dramatically to look up into his face, practically swooning.

He fluttered his eyelashes, much like Adam imagined Sage had with the possible football players. “Don’t leave me this way!” Somewhere in the parking lot, a car door slammed. “Think of all the good times we’ve had together! The bottomless brunches at Henry’s—well, almost bottomless! The clandestine trysts in the locker room after hours?—”

“I’m not fake fucking you in the locker room,” Adam protested, his ears burning as he resisted the urge to look around. Surely no one was close enough to overhear—but what would itlooklike? “It’s gross in there.”

“And think of the children, Adam. You don’t want to raise them in a broken home, do you? What will it do to them if their father abandons them?” Mo curled his hands in the fabric of Adam’s shirt, pleading. He might have nailed the tone, but his expression left no doubt he was enjoying himself: his eyes were sparkling and his plump lips were curled up in a teasing smile. “We can try again, can’t we?” Another flutter of his ridiculous lashes. Then he surged up on his toes. “Kiss me again like you used to.”

The electronic lock on the car next to them chirped, and Adam nearly jolted out of his skin. He took Mo by the elbows and peeled him off. This was far from the most strenuous exercise he’d gotten this morning, but suddenly, he felt too hot all over.

“Come on, let’s just… get in the car before you get any more sunburned.” Adam pushed past him toward the Land Rover, feeling the damp hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Fuck. Had he put sunscreen there? He didn’t think so. His hockey gear was going to chafe tomorrow.

He’d already stowed his bag in the back, climbed into the driver’s seat, and started the engine by the time Mo opened the passenger door. He flung himself into the seat and slammed the door after him, face stony.

Great. Now Adam had fucked something else up. He curled his hands into the steering wheel.What did I do now?He thought he finally had a handle on what made Mo tick, and now?—

Mo huffed an enormous sigh. “Girl, what the fuck is your problem?”

“What?” Adam looked over to find Mo’s mouth pinched.

“Any time I show the slightest bit of personality, you turn red and stiff and start looking around like a caged animal.” His eyes were narrowed. He reminded Adam of a shelter cat. Ready to swipe at the strangers.

“I don’t?—”

“Donotdeny it. What, afraid people will realize I’m gay? Or maybe you just don’t like a queen.”

Heat flooded Adam’s cheeks, and he swallowed hard. It hadn’t occurred to him that Mo would read his embarrassment at being on display as personal. “I don’t…” He trailed off, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Don’t what?”

“It’s not you,” he started, because Mo deserved to hear that first. “I’m not lying. It’s not personal. It’s…” He sighed and tried to articulate how much the idea of public displays of his sexuality made his skin crawl. “I’m not much of a PDA person.”

He’d never been fond of physical contact outside of a few set situations. On the ice with layers of padding, Adam never begrudged his teammates any of the customary manly-bonding taps, nudges, slaps, boops, and even the occasional helmet smooch. But off the ice, touch with friends and family was a carefully negotiated, often unspoken, individualized agreement. Thankfully, on a team of professional athletes, Adam’s quirk of needing personal space barely registered on the weirdness scale.

“For one, I’m not good with… surprise touches. Or most touches with most people,” he admitted, struggling to maintain eye contact.

“Okay,” Mo said slowly. “Obviously, I’m a handsy person, but I can respect a boundary.” His mouth tightened again. “You could have said.”

“You’re right.” Adam rubbed his face. “But it’s also… Do you know how many out guys there are in the league?”

Finally serious for once, Mo shook his head. “I don’t.”

“Less than ten. And I was the first.” The first to be drafted while already out, the first to be publicly out, the first to be a team mascot. “The first couple of years, I could barely do an interview without it being brought up.Murphy, how does it feel to play your first game knowing gay kids are watching? Murphy, how does it feel to get your first NHL point knowing queers are in the stands? Murphy, what kind of example are you setting for the gay children when you get a penalty?”

Mo snorted. “Shit. I didn’t—I was actively avoiding hockey news during that time, so no, I didn’t know.”