Page 28 of Playing His Game

“Pet names?”

“What are your thoughts?”

Oh. Despite having grown up with hockey bros incapable of referring to anyone by their given name, Adam wasn’t overly fond of nicknames. There was a reason his teammates called him Murph and not, say, Jorts. “Just… nothing weird.”

“What qualifies as weird?”

“I don’t know. Weird.”

“What about honeybun? Muffin?”

Adam couldn’t help but pull a face. Years of media training went out the window when confronted with the prospect of have to answer to one of those.

“No? Hmm, pookie? Sugar lips?” God, each one was worse than the last, and each had its own unique horrifying flavor.

“Please stop.”

“Darling, pumpkin pie, I must have something to call you,” Mo said with a flutter of his lashes.

“Call me pookie in public, and I’ll start calling you Moritz.”

Mo sniffed. “That’s just mean. Here I am trying to find an expression of my affection and you threaten me with violence.”

“You started it,” Adam grumped.

“Fine, outlandish pet names aren’t allowed,” Mo said in a less dramatic tone. “We’ll workshop it.”

Adam was too tired to speculate on, let alone ask about, whatworkshopcould mean. He let it drop.

The silence lasted long enough that he put the car in Drive and pointed it toward Phoenix.

“I’m going to assume you’re not huge on the idea of anyone talking about our relationship in public. Especially not us.”

Adam chanced a glance at Mo out of the corner of his eye. “Gosh. Am I that easy to read?” he deadpanned. He’d basically been saying that without saying it.

Mo waved him off. “Right, right, but here’s the thing.Iamme. I am over-the-top. I am outlandish. I could tell everyone we’re waiting till marriage or that you have a ten-inch dick, and no one will believe me.”

“…Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“It’s supposed to be a silver lining.” Mo turned in his seat, facing Adam. “The idea of talking about our relationship in public sucks for you. I get that. So let me do it. There’s nothing real to tell, but I’ve got lots of imagination. I can make it sound like we’re completely besotted and yet no one will actually believe a word I say.”

For a quarter mile, Adam thought about it. He’d never gotten to the public-dating stage with anyone. The idea horrified him. But he knew he’d never get away with sayingnothing. Until the relationship became old news, people would ask.

“That’s—actually. Yeah, that might work.” That might make Adam’s gut biome feel less like he’d just guzzled a gallon of hot sauce. “But don’t, like… nothing too intimate. And nothing about what we do in bed.” If Adam survived the embarrassment, the team’s chirping would kill him.

“Well, shucks,” Mo drawled. “There goes my plan to sell a lurid tell-all about your sex dungeon. I was so looking forward to telling them about your naughty maid outfit.”

“The NHLjustgot rid of the dress code on game days. Don’t make me put a suit back on for your funeral.”

Mo gasped. “Adam! Death threats and on the second date. Whatwillpeople say?”

“Whatever they say is probably less ridiculous than what you’ll say.”

“Exactly.”

Adam took the ramp off the highway. All this talk of interviews and Mo jumping in reminded him… “You should come to my next game.”

“Uh, what?”