Page 33 of Playing His Game

Mo narrowed his eyes. “Why not?”

“Because my best friend will think I either made you up or I’m being taken advantage of if you refuse to meet him.”

Mo sniffed. “Not my fault your social circle is so small.”

“Jesus.” Adam rubbed his face. “Can’t we compromise?”

Mo shrugged. “Onmyboundaries?”

Adam’s mouth tightened and he shoved the car back into gear.

Either accidentally or on purpose, Adam found the best weapon to against Mo’s stubbornness: quiet.

“I’m already going to the games, so he’ll know I’m real. And I’m sure his wife can vet me to make sure I’m not a toxic gold digger.”

“Fine. That could work for now.Butwe’ll have to revisit this.”

“We will, will we?” Mo regarded him with narrowed eyes.

“Yes, Mo, because avoiding thirty of my closest friends doesn’t exactly paint an image of scandal-free romantic bliss.”

Ugh. Captain Cardboard was rightagain, damn him. “Fine. We’ll revisit in a couple of months.”

“Fine.”

They rode in silence until the dealership came back in sight. Mo crackedagain.

“So… what do you think about the color?”

Mo hadn’t been to a Canyons game since he was fourteen.

Parts of the experience had not changed. The ice smelled the same. The seat still dug into the backs of his thighs. Despite the fact that he could now buy it legally, the fifteen-dollar beer tasted the same.

Other things, it felt like he was seeing for the first time.

The Canyons had had a difficult season the year before, after multiple injuries left them at the bottom of the standings. That, coupled with the fact that Arizona was simply a wild fucking place to put a professional hockey team, had cut ticket sales down a fair bit. The fans that filed into the arena with him barely filled it halfway.

From the VIP box, Mo had a depressing bird’s eye view of all the empty red seats. He shifted in his own, overly conscious of the brand-new jersey Adam had left for him at the private entrance along with his “ticket” and a staff member who’d guided Mo up to the box reserved for friends and family.

Adam had done as directed and ordered him a home-game jersey:MURPHYsat across the shoulders in white over the Canyons’ blah burgundy polyester weave, with a matching C over the heart. No way for anyone to miss who Mo was here to see.

“You must be Mo,” said a soft voice from over his shoulder. He twisted to see a curvy, athletic brunet taking the seat on his right.

“I am. Alas, I can’t repeat your trick—Adam didn’t warn me I’d have company,” he said cheerfully, throwing his fake boyfriend under the proverbial bus. If Adam wanted to have a better reputation among his team’s partners, he should give Mo background.

“Oh, Adam didn’t know I was coming.Ididn’t know I was coming until Steve texted that you’d be here, and, well, how could I pass up the opportunity to remake your acquaintance?” She lifted one dark, sculpted eyebrow.

Another hint as to who she was, but Mo’s knowledge of the Canyons’ current roster was limited enough that the name Steve and the number 74 on her arm didn’t help. Not even with the suggestion that Steve had been around long enough that Mo and his wife had met. Mo wished he was a good enough person to say he remembered her, but well. He wasn’t. Ever since college, he spent most of those events drunk and hiding from everyone of consequence. Then he’d bait Adam into an amusing argument and flee the scene of the crime.

“Well, I’m always happy to satisfy curiosity,” Mo returned without a hint of irony. He might be a slut for attention, but he was hardly an open book.

“Oh, I hope so,” she said with a sweet smile and a twinkle in her eye. Thank God she didn’t look bothered by his lack of memory. “I’m Maddison Jortner.”

Oh, of course. She was here to vet him. That was fast. “Not Mrs. Jorts?”

“God, no! I love the man, but nothing could convince me to go by that stupid nickname.”

“In sickness and in health, but not shared stupidity?”