Page 44 of Playing His Game

Mo agreed, which was annoying. He preferred to be disagreeable.

Adam turned around and held his arms out at his sides. “Well? Does this pass?”

Mo assessed him. The shirt had been tailored during the late off-season, probably. It fit snugly at the shoulders but not so much around the waist. A beltcouldtake care of it.

His mother would absolutely tsk at Mo for not having taken his escort to the tailor.

He sighed and motioned to the second option. “Next, please. Now give me a green-light topic.”

This time, Adam didn’t turn away. “I just gave you winter sports,” he complained. He unbuttoned without looking. “Fine. Travel.”

Mo tore his gaze up from Adam’s chest. “Be more specific.”

Adam took the shirt off and flung it at his head. “Europeantravel. Your parents sound like assholes, by the way.”

Do not inhale, do not inhale, do not inhale—Damn it, Adam’s body wash smelled good. Mo would have to creep on his shower products.

“No shit,” he answered after a moment as he fussed to get the shirt back on its hanger, regardless of creases. “I wasn’t drilling you for this dinner because I thought it would be a good time. I hope you have alcohol for after.”

“I can’t drink tonight. I have practice tomorrow morning.”

That made no sense. “What are you talking about? The night this whole mess started, you were out drinking with the team when you had practice the next—” Mo caught up and narrowed his eyes. “Are you—are you beingsarcastic?”

“No,” Adam deadpanned. “Hockey players don’t do that.”

Mo was going to strangle him. “Just—put the fucking shirt on already, you exhibitionist.”

Mercifully, Adam did. “I don’t know why you had to pick this one,” he grumbled. Out of everything in his closet, this shirt was the flashiest—not that that said much. It was also the only one with the tag still on it. “I’ve never even worn it.”

Mo could tell why the second he had the first button done up. The shirt clung in a way Mo could only describe as provocative. The fabric had a chambray shimmer, forest green interwoven with a dark steel gray; the variegated effect was subtle enough that Mo’s parents wouldn’t comment but eye-catching enough to turn heads, especially in the right lighting. And the dark colors set off against the paleness of his skin and his auburn hair, and brought out the bright green of his eyes. Whoever had bought it had known what they were doing.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” Mo said cheerily.

Adam gave a slight scowl. “You don’t think it’s too flashy?”

Mo stared. The shirt was gorgeous on Adam and might have caught attention in a café, but in a Michelin restaurant, next to Mo’s bright pink, Adam would be somewhat but not fully overshadowed. People would notice him, but no one would think he had any “flash” next to Mo, nor would they think them an unmatched set.

“No. It’s perfect.” He grabbed Adam’s arm and spun them both so they stood before the mirror. The complimentary effect was immediately obvious. “See?”

Adam grunted but didn’t disagree, so Mo counted it as a win.

“Great. Other acceptable topics?”

“I thought winter sports and their travels in Europe pretty much covered it.”

Mo bit back his instinctive denial. Adam wasn’t far wrong. The list could be longer… if you separated hockey and skiing into two categories. “Unless you want to talk business. Well, in the sense of flattering them and agreeing with their choices and smiling and nodding if they mention any commercial villains.”

Adam snorted. “Probably better to stay away from business. Not sure I could fake enough interest in that to be a good potential son-in-law.”

“Probably not,” Mo agreed cheerfully. In his experience, hockey players rarely had the brains or education to talk at length on any topic that wasn’t hockey, video games, or women. “It’s a loaded topic with me there anyway. They’re still fuming about my undergraduate thesis.” When Adam tilted his head in curiosity, Mo supplied, “Did you know you’re allowed to writeSocialism Is Good, Actuallyas your business undergrad thesis? They sure didn’t!” He put on a high-pitched voice to mimic his mother. “Mo, honestly, how would it look to have our son—our son who advocates forgivingpeoplehousing—working forus, the people who make money from people needing housing?”

Okay, so Mo might have embellished the quote a little, for effect.

One day, he should track down the cute guy who’d been marching for social reform Mo’s second day of college and send him flowers. He’d been stoned as hell, and his only answer to Mo’s “What’s going on?”was a red-eyed stare and “I don’t know, but it pisses rich people off.” That had been enough for Mo.

Adam cleared his throat around what might have been a laugh. “Is that why you don’t work for them?”

Mo huffed. “It’s why I don’t work, period. Iwon’twork for them, they forbade me to open a garage, and it would look bad if I worked for someone else. So they just give me an allowance. Apparently, that’s somehow less embarrassing.”