Page 62 of Playing His Game
“They don’t know it’s fake! They think it’s real, and if I show up without presents, they’re going to think I’m a bad boyfriend and then the visit will be awkward and they’ll probably tell Adam he should dump me!”
“Fake dump you.”
“Again,they don’t know it’sfake.”
“Right. Because that matters.”
Mo huffed. “Are you going to help me or not?”
Sage shrugged. “Why not just put your name on Adam’s gifts?”
“And have them think I’m a cheapskate?” Mo’s gasp of outrage was only slightly exaggerated.
Sage gave a loud sigh. “Then ask Adam what to buy them.”
“Isn’t that cheating?” Was ordering something on demand just as bad as putting his name on Adam’s cards? That didn’t exactly show thoughtfulness.
“Mo, I’m not saying that you need to get a wish list with links, just get advice. I’m sure he can give you a list like, I don’t know, murder mystery or wool sweaters with foxes on them. Something to narrow it down.”
“Oh, right. That makes sense.”
“You’re so ridiculous,” Sage muttered and hung up on him.
He probably deserved that. He still sent them a gif of a wide-eyed wounded puppy, though. Then he texted Adam to ask what the hell he should buy his family.
The remaining hours up the flight passed in a blur of shopping, sex, the Canyons family Christmas party (a fun event with too much food, too many kids, and not enough gossip, though Mads and company had at least insulated him somewhat from Adam’s teammates), sex, packing, and sex.
It was almost enough to make Mo regret that he’d dragged himself out of Adam’s bed after midnight the day before their flight—which in turn meant he almost didn’t make it back in time to keep up the charade for Jorts, who was driving them to the airport.
“Sorry, sorry!” Mo apologized as he dragged his overfull suitcase up Adam’s steps. Behind him, his Lyft driver sped off. “My first car never showed up.”
Adam ushered him in the door, wild-eyed. “You could’ve driven!”
Mo dropped the suitcase and gave him an incredulous look. “And leave one of my children in yourdriveway?”
“You’re right,” Adam said dryly. “That would be silly.” He shut the door on the mild December sunshine. “This is why you should’ve just stayed over.”
It wasn’t the first time Adam had said those words. “I can’t have you thinking you have access to my body twenty-four seven.”
Adam rolled his eyes. “Who texts who after ten at night for a booty call?”
“I didn’t hear you complaining when your dick was in my mouth.”
They didn’t make it to the next part of their rote argument—Adam’s endorsement of sleepy morning sexalmosthad Mo convinced—because Jorts pulled into the driveway in a Mercedes G-class.
“Now that’s a car,” Mo said happily.
“You complained that the Land Rover was ‘a box with no style’!”
“And this is proof that boxescan have style, Adam?—”
The door opened without a knock, because hockey players had no boundaries. Jorts stuck his head in. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No,” Adam said, just as Mo answered, “Yes, my explanation of why the G-class is better than a Land Rover.”
Jorts gave a half-smile and shoved his keys at Adam. “Go save yourself by loading up your luggage. The children had a mishap with the coffee pot this morning. I’m helping myself to your Nespresso.”
“Yes,more coffee,” Mo said enthusiastically. He followed Jorts to the kitchen and didn’t even see the trap until the first travel mug started filling.
