Page 63 of Playing His Game

Jorts turned around and suddenly, Mo was a bug under glass.

God damn it. He’d been doing so well avoiding this.

“So listen,” Jorts began. “Adam says you have hockey-player trauma and that’s why you prefer hanging out with our wives.”

Oh. Maybe this wouldn’t be so terrible.

“Also they smell better,” Mo offered.

“They do smell better.” Jorts pulled the mug out of the machine and passed it to Mo before shoving a second one in. “I just wanted to say—none of the guys are going to give you a hard time. Except in the way we give everyone we like a hard time.”

Nope—Mo was wrong. It was worse.

His stupid mouth said, “Youlikeme?” It sounded like he didn’t believe it, and also like he cared. Horrible.

Jorts gave him a wry look. “You’re good for Adam. You’ve done a better job getting him to stop worrying about being perfect in two months than I have in almost a decade. Don’t tell me how you’re doing it. Just keep it up.”

Way,wayworse.

“Um,” Mo said. “Thanks.”

Jorts clapped him on the shoulder. “Now—your chariot awaits.”

The chaos of the morning meant Mo didn’t have time to think about the reality of meeting Adam’s family until they checked the extra suitcase (presents only), braved airport security, and found their gate.

Two minutes after they sat down, Mo’s leg started to bounce.

Without looking up from his phone, Adam put his hand on Mo’s knee. The other started bouncing instead.

“Okay. What’s wrong?” Adam turned to catch Mo’s eyes.

I am furiously sublimating tacit approval from your hockey dad while simultaneously dreading meeting the real one?“Oh, you know, just thinking about how much fun it’s going to be to meet the family for the first time.”

Something in Adam’s gaze softened. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Theywantto like you.” Pink bloomed over his cheeks and spread to his ears—Mo loved his tell-all skin—and he admitted quietly, “I’ve never brought anyone home before. They’re… excited.”

“Excited,” Mo said slowly.

“Honestly, you should probably be more worried about getting, like, smothered by affection.”

“Oh.” On the one hand, not having to worry about being disliked on principle was a relief, but on the other, knowing Adam’s family was excited… Now Mo could fail atmeetingthem. “I thought worrying about impressing a family that didn’t want to like me would be bad, but worrying about living up to expectations is definitely worse.” Jorts trauma timestwo.

“Okay, no.” Adam turned to face him more fully. “They don’t have expectations or a bar for you to meet.”

As if. Everyone had expectations, and Mo had never been very good at meeting them. Not outside of a club scene, anyway. Mo was very good about matchingthosestandards.

“I’m serious,” Adam said with such earnestness that Mo didn’t doubt his honesty, just his perception of reality.

“Promise you’ll protect me if they hate me,” Mo said instead of any of the other things hecouldsay.

Adam opened his mouth, closed it, then asked, “What are fake boyfriends for?”

Mo fluttered his lashes. “I make a wonderful damsel in distress.”

“That I don’t doubt. I’m sure you look very good sprawled on a fainting couch.”

“You have no idea,” Mo purred with lowered lashes, and Adam’s pupils went wide.

“Oh, I think I have some idea.”