Page 69 of Playing His Game

Figuring a topic change was definitely in order, Adam asked, “So, what do we have planned for tomorrow?”

Hours later, Adam and Mo got ready for bed in the downstairs guest room. They’d known they’d have to share, not only because space was limited but also because Adam’s family would expect it. Still, as they settled into the queen bed, it struck Adam that they’d never shared a bed without having mind-blowing sex first—and they hadn’t shared again since that first time. Still, it was weirdlynotawkward.

Once curled up, Mo mumbled into the pillow, “Your family’s nice.”

Warmth filled Adam. “Sometimes.” Chels was too much of a Big Sister to be called nice.

“I like ’em,” Mo said before nuzzling the cotton sheets and passing out.

“They like you too,” Adam told his sleeping face.

Mo hummed but didn’t otherwise stir.

Figuring Mo had the right idea, Adam wiggled around to get comfortable and closed his eyes for sleep.

Mo woke with a desperate need to pee. Adam was curled around him. Apparently, nocturnal Adam was just an inveterate cuddler, an eager big spoon. Adam’s arm around his waist felt heavy, restrictive. Mo hadn’t had a regular sleeping partner since college, when he’d been young and dumb enough to think a TA could have serious romantic interest in a freshman. He’d wised up some since that heartbreak, at least.

Or so he’d hoped.

Bladder screaming, Mo eased out from under Adam’s arm, desperate not to wake him, grabbed one of Adam’s hoodies, and headed for the bathroom.

Unfortunately, this particular guest bedroom didn’t have an en suite, and the bathroom was at the other end of the hall. At least Chuckie was the only other occupant on this level.

Whole families lived like this, Mo knew. Having to share bathrooms with kids. But Adam didn’t have to! They didn’t have to stay with his parents, right? He could have bought his own house withtwoen suites for the master bedroom if he wanted.

Rude of him not to, honestly. And weren’t Chelsea and Simon local? They didn’t have to stay overnight. Surely, there was no reason for Mo to have to share a bathroom, especially not with someone who needed a footstool at the sink and owned a Bluey toothbrush.

These people liked each other way too much, in the weird, matching-Christmas-themed-pajamas way.

Mo thought about crawling back into bed and enjoying that cozy duvet for another hour or two. Would Adam sleep snuggle him again? Actually, Mo probably wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. And since the other reason for going back to bed was out of the question—Mo doubted Adam wanted to fuck in his parents’ house at 8a.m.—he wandered in the direction of coffee.

Katie and Duncan sat at the kitchen table, chatting over steaming mugs and the remains of their breakfast.

“Morning, Mo.” Duncan smiled.

“You sleep okay, sweetie?” Katie asked.

“Um, yeah.” Mo fiddled with the strings of the hoodie, suddenly too aware of the damning Canyons’ logo on the chest and sweater’s extra-large size. “Is there more of that coffee?”

“Of course, dear. And food to eat.” Katie stood up and bustled across the kitchen.

Mo tried to protest that he wasn’t a breakfaster. His stomach simply did not wake up before ten o’clock, no matter what he subjected the rest of his body to.

“Maybe just a muffin and some fruit, then,” Katie said, so Mo found himself sitting in the breakfast nook, picking at an admittedly tasty, everything-but-the-kitchen-sink breakfast muffin, and making small talk with Adam’s parents.

“Sage and I grew up together, so I couldn’t miss their big debut in London.”

“Sounds like the two of you are close,” Katie observed with a smile.

“Closest thing I have to a sibling,” Mo confirmed.

Duncan, who’d been sitting quietly while Katie asked about Sage and Mo’s Instagram pictures of his visit, broke his silent study of Mo to ask, “Pair of theater kids, then?”

Mo almost jerked at the question. People tended not to ask about his childhood—they thought they knew all about it since some details were on record—and those who did wanted to talk about hockey, like Mo was a frustrated jock and not someone forced into a sport and kept there long after they first wanted to quit.

“Sage and me? Uh, yeah, we were. I mean, I probably wouldn’t have had the guts to try out if not for them, but yeah.”

Duncan chuckled softly. “Oh, I bet you two were troublemakers.”