Page 72 of Playing His Game

The thing was, their relationship didn’t feel fake anymore. A little performative, maybe, but even that had started to feel natural. He’d kissed Mo that morning in front of his parents without thinking about the ruse. Mo was there, and Adam’s body was used to kissing him, so he did. He liked it.

And even if the intent behind inviting Mo home with him was to keep Mo from spending the holiday alone, Adam had to admit that having him around didn’t suck. He had more even footing now, someone to look to and smile when all the other couples in the family started one-upping each other with tall tales.

What he said was, “You like him?”

Dad huffed a laugh. “Youlike him, son. That’s good enough for us.”

Adam’s stomach churned with guilt. His family wasreallyreading into Adam’s impulse to invite Mo.

“I wasn’t going to invite him, you know. Mum said I should, but it was too soon.”

“What changed your mind, then?” Dad didn’t sound judgmental, just curious.

“His parents are in Switzerland.”

“What?”

“Yup. They told us over dinner.” Adam snorted. “No, they didn’t tell us—theymentionedit, like it was no big deal. That’s how Mo found out he’d be alone at Christmas.”

“What?” Dad stopped moving.

“Yeah. So I couldn’t help it, I had to bring him.”

“Of course you did,” Dad said with a snort and started moving again. “You never could resist bringing home a stray.”

“Hey,” Adam protested weakly, mostly on Mo’s behalf, because he couldn’t object on his own. As a kid, Adam had found more than a couple of lonely kittens in the woods near the family home, and he couldn’t leave them there.

“Well, I like this one a lot better than that mangey dog of questionable parentage.”

“That dog was clearly a husky mix!” Adam had been claiming that for fifteen years.

“It was half-wolf and ill. You’re lucky your mum and I have more sense than you.”

Adam huffed. “Don’t say anything to him.”

“If you think I’m going to promise never to tell Mo about the time you brought a wolf home?—”

“Not that,” Adam laughed. “Don’t tell him I told you about his parents. He’ll think…” Adam didn’t know how to say the next bit without betraying Mo.

“That we pity him and are insincere. I wasn’t going to say anything to him, son.”

Adam’s parents really were the best.

They pulled the tree up to the house, and then in a practiced chaos they were apparently doomed to repeat every year, managed to get the tree into the house and propped up in the stand.

Mom and Mo watched this happen from the edge of the room, unboxing decorations and offering commentary.

“The same debates and arguments every year,” Mom said with a shake of her head as she pulled out some garland.

“Must be holiday stress,” Mo shot back as he pulled a Santa hat and a string of red beads from another box. “Usually, you’re much better at handling wood, darling.”

Adam whipped his head around in Mo’s direction. The comment wasn’t beyond him—Mo had said racier—but he also had a good sense of audience. A tree branch next to his head shook, and Adam tore his eyes from Mo, who was pointedly avoiding his gaze, to look up at his dad, who was shaking with silent laughter.

And Adam suddenly became very aware of the fact that he was on his knees.

He shot to his feet and announced that the tree was ready to decorate.

“Good,” Mom said. Her eyes twinkled. She handed over one of the tree light holder-thingys that saved the family from the headache—and fights—of tangled lights every year.