Page 75 of Playing His Game

Adam probably shouldn’t have said that. “You obviously noticed we like giving each other a hard time,” he said. “So you were a little over-the-top. Mum and Dad thought it was funny. They probably think it’s good for me to have someone who gets me to take life less seriously.”

Slowly, some of the color returned to Mo’s face. “Okay. Okay, that makes sense. I still can’t believe…”

That you went to DEFCON 1 on the camp scale as a defense mechanism against the wholesome shit you never got as a kid?The same way he had when he’d gotten defensive about perceived slights against him? “I should’ve warned you what you were getting into. Or told Mum to dial it back a little with the cutesy growing-up stories.”

Deflecting the subject back to Adam’s own embarrassment worked.

“Absolutely not. I want to hear all about the wolf she says you tried to adopt.” Then he paused. “Oh my God, I just saidsize queenin front of your niece!”

“Yeah, I kind of figured you needed a break before you made a fisting joke. Hence the shopping trip.” He popped the handle on his door. “We really do need booze, though. Are you helping me carry it or what?”

Since the trip was spur-of-the-moment, Adam had no idea what needed buying. Good thing alcohol would keep.

He grabbed a cart and started with a case each of Molson and Moosehead. “Any beer requests?”

“Me? No. Beer’s a warm-weather-and-arena drink.”

Those two didn’t really go together, but far be it from Adam to employ logic to Mo. “Right, what about wine? You have wine opinions?”

“Sure, doesn’t everyone?”

“Not too much beyond red or white.” Adam shrugged. “So go pick some stuff out. At least five bottles each—red and white, I mean.”

“Right…” Mo said, and wandered off to complete his assignment.

Adam picked up some of the local craft brew Chels and Simon preferred, and the one that Ted liked best, then turned toward the liquor. He probably had all this on hand, but it wouldn’t hurt to have extra. In went the bottles of Irish cream, Captain Morgan, Kahlua, Prince Igor, and his uncle’s favorite Canadian rye.

Job done, he turned the cart in Mo’s direction. He was holding a single bottle of red and squinting at the label.

“Wow, haven’t even picked out one yet?” Adam teased.

Mo kept eyeing the label as he spoke. “I have, but my cart wandered off, so I left them on the shelf.” He put the current bottle back, almost warily, then turned to Adam and his bulging cart. “Uh, pookie-bear, just how many people are going to be at this Christmas?”

Pressing his lips together to bite back a laugh, Adam cleared his throat and shrugged. “You know, one or two dozen or fifty.”

“Adam, honey,studmuffin.” Mo’s eyes went wild. “That is not a real number.”

He broke and the smile stretched wide across his face. “Sorry, sorry. We won’t make it through all this by the time you and I leave, don’t worry.”

“So, what, you’re just buying drinks for the end times?” Mo grabbed a bottle of chardonnay and a shiraz and placed them in the cart before turning back to relocate the rest of his choices.

“That and I don’t want to deal with anyone who can’t find their holiday drink. No one wants to see Auntie Pattie when she can’t find Igor for her vodka cran. Especially now that she’s addicted to Canada Dry’s seasonal cranberry ginger ale.”

“I don’t know whether to believe you and avoid ‘Awn-tee Pattie’”—Adam could hear the air quotes as Mo mimicked his accent, badly—“or call bullshit.” He loaded in a couple Bordeaux.

“Definitely believe me. Auntie Pattie’s not to be underestimated.”

Mo counted the number of bottles, then turned back to the shelf to find the rest. His lips pursed adorably and he fiddled with the cuff of Adam’s hoodie while he perused.

Adam needed to stop staring like a creeper. Oh look, his mom’s favorite. He put three bottles in the cart and made a note to self to slip them into her luggage and out of everyone else’s reach.

At the register, Adam didn’t bat an eye at the total, while the barely-legal cashier looked like he wanted to freak out about the NHL star at his checkout. Usually, locals were more chill about seeing Adam in this neighborhood.

He handed over the sleek black credit card that still felt weird to own and then surreptitiously checked his pockets for a Sharpie.

Then, as the kid was distracted loading the alcohol back into the cart, Adam grabbed a seasonal flyer and wrote:

Thanks for being chill :) AMurphy51