Page 76 of Playing His Game
He left it front and center for the kid to find, loaded up the last of his bottles, and headed out.
“So smooth,” Mo teased.
“What?”
“Couldn’t resist, could you?”
“He looked like he was dying to ask and only held back by nascent professionalism,” Adam admitted as they unloaded their haul into the SUV.
“Nascent? Look at you and your SAT words.”
“One, I never took the SATs—Canadian—and two, what part of ‘Mum’s an English teacher’ did you miss?”
“Dork,” Mo accused, but his gaze and tone were—dare he think it?—fond.
Which really was the issue, Adam realized as he shut the hatch and watched Mo spirit the cart back where it belonged. Not just that Mo might be increasingly fond, but that Adam wanted him to be.
By the time Mo had returned, Adam had pulled up a Christmas playlist on Spotify. No matter what Mo might say, Adam was pretty sure he enjoyed a singalong, and December was the season for singing along.
He was turning onto Gibson when the idea hit him. They didn’t have to go straight home. The booze would keep, safely hidden under the trunk cover. Nah, Adam had a much better idea than taking Mo straight back to family time.
“York Arena.” Mo read the small sign above the door as Adam parked.
“Yup.”
“Why are we here and why does this building look so sus?”
“I did explain that this province is small town, right?” Adam unbuckled his belt. “And we’re here because someone needs practice.”
“I mean, I know it’s been a while for you?—”
Laughing, Adam got out and waited for Mo to give in and join him.
“I don’t need to practice for a pond hockey game,” Mo whined. “And even if I did, hello, I went to family skate day.”
“Yes, and spent ten seconds on the ice before you decamped with the most uninterested SaPs to prop up the snack table and gossip.”
“Okay, first of all, not wanting to skate with children—of both the actual and the NHL player variety—is not a criminal offense, thank you! And second of all, I wasn’t gossiping.”
“No?” Adam held open the door to the arena.
“No, I was ingratiating myself with the ladies by asking for the tea and listening with rapt attention. I’ve got one shot at making a good impression, Adam, and your hockey bros are not the group I need to charm.”
“Uh-huh.” Adam smirked, knowing it would make Mo puff up like an indignant bird ready to squawk. Not that Adam let him. He was a man on a mission.
“I’m serious! When were you going to tell me about the Canyons’ most adorable playoff tradition?”
Oh no, they hadn’t.
“Writing sweet nothings for your sweetie to keep in his gloves? Like a knight wearing a favor from his lady?” He mock-swooned. “So romantic.”
Adam tried not to tense. “I guess.”
Naturally, Mo noticed anyway. “What, you don’t think it’s lucky?”
Damn it. “I wouldn’t know. Never had anyone to make them for me.”
Fortunately, before Mo could follow up on that, or look at Adam in a way that made him self-conscious, or… whatever might be worse than that, they reached the attendant booth.
