Page 77 of Playing His Game

The perks of a small town? Everyone knew everyone, and Adam had long since made friends with the staff at his local arena. After a quick catch-up—or as quick as they could ever been up here—he wrangled them loaner skates and tugged Mo to the ice.

“Don’t we need to pay?”

“I have a membership.” Or free admission for life since he cut them a generous check once a year during their fundraising events.

“I don’t.”

“It covers a plus-one.”

“Right.”

Adam handed over the smaller skates and then laced up. “Come on, champ, time to show me what you got,” he teased and headed for the ice.

11

It turned out that what Mo had was an inconvenient boner.

Well, that and a stitch in his side. Adam played professional hockey and Mo didn’t, but that didn’t mean Mo could let Adam embarrass him. Mo might not be prone to toxic manliness, but he hadpride.

They skated a couple of warmup laps—enough to remind Mo that he liked going fast on the ice too—and then Adam’s arena friend appeared at the bench with a handful of sticks and a puck.

“I feel like I’ve been set up.” Mo took a stick—the only right-hander in the bunch—and knocked the puck back and forth a few times. It was heavier than he remembered.

“No idea what you’re talking about.” Adam sniped the puck from under Mo’s nose and backed away with it. “Catch me if you can?”

He was obviously holding back. He had to; they had no pads and no helmets and Mo didn’t have a hope in hell of holding his own otherwise. But after his weird, emotionally charged morning, the challenge felt like a pressure release valve. He took off after Adam, heckling and swiping for the puck.

After half a lap, Adam let Mo catch him, and Mo thoughtfuck itand shoved him gently into the boards, one arm fruitlessly around his waist to try to hold him back while Mo knocked the puck away.

“Holding!” Adam laughed, easily keeping the puck out of Mo’s reach. Damn him and his long arms. “Where’s the ref?”

“I thought you hockey players were supposed to be tough guys!” Between the height difference and the angle, he had no hope of getting anywhere, but pressing his body against Adam’s worked as a secondary objective. He sank his teeth playfully into the back of his hoodie and grinned when Adam yelped.

“Did you justbite me?”

Mo released his grip on Adam’s waist and knocked the puck down the ice.

“Cheater!”

“If you’re not cheating, you’re not trying!” Mo shouted back, breathless.

A quarter of the way down the ice, Adam caught up to him, and Mo prepared himself to chase again. Instead, Adam caged Mo between his arms and bumped him into the boards, taking the brunt of the impact on his forearms rather than letting Mo’s head or chest hit. The heat of his body burned through Mo’s jeans and sweater, and he could smell Adam’s sweat over the familiar chemical scent of the arena.

Thank God they didn’t have an audience for this. Mo wanted to lean back into that solid, strong body until Adam shoved him against the boards and did something about the bulge pressing into Mo’s back.

Adam would never, obviously. Not where someone might see them. But the fact that he hadn’t backed away felt like progress somehow.

Not that Mo needed him to make progress in theirfake relationship?—

Adam snagged the puck.

“Now who’s cheating!”

Mo zoomed after him and collided with him once Adam let him catch up. Laughing, Adam flung an arm around Mo, and the momentum carried them into an ungainly spin. Pressed close, Mo stared up into Adam’s face as they came to a stop, panting and grinning. For a moment, neither of them spoke or moved to get the puck.

He’s going to kiss me.

The thought lanced through him, leaving Mo even more breathless.