Page 73 of Slew Foot
Rafe turned to look at him, letting his seatbelt slip through his fingers and retract, the metal pinging off the glass. “For what?”
“The problem is …” Mickey cleared his throat. “I’m attracted to you, Rafe.”
Rafe winced. “I know.”
Mickey blinked. “You … do?”
Rafe nodded, biting his lower lip. “That’s what Tanner said the other night, anyway.”
“He’s not wrong.” Mickey looked down at his hand where it was clenched on the wheel for no apparent reason. He forced himself to let go. “But I know you don’t feel the same way and?—”
“I think I could,” Rafe blurted out.
“You … do?” Mickey repeated, because he apparently didn’t know how to say anything else today.
He tried not to let hope fill him, but it was impossible. It fizzed through his veins like sparkling water, filling him with nervous energy and excitement.
“I mean, yeah,” Rafe said softly. “I think I’m starting to. I like you, Mickey. I do. You’regreat.”
“But?” Mickey asked, deflating a little. Because there was definitely a but there. And not the kind that filled out Rafe’s team sweats to an obscene degree.
“But, uh, we’re teammates, you know.”
“I know.” Mickey swallowed, the bubbles popping and going flat.
“And after the stuff with Logan?—”
“I get it,” Mickey said because he couldn’t stand to hear Rafe let him down nicely. “I do. You don’t want to go through it again and I understand, Rafe. You can like me or be attracted to me or think the potential is there and still not want to date me.”
“But it makes you … upset?” Rafe asked. “Because you seem upset.”
Mickey smiled faintly, still staring out the window, his eyes stinging. “Disappointed, maybe,” he admitted, his voice a little rough. “But I get it, Rafe, I really do. And this doesn’t mean we can’t still be great partners on the ice and friends and roommates and?—”
He forced himself to take a deep breath and soften his voice, turning to look at Rafe. “It’s okay,” he said gently.
Rafe was the one who looked upset now and Mickey gripped the wheel tightly again before he reached out and cupped his beautiful sad face and kissed it better.
“It’s okay,” Mickey repeated hoarsely. And maybe this time he was saying it to reassure them both it would be.
Eventually.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Later that week, Rafe woke up with a horrible cold. He could hardly breathe out of his stuffy nose, it felt like he’d swallowed sandpaper, and he was so tired he wanted to roll over and pass out for a whole week. Or maybe a year.
Instead, he staggered out of bed and down the hall. He passed Mickey, who stood in the kitchen drinking coffee.
Mickey squinted at him. “Are you okay? You look …”
“I’m dying,” Rafe croaked and staggered the rest of the way down the hall to the bathroom he shared with Tanner.
A hot shower made him feel a little better, but it still took way too much energy to wrap a towel around his waist and wobble back to his bedroom. For a while, he sat on the edge of the bed, head pounding, lightheaded as he tried to convince himself to move. To dosomethingto get ready for practice.
He finally dragged on sweats and toweled his hair dry again. When he left his bedroom again, he found Mickey, who had beenbusy. There were all kinds of supplies spread out on the counter like tissues and cold medicine.
“So,” Mickey said, crossing his arms. “You’re sick.”
“How’d you guess?” Rafe asked, then promptly sneezed into his hand.
