Page 12 of Slew Foot
Mickey gave him a quick, amused smile. “Not like that. I thought you might want a buddy to stick with tonight since you have no idea where we’re going or anything. I figured I could help you get oriented.”
“Oh. Shit.” Rafe dropped his head, feeling embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have?—”
“No, it’s cool.” Mickey shot him another smile. “I get it.”
God, Rafe shouldn’t haveassumed. He had no idea what Mickey’s sexuality even was. And he shouldn’t have assumed Mickey was hitting on him. Clearly the relationship with Loganhad warped his brain. He’d forgotten guys just … hung out. As teammates and buddies.
Ones who didn’t go from that to madly in love.
And Rafe definitely planned to stick by the promise he’d made to himself after the breakup. All teammates belonged in the ‘do not date’ category from now on.
Rafe hung up his shin pads and had reached for the hem of his base layer shirt when someone called out, “Five minutes until media!”
He groaned and Mickey’s look was sympathetic. “Yeah, you’re up tonight.”
“Damn it,” Rafe muttered under his breath, letting the hem of the shirt fall before shoving a new, much too stiff Harriers’ cap on his head to hide his tangled mess of hair.
He took a seat in his stall again and mentally braced himself.
A PR guy who had introduced himself before the game—Tyson something—arched an eyebrow at him. “You ready?” he asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Rafe answered with a tired grin.
He was never going to be a media hog and preferred to be a behind-the-scenes kinda guy. But there was no way he’d get away with that tonight.
Sure enough, a few reporters made a beeline for him as soon as the doors opened.
They greeted him and introduced themselves, nodding when he told them to call him Rafe.
“Rafe, you had quite the journey from Minneapolis to Boston,” one man—whose name Rafe had already forgotten—asked. “How do you feel that impacted your play tonight?”
“Uhh, well,” he said with a small laugh. “I’m definitely a lot more tired and jet-lagged than I expected to be. I don’t know that tonight really showed what kind of player I can be, but I did what I could.”
Another reporter—he’d also forgotten her name—said, “You were thrown out on the second PK unit tonight at one point. Do you feel like you were prepared for it?”
Rafe tugged at his cap. “I’ve been playing at the NHL level for seven years, so like, a penalty kill is a penalty kill. Every team has their own system, and I’ll have to learn the Harriers’ PK as I go, but the guys filled me in the best they could on the bench. I’m sure I’ll feel more ready and be better once I’ve gotten some sleep and had time to practice with the team.”
He hadn’t beentryingto be funny, but everyone laughed anyway, and he was glad they’d gotten their little soundbite.
There were a few more questions about his general game play tonight, and then someone asked how he felt about the trade.
“Do you think you’ll play better here, without the distraction of your breakup with Logan Walker hanging over you?”
Tyson stepped forward, holding up a hand. “Personal questions are not allowed in the locker room. You know that, Les.”
The tension that had immediately tightened Rafe’s shoulders at the question eased.
Les shrugged and shot both Rafe and the PR guy a half-hearted grin. “Had to try.”
Looking unamused, Tyson snorted. “Try again and we’ll see how long you have media privileges.”
The reporter—Les—didn’t seem particularly worried, like this was a long-standing argument or something. He turned back to Rafe. “Let me reword that. Do you have anything you’d like to say about the trade?”
“I’m looking forward to playing here in Boston,” Rafe said, trying to be careful about how he worded this. “It’s a great franchise with an incredible history, and I’m excited about what I can learn from playing for an organization like this.”
“What do you think you can contribute to this team going forward?” Les asked.
“Well, I hope to be a strong presence around the net. I have the body size they’re looking for and Gavin has made it clear he brought me here to use that to my advantage.”
