Page 24 of Slew Foot
He ended the call and threw back the covers, forcing himself up and out of bed before he gave in to the call of its fluffy softness again.
Mickey had offered to pick him up and take him to HCI again this morning. Rafe had set an alarm and everything, totallyplanning to be on time and waiting downstairs for Mickey when he got here.
He’d failed.
Way to show your new team you’ve got your shit together, he thought as he staggered into the bathroom. He skipped the shower he’d been planning to take, focusing on emptying his bladder and brushing his teeth instead.
Rafe frowned in the mirror at his thick stubble edging up into a beard. He’d planned to clean up a little this morning, but he’d have to do it later.
Back in the room, he dragged on sweatpants and a T-shirt. A hoodie went on over it, a toque took care of his wild hair, and he took long enough to make sure he had his phone, wallet and keycard before he threw on trainers and a warm jacket and was out the door.
When Rafe reached the lobby, Mickey was in the same spot he’d been in yesterday, looking as relaxed as he had then.
He glanced up with a small smile. “Good morning.” This time, he offered Rafe a coffee cup and food. A breakfast sandwich, from the looks of it.
“You didn’t have to—” he protested as he took the breakfast, his fingers brushing Mickey’s.
Mickey blinked. “I know I didn’t. But you need fuel, and we don’t want to be late.”
“Yeah. Sorry,” Rafe grimaced. He turned toward the little bar, intending to sweeten his coffee, but Mickey touched his arm.
“That’s already taken care of. Dark and sweet, like you like.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
He realized he’d fallen behind, so he hurried along in Mickey’s wake, trotting behind him like a duckling.
In the car, he fumbled to do up his seatbelt and not spill his coffee, but Mickey gave him a faintly amused look, then took the food and drink, fitting the coffee into the empty cupholder between the seats.
“Sorry,” Rafe said meekly when he was securely strapped in. “I’m kind of a mess this morning.”
Or, like, always. Though he would have sworn he kind of had his shit together in Minnesota.
“No worries.” Mickey handed over the food, then gunned the engine and took off.
Rafe braced himself. Catherine O’Shea hadn’t been kidding when she’d mentioned Mickey was prepared for Massachusetts drivers.
Rafe, on the other hand, was not.
But Mickey hadn’t killed him yesterday, and he’d brought him food, so Rafe wouldn’t complain.
He unwrapped the crinkling paper from around a breakfast sandwich and let out a low groan. It smelled so good. There was even back bacon on it. Or, as the Americans called it, Canadian bacon. Whatever it was called, it was Rafe’s favorite. Especially in a breakfast sandwich.
“You’re the best,” he muttered around his food as they stopped at a light.
Unfortunately, that sent a small piece of bacon flying. It landed on the console between their seats. Mickey glanced down with an arched eyebrow.
Mickey’s car was very clean. Like … unnaturally clean for a hockey player.
“Sorry,” Rafe said, picking it up and eating it before scrubbing at the spot with a napkin.
“You don’t have to apologize for everything. You do know that, right?” Mickey offered.
“Sure I do,” Rafe said cheerfully. “It’s Canadian law.”
Mickey chuckled. “Good to know.”
“Seriously,” Rafe said before he took a sip of his coffee. It was perfectly dark and sweet.
