Page 37 of Slew Foot
“What’s that?”
“Turtle. Like Rafael, turtle power … it’s fucking genius.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Mickey said drily.
“No, c’mon,” Tanner said, staring wide-eyed at them as they came closer. “It’s perfect.”
“I don’thateit,” Rafe said slowly though secretly, he kinda loved it. It made him feel like these were his boys. His team. Like he belonged here.
“See? Perfect! Now, c’mon. Who do you want to play, Mouse?” He cackled again, nearly falling over in his glee. “Mouse and Turtle! I fuckin’ love it.”
Mickey sighed. “I don’t know why I live with you.”
“Because I’m awesome and come up with the best names.”
“I think it’s more like I was afraid you’d die without adult supervision,” Mickey said drily. He glanced over at Rafe with a smile, like they were sharing an inside joke. “Be back in a sec.”
He grabbed the trash bag and Rafe stepped forward. “Want some help?”
“Uhh, sure?” Mickey said.
Rafe took the bag from him and followed him down the hall. Mickey ducked into the bathroom by the entrance and grabbed another bag. Tanner didn’t empty that one either.
“C’mon,” Mickey said. “Trash room is this way.”
They walked down the hall and Mickey smiled at Rafe. “You know, I tried setting the garbage by the front door and reminding Tanner to take it out. But that didn’t stop him from walking around it and conveniently “forgetting” to toss it down the chute.”
Rafe laughed. “Yeah, he’s not very good at home stuff, is he?”
“Not so much.” Mickey nodded. “In here.”
Rafe pulled open the door and gestured for Mickey to go ahead.
“Honestly though,” Mickey said as he tossed the smaller bag down a chute. “Tanner is a good guy.”
“He seems like it.” Rafe tossed his trash down too.
“You don’t mind the nickname?” Mickey asked.
“Nah. I’ve had worse.”
He’d rather be called Turtle and chirped for being a slow skater—which compared to some of the guys in the league he really was—than Moon Pie.
Fuck you, Logan,he thought.
“Good. Did you know Mickey is actually my nickname?”
“Oh, no,” Rafe said. “I didn’t. What’s your real name?”
“Michael.”
“Michael Krause,” Rafe tried out. “Huh.”
“Not even close, bud,” Mickey teased. “Mee-kha-el Krow-za.”
“Oh.” Rafe blinked at him. He tried it again and from Mickey’s tiny wince, he didn’t do much better.
“I’ll keep trying,” he promised.
