Page 38 of Slew Foot
Mickey smiled at him, patting his arm. “It’s okay. Just call me Mickey. Or Mouse. Or whatever.” He shrugged. “I’m used to it.”
But Rafe swore to himself that he’d look it up online and practice. He wasn’t great with languages. Didn’t really have the ear for it. But he’d try.
Mickey had done so many nice things for him. He could at least try to get hisnameright.
CHAPTER TEN
Mickey’s skin was gritty from sweat as he stripped off his gear following the Pride game a few days later. The locker room was noisy with celebrating players, the music thumping through the speakers every gay anthem Mickey had ever heard, plus some he’d never heard.
It had been a good game. Shutouts always felt good but sometimes they almost felt too easy? Maybe that was just Mickey, but he liked when they really had to battle to get the win and this one—despite the lack of points from New Jersey—had felt like a real challenge.
The kind of game where the Harriers had been playing well and their opponents had put a lot of pressure on them. New Jersey had gotten plenty of shots on goal but in the end, Jesse was simply playingthatwell.
Not only had the Harriers won on Pride night against a division rival, Mickey was finally feeling like he and Rafe were playing well together. Like they were gelling.
It was slow and steady progress and Rafe’s game had been great tonight. His positioning was right where it needed to be, and he’d gotten two assists.
Mickey glanced over to see Rafe wearing nothing but a pair of snug compression shorts that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.Oh fuck.
He stared, mouth dry, until Jesse yelled out “Love Wins!” The words were followed by a loud blast of sound that made Mickey turn away.
A burst of laughter rose up from the room and Mickey saw their general manager covered in rainbow confetti.
Gavin laughed too, waving his hand to knock the tiny bits of colorful tissue paper out of the air and off his face. Dakota—the team’s yoga and Pilates instructor, and Gavin’s boyfriend—stood a few steps behind him, looking amused.
A guilty look crossed Jesse’s face. “Sorry, Gavin. Didn’t realize anyone was coming in.”
“It’s fine,” he said with another laugh. “Just wanted to say congrats. That was a helluva game, boys!”
They all cheered, including Mickey, and Coach Hoyt stepped forward to give them a short congratulatory post-game speech and hand out some milestone pucks.
Jesse got one for his shutout and Graham got the other for hitting the twenty-goal mark for the season.
Tanner shouted. “Great game, guys! Congrats to the captain for his five-game goal streak!”
Everyone whooped and Connor lifted his hand in acknowledgment.
“But tonight, this has gotta go to Turtle!” Tanner shouted, holding out the wall hanging that was their post-game prize.
“Speech, speech, speech,” they all chanted.
Grinning, Rafe took the wall hanging and draped it around his neck. “Thanks, guys. Great job tonight. This really should go to Mouse though.”
He glanced down at Mickey, all big and sweaty and happy, and Mickey felt a little dizzy.
“Mouse is the one who made all the plays possible. He’s always making sure I’m in position and ordering me around.”
“I do not order you around!” he protested, annoyed by how squeaky his voice sounded. Sure, he got loud and hollered instructions on the ice, but he wasn’t telling Rafe what todo.
Jesse made a scoffing sound. “Yeah, right. I can hear you all the time! You’re always shouting at him and telling him what to do. I mean, hey, whatever works for you guys, huh? Just keep the kinky stuff out of the locker room, am I right?”
He winked in their direction and Rafe’s cheeks bloomed a dull red.
Mickey went warm under the collar, imagining Rafe’s big body stretched out naked in his bed, clenching the pillow under his head while Mickey licked and nipped and kissed every inch of his skin. He could practically hear Rafe’s desperate panting, his mumbled begging for more, but the way he’d go still and quiet if Mickey told him to.
“Uhh, let’s keep it going out there, guys!” Rafe said, stumbling over his words a little. As the team cheered, he sat heavily beside Mickey.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “I?—”
