Page 61 of Slew Foot
His father had commented on how well he was progressing with his hockey and he and Rafe seemed to be an ideal pairing. Mickey had agreed, his guts squirming a little at the reminder of how they could be evenbetter.
Thankfully, his father hadn’t noticed his awkwardness. His mother, however, had picked up on the way he gushed about Rafe immediately.
Mickey had, reluctantly, admitted he had a bit of a crush on his new D-partner and she’d sympathized with him about how frustrating his situation was.
In the end, she’d reminded him he should focus on the positive, namely that Rafe was a good friend and teammate. It had been solid advice and in his hotel room in Playa del Carmen, it had seemed like an achievable goal.
Now that Rafe was living with him and Tanner and sitting across the table from him looking absurdly handsome in a shirt unbuttoned low enough to show a little bit of chest, Mickey wasn’t so sure.
“Where did you go for bye week last year?” Rafe asked after their appetizers arrived and they ordered salads and entrees.
Mickey shrugged. “Nowhere. This is my first year in the NHL.”
“True.” Rafe laughed. “Duh. Did you have a mid-season break there?”
“No. It’s a shorter season,” he explained. “Fifty-two games instead of eighty-two.”
“Oh wow. Is it a hard adjustment?” Rafe asked, licking the mustard sauce from the sliders off his fingers.
“Mmm,” Mickey said, forcing himself to look away from the very tempting sight. “I don’t know. Ask me when we get into the end of March or early April when I start pushing my limits.”
“You played on a bigger rink there though, right?”
Mickey nodded. It varied a bit by country and even by team, but most rinks in the European Union were bigger, to fit with Olympic standards.
“Is that why you’re so fast?” Rafe asked, swiping his tongue across his lower lip and leaving it shiny.
Mickey laughed. “That and a lot of training. My father was a stickler.”
While they ate, they talked about the training they’d done growing up.
Mickeytriedto focus on the conversation but it wasn’t the easiest when Rafe seemed determined to drive him crazy by licking his fingers and biting down on the shrimp to pull the meat from the tail of the shell.
Mickey had never found food or eating particularly arousing but as he tried to subtly shift in the booth so his hardening cock lay at a less obvious and uncomfortable angle, he decided wryly there was a first time for everything.
Their server arrived after their appetizers were done, breathlessly apologetic about how long she’d made them wait. Mickey assured her it was fine.
After they got their salads, they returned to training conversations.
“How are you liking the Pilates work?” Mickey asked.
“I like it!” Rafe said. “And the yoga is helping my back.”
Mickey frowned. “You have back issues?”
“Ehh.” Rafe waggled his hands. “Nothing like the shit some guys go through, but I do have a lot of tightness. Dakota’s helped me stretch. I think some of the problems I’ve had in the past are because I’m so long, I haven’t been able to find the right stretches or whatever. He’s been a big help.”
“Oh good. I’ve found his suggestions very helpful too,” Mickey said. He rapped his knuckles against the wooden tabletop as he added, “in general, injuries seem pretty low this year. I mean, there’s always something, but strains and sprains seem to be down.”
He’d kept an eye on the team after they’d drafted him and last season, injuries had been a huge problem.
“You track that?” Rafe looked surprised.
“Not officially,” Mickey said with a shrug. “I’m sure Gavin and now Finn have it under control. It’s just something I noticed.”
So far, Gavin had been right. Little had changed for the team overall with Finn taking over half of the duties.
Their conversation about that and how the team was doing carried them through salads and their entrees.
