Page 81 of Slew Foot
He was on an entry-level contract, so he had no leverage as far as trades. Now that he and Rafe were playing well together, management had no interest in trading either of them.
And even if Mickey somehow finagled a trade, they’d likely end up on opposite sides of the country. Or even the continent. With his luck, he’d end up in Vancouver and see Rafe twice a year and in the off-season.
Mickey swallowed thickly, wincing at both the thought and the ache in his throat.
Okay, perhaps all of this crazy thought had more to do with the germs that had invaded his body and how hard it was working to fight them off.
He’d come back to his right mind once his body was well again.
He hoped.
For the next few days, Rafe got better as Mickey got worse.
“I feel terrible I got you sick,” Rafe said mournfully as he moved around the living room, grabbing Mickey another blanket and a fresh glass of water.
Devastatingly, he wore a pair of shorts and a crop top sweatshirt.
Mickey suspected it hadn’t intentionally beendesignedas a crop top, but it was either naturally too small for Rafe or had been shrunk in the washer and dryer.
The effect was the same.
His shorts hung low, revealing the crest of his hipbones and his flat stomach. A slice of bare skin was on display all the way up to where the shirt ended above his navel and a little bit of his abs. His rich, golden skin was sprinkled with a little bit of dark hair in a way that made Mickey feel like he was boiling from the inside out.
And no, he didn’t have a fever. He’d checked it himself several times since Rafe got back from practice and changed into that outfit.
Mickey didn’t blame Rafe for getting him sick. But oh, he did blame him for looking likethat.
Mickey, who had built himself a comfortable nest on the couch, shrugged at Rafe’s comment. “This illness is going around the whole team at this point.”
And it was. Tanner and Rafe were back to practicing and playing but the other guys were going down like a house of cards, including Jesse and Connor who were both out, miserable being sick and unable to play.
The roster had been a third AHL call-ups at last night’s game against Portland when Mickey had watched it on TV.
“At least the guys in Concord are getting some NHL experience?” Mickey offered now. That was the only upside to the situation, really.
Unsurprisingly, the Harriers had lost last night.
And they couldn’t even blame Kady. The kid wasn’t as good of a netminder as Jesse was, but he’d done his very best without any help offensivelyordefensively.
The team was sliding toward the bottom of the division at a rapid rate. And it didn’t appear like it was going to stop any time soon.
But there was no point in dwelling on it. That only led to more frustration and worse play. Better to take it a game at a time, a period at a time. A shift at a time, like his father used to say.
“You ready for lunch?” Rafe asked.
“Yes, but I can get it,” Mickey shifted, intending to get off the couch. His head and throat felt awful, but he wasn’t anywhere near as sick as Rafe had been, with his fever and coughing fits.
Rafe stepped closer, pressing his bare toes down on Mickey’s sock-clad feet. “I know you can. But I want to help.”
Mickey looked up … and up … until he reached Rafe’s face, because it was either that or stare at the waistband of Rafe’s shorts and think about sucking his dick.
Which would be an unpleasant experience with his whole face stuffed up, but a part of Mickey still wanted to give it a try.
With his arm crossed over his chest and his dark, stubbled jaw, Rafelookedtough. And he definitely was. There was a bruise on the side of his thigh that flashed a lurid shade of purple every time the hem of his shorts slid up and Mickey had watched himflattenguys against the boards last night in a desperate attempt to give the rest of the team some scoring chances.
It had been a treat to watch him play on TV. Other than during video review, Mickey was used to seeing Rafe’s game from ice-level. But watching from above was fascinating.
Without Mickey there to bark at him where to go, Rafe’s positioning had been terrible. He’d been caught out of place more times than Mickey could count. And oh, the media’d had a field day this morning insinuating they were both useless without each other.
