Page 85 of Slew Foot
Mickey was trying to ignore how much he disliked the way Thad looked at Rafe, disliked the way he leaned in close as they discussed details. Thad was a flirt, everyone in the organization knew that. And he was bi or pan, from what Mickey understood.
He was … well, he was actually probably a better choice than Mickey, prison record notwithstanding, Mickey thought with a sigh.
It had been a robbery charge when he was eighteen which had derailed any chance of him making it to the NHL. Mickey wanted to hold it against the guy but … well, that had been a long time ago and Mickey didn’t believe someone’s past mistakes should ruin the rest of their life. Especially not something like that. Thad had done his time and, from what Mickey knew, had turned his life around.
That was something he admired.
Thad was good at his job, handsome and charming and … most of all, not Rafe’s teammate.
Though, maybe Rafe’s rule applied to anyone working for the franchise. Mickey wasn’t sure.
It suddenly hit Mickey that at some point, he might actually have to watch Rafe date someone else, and his heart clenched.
Every time he closed his eyes, he thought about Rafe’s head in his lap, the feel of his soft hair sliding between his fingers, or the heat of his bare skin as Mickey rested a palm against the spot revealed when Rafe’s shirt rode up.
Mickey’s fist tightened at the thought of Thad touching Rafe, pressing him down into the mattress and?—
“Hey, you okay?” Rafe asked, nudging Mickey with his elbow. “You look …”
Angry, probably, Mickey thought with a rueful twist of his lips.
Thankfully, Thad was gone.
Mickey forced a more genuine smile onto his face and bumped his shoulder against Rafe’s. “All good,” he said. “Just a little bit of a headache.”
It wasn’t even a lie.
“Oh, do you need something?”
“No, I’ve got some medicine in my bag. Hey, do you want to watch a movie now?”
Mickey finished setting up his laptop, then handed an earbud over to Rafe. He took it, then pulled out his knitting. Mickey hitPlayand, as they watched the movie, the soft clack-clack-clack of Rafe’s needles was familiar and comforting.
But they were barely twenty minutes into it when Mickey noticed Rafe’s knee was jogging up and down. He bumped it with his own and Rafe quieted for a while before picking it up again.
After half an hour of nonstop jittering, Mickey’d had enough.
“Stop it,” he hissed, clamping his hand on Rafe’s thigh.
Rafe immediately went still, the tension in his body softening. “Sorry. I’m …”
Mickey glanced over when he didn’t finish. He looked miserable, the corners of his big brown eyes and full mouth drooping. What on earth was Rafe so upset about?
And then it hit Mickey in a blinding flash of realization.
“Are you nervous about playing against your old team?” Mickey guessed.
Rafe nodded, his shoulders slumping. “Yeah. And about seeing Logan again.”
“Ohh.” Mickey hadn’t even thought about that. “Yes, that would be hard.”
Or, he imagined it would. He’d never experienced it.
“Are you planning to talk to him?” Mickey asked quietly.
Rafe looked horrified by the idea. “No.Why?”
Mickey shrugged. “I know you started off as friends.”
