Page 8 of Slew Foot
It had started out teasing, then turned affectionate. Now, Rafe sincerely hoped he never heard that nickname again.
“It’s cool,” the guy with the curly dark hair said, sticking out a hand and grinning. “I’m sure we’ll come up with something great for you. I’m Tanner but they call me Clay.”
That would be Tanner Clayton then. Rafe had studied the roster while he lay on the floor in the Detroit airport, doing the only thing he could to prepare for this new life.
Tanner’s grin was infectious, lighting up his whole face, and something in Rafe relaxed at the sight of it. Something about him felt safe. Friendly, in a non-threatening way.
“Hi, Clay,” he managed.
“So, it looks like you’ll be on the second D-pair with Mouse. I’m usually on the top D-pair with Crawford here.”
Another guy stepped forward, dressed in a pair of boxer briefs and nothing else, his entire chest, arms, and back covered in tattoos.
“Luke,” was all he said, brushing limp dark hair out of his eyes.
“Yeah, we’ve met,” Rafe replied drily. Crawford had absolutelytruckedhim last season, flattening him into a pancake and leaving him bruised all over.
Crawford grinned and there was a little glint in his eye as if to say he remembered, and he’d enjoyed it.
Well, better to be on the same side as the crazy bastard than opposite him, Rafe supposed.
“Hey, why don’tyouhave a nickname, anyway?” Tanner asked, peering up at Luke. “I’ve been meaning to ask.”
Tanner wasn’t small by normal human standards—over six feet tall—but he seemed tiny to Rafe who had hovered somewhere around giant as long as he could remember.
Crawford was a lot closer to Rafe’s size than Tanner’s.
Grinning at Tanner, Crawford grabbed him by his base layer, lifting him up onto his toes with a flex of his upper arm. “Because I don’t like them.”
“Riiight,” Tanner said, clearly not at all deterred by the intimidation attempt. “That makes sense.”
Tanner kept talking, chattering on about something or other while Luke continued to hold him up.
Confused, Rafe turned and looked at Mickey.
He shrugged, his voice still very soft. “Don’t ask. They’re like that all the time. Tanner gets on Crawford’s nerves, and Crawford likes to try to intimidate him. It works with most rookies, but from what I can tell, nothing shuts Tanner up. I can say that because he’s my roommate,” he hastily added under his breath.
Huh. Listening closely, he could hear the soft hints of Mickey’s German accent, though his English was very smooth and easy to understand.
“Okay,” Rafe said with a shrug, because whatever. There were weird guys all over the league and this seemed mild compared to some of the shit he’d seen.
“So,” Connor said, appearing at his elbow. “You wanna get settled in your stall and do your warmup real quick? The clock’s ticking.”
“Yeah,” Rafe said, feeling grateful because his head was totally spinning from everything that had happened in the past few days. “That would be good.”
Rafael Moon was Level 4 beefcake.
Which wasn’t how Americans rated their beef, but Rafael—Rafe, apparently—was Canadian and Mickey was German, and this was all in his head anyway, so what did it matter?
There was no question Rafe was premium quality though, from the top of his dark wavy hair to the bottom of his giant feet. He was tall and thick and had these brooding sort of good looks that made Mickey think about things he generally didn’t think about in locker rooms.
Not that anyoneherewould care.
Jesse had whistled at the sight of Rafe walking through the doors—earning him a dirty look from his boyfriend, Connor—becauseno one on the Harriers was too fussy about anyone’s sexuality, especially with Bobby Tucker gone.
Mickey wouldn’t miss him.
But Rafe, with his broad shoulders and square jaw and gold earring glinting in his ear, was a welcome addition to the team.
