Page 12 of Slew Foot (Scoring Chances #3)

Rafe figured that was probably positive, since Connor was dating him.

“Yeah, that’s good,” he said.

Connor looked faintly confused but a moment later, the trainer tapped his arm.

“Okay, you’re all set, O’Shea.”

“Thanks.” Connor sat up, grimacing.

“Shoulder trouble?” Rafe asked.

Connor shrugged, reaching for a gray tee with the Harriers’ name across the chest. “It’s one of those nagging things. Comes and goes.”

Rafe nodded. He knew what that was like. His back was always a little fucked up. Honestly, it kinda had been since his last big growth spurt. Which, since he was twenty-nine now, had been a very long time ago.

“So,” Connor said, after he put the shirt on and smoothed down his hair. “Reach out if you need anything.”

“Okay,” Rafe promised, sighing when a knot in his back finally loosened. “Sounds good.”

“Glad to have you here, Moon,” Connor said.

“Thanks, man,” Rafe said, reaching out to tap his thigh as he passed. “Glad to be here.”

“Oh, you live close ,” Rafe said, sounding surprised as Mickey pulled into the complex where he shared an apartment with Tanner and parked.

“Four minutes in clear traffic,” Mickey said with a grin, reaching for the door handle.

But Rafe frowned. “You’ve been going way out of your way to pick me up in the mornings. I’m?—”

Mickey shot him a look, sitting back in his seat and arching his eyebrow.

“Uhh, you don’t have to do that,” Rafe said, like it was finally sinking in Mickey was over the constant apologies.

“True,” Mickey agreed. “I don’t have to pick you up.”

“But you want to?” Rafe asked. His hands were clenched into fists against the sweats he wore.

“Yes.”

“Oh. Okay.” Rafe’s hands unclenched, the furrows on his brow smoothing away. “Thanks then.”

Mickey got out of the car.

Honestly, he wanted a lot of things. He wanted to push Rafe up against the car and kiss him until his lips were a little swollen and he pressed his cock against Mickey’s thigh.

He wanted this inconvenient crush to disappear.

He wanted Rafe on his knees, wanted to push his cock past the tight constriction of Rafe’s throat, and …

“Uh, Mickey?”

Rafe stood a few feet away, frustratingly handsome and earnest in his sweats and puffy jacket, knitted cap pulled over his wet hair with a few wayward little curls peeking out, his stubble thick and his eyes dark and …

Mickey cleared his throat. “This way.”

He nodded toward the entrance to the building. They emerged into the lobby, and it was bright and modern, with a red tile wall, exposed pipe ceiling, and weirdly shaped information desk in the corner.

The young woman who worked there glanced up from her phone and gave him a friendly wave. He lifted a hand in greeting and watched Rafe smile at her and wave back.

She straightened, pushing her hair behind her ear, her gaze following Rafe as Mickey led them over to the elevator.

So, I’m not the only one who notices Rafe , Mickey thought ruefully. But who wouldn’t notice him? With his size, his looks, his earnest niceness …

And okay, Mickey knew Rafe was gay, which made it both better and worse. Mickey hadn’t been digging too hard into Rafe’s history but maybe he’d read a few articles on the Minnesota Acorn’s website from last year’s Pride event.

Rafe and his ex, Logan, had been photographed together, talking about their relationship, about coming out.

Mickey still didn’t understand how Logan had let a guy like Rafe go.

And okay, maybe Rafe had some horrible, deep dark secrets, or was a nightmare in relationships or something. Mickey had no way of truly knowing. But he seemed?—

“What floor?” Rafe asked.

Mickey cleared his throat. “Five.”

“This place is nice,” Rafe said as the elevator rose.

Mickey nodded. While the bright, newly built seven-story complex wasn’t necessarily the first one he would have picked, he did like it.

When they reached the fifth floor, Mickey unlocked the door to the apartment and pushed it open. “That’s Tanner’s room,” he said, gesturing to the left. “Bathroom’s to the right.”

He hung up his coat along with Rafe’s, took off his sneakers, and put on his house shoes.

Rafe took off his shoes too, wiggling his big feet in his dingy white socks.

Mickey gave Rafe a brief tour, pointing out his bedroom on the left, the guest room straight ahead, and then the combination kitchen/living room to the right.

Neither he nor Tanner cooked a whole lot, which was just as well, since the kitchen was mostly a wall of cabinets and appliances along one side of the room. The couch and giant TV took up most of the space, and there wasn’t even a small table or countertop to eat at.

Tanner had also taken the room with the biggest closet, using the bathroom across the hall, which left Mickey with the slightly bigger room and private bath.

Tanner, who was sprawled across the couch, looked up from his phone. “Oh my God, I thought you guys were never coming!”

“We stayed a little later to run some drills,” Mickey explained.

“I’m starving. What’s for lunch?”

“I don’t know,” Mickey said drily, knowing Tanner was angling for him to place the order and pick up the tab. Sometimes he put his foot down about it, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue today. “What do you want?”

“Everything!”

Rafe nodded his agreement, clutching his stomach.

Mickey stifled a laugh. He and Rafe had eaten at the arena and Tanner probably had too but, apparently, it hadn’t been enough. After an entirely unnecessary argument about what type of food to order, they settled on Thai takeout for lunch.

Mickey got the papaya salad and steamed fish with vegetables—something that fit well with his meal plan—and Rafe was clearly trying to do the same when he got tom yum soup, fresh summer rolls, and chicken larb.

Tanner did not, going for fried spring rolls, khao soi—a pork noodle soup with coconut milk and topped with crispy fried noodles—and Thai iced tea. He was going to get yelled at by the team’s dietician and trainers, but whatever, that was his cross to bear, not Mickey’s.

Tanner had never met a rule he didn’t want to break, and Mickey had given up on trying to nudge him into doing better. Most of the time.

When their takeout arrived, Tanner was conveniently missing, so Mickey tipped the delivery person and carried the bags into the kitchen.

Rafe, who had been sprawled on the couch, stood. “Need any help?”

“Sure.” Mickey nodded toward an overhead cupboard. “Plates and bowls are up there. You can get some for yourself if you want. Tanner’s a barbarian who always eats straight out of the containers.”

“I am not a barbarian!” Tanner squawked as he came back into the room. Chirping carried them through plating their meals—or not, in Tanner’s case—and it wasn’t long until they were seated on the couch.

Tanner and Rafe tore into their food and Mickey followed suit at a more sedate pace. His meal was good though, fresh and bright tasting and from the happy noises the other guys were making, theirs was equally delicious.

When Rafe had finished his lunch down to the last crumb, he sighed and sat back. “You know what? I wish I had my knitting with me.”

“Your what now?” Tanner asked, looking up from his noodle soup.

“Knitting,” Rafe said with a shrug. “I knit.”

“Like scarves and hats and shit?” Tanner looked confused.

Rafe nodded. “I make blankets too. I made booties for my sister Brianna’s baby, when she had her.”

Mickey’s heart clenched, imagining those giant hands knitting something so small. Knitting anything, really.

“Huh,” he said.

Rafe glanced at him. “It’s, uh, relaxing.”

There was something defensive in his tone that made Mickey wonder how much shit he’d gotten from his teammates over the years about his hobby.

“No, I bet it is,” Mickey said hastily. “It seems very relaxing. It’s good to have hobbies.”

The tension in Rafe’s shoulders softened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I, uh, I like to bake.”

Tanner squinted at him. “You’ve never baked for me .”

“I only bake for people I like,” Mickey said blandly.

Tanner made a face and threw a balled-up napkin at his head. “Fuck you, dude.”

Rafe chuckled.

They spent the afternoon gaming and watching a movie. They finished it right before dinner time and Rafe sighed. “I should probably get going.”

“You could stay and eat dinner,” Tanner said with a shrug, scrolling through the options for something else to put on.

Rafe glanced between them. “You sure?”

Mickey shrugged. Why not? He could just as easily heat up some dinner for three as for two.

They were the frozen diet plan approved meals they could get from the team chef which Mickey kept on hand for when he wasn’t feeling like ordering takeout or making one of the half a dozen dishes he could actually throw together.

Dinner turned into another movie and Rafe slid farther down on the couch, his knee bumping Mickey’s thigh every time he shifted. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s fine.”

Mickey had no clue what they were watching, too focused on the heat of Rafe’s body through his soft sweats, and he felt like he was boiling from the inside out with every brush of his knee …

But it was fine.

After a movie that Rafe and Tanner seemed to enjoy and Mickey couldn’t have told anyone what it was about if pressed, Rafe stood with a groan.

He stretched, the hem of his T-shirt lifting enough to show off a slice of tanned skin and hard muscle.

Below was the waistband of his underwear, which peeked up over his sweats.

Mickey let out a noisy breath and licked his lips before he realized what he was doing.

He glanced up at Rafe, but thankfully his eyes were shut as he yawned and Tanner had his face buried in his phone, probably planning to go out and hook up tonight.

“You want a ride?” Mickey asked Rafe. “Uh, back to your hotel.”

“Nah.” Rafe reached for his sweatshirt, which he’d taken off halfway through the first movie. Too warm, apparently. Not to torture Mickey, probably. Because although Mickey felt slightly tortured, he didn’t think Rafe was doing any of this on purpose.

He’d made it very clear he wasn’t interested in getting involved with a teammate.

And he was smart for that, Mickey thought as he stood.

“I’ll get a ride share,” Rafe continued. “The hotel’s like … ten, fifteen minutes from here, right?”

“Yeah.”

Rafe did something on his phone, then started for the door.

“I’ll walk you out,” Mickey said.

Tanner gave him a weird look before returning to his screen and Mickey resisted the urge to flick him in the forehead.

He’d had no idea when he’d signed with this team he’d end up with a little brother who was technically a year older than him, but here they were.

Mickey followed Rafe to the door, resolutely keeping his gaze straight ahead, locked on Rafe’s wide shoulders.

Which wasn’t necessarily a whole lot better than staring at his ass like Mickey was tempted, but this way if he got caught, he wouldn’t look like a creepy— no, creeper , he mentally corrected himself.

Rafe put on his shoes and coat, then beamed at Mickey. “Thanks for letting me hang out. This was fun.”

“Any time,” Mickey said before he caught himself. Fuck, he shouldn’t have said that.

Especially when Rafe’s smile widened. It was bright and happy and made his already attractive face even more appealing.

“Thanks. G’night.” Rafe held his arms out for a hug and Mickey took a deep breath, bracing himself as Rafe wrapped him up tight and squeezed.

Unfortunately, all that did was give Mickey a big lungful of Rafe’s cologne, something warm and comforting and arousing all at once.

Mickey carried the scent with him as he closed the door behind Rafe and stumbled into the living room, earning him a snicker from Tanner.

He muttered, “Shut the fuck up,” in German to Tanner, who only laughed harder. He might not know what it meant, but he could probably guess.

Especially when it was accompanied by Mickey’s raised middle finger.

The scent of Rafe’s cologne lingered as Mickey got ready for bed, brushing his teeth in a daze.

After he slipped under the covers and turned the light out, he closed his eyes and thought of the smell again.

He slipped a hand under the waistband of his pajamas, palming his cock before he even realized what he was doing.

I will not jerk off to my teammate , Mickey thought, yanking his hand away.

He rolled over onto his stomach and muffled his frustrated groan against the pillow.