Page 13 of Slew Foot (Scoring Chances #3)

The following night, music thumped on the speakers and the locker room was filled with noisy chaos as the team dressed for the game against Florida.

Tanner was in charge of the playlist, and it was pretty good—full of high energy and catchy tunes.

Rafe hummed along as he strapped on his pads and laced his skates. He felt warm and loose and happy. They’d played two-touch in the hallway, the guys folding him into their circle like he’d always been there, tossing around the soccer ball and throwing chirps back and forth.

Last night, he’d gone straight from Mickey and Tanner’s place to his hotel, turned on a movie and crawled into bed. He’d made it through about twenty minutes before he rolled over and crashed for like twelve hours.

He no longer felt like a zombie and while he hadn’t been downstairs by the time Mickey called this morning, he had been up and dressed this time.

So, like, progress ?

They’d had a light skate that morning, some easy drills that had gone well, and Rafe was excited about the game tonight.

Kady was in net tonight and Jesse was riding the bench, keeping up a constant stream of chatter at the guys, cheering them on, consoling them for the bad passes and the missed opportunities.

The game went a little better than the first one he’d played.

The passes between him and Mickey were connecting more often and Rafe was finally getting a feel for where he was supposed to be.

Mickey seemed to be settling in too and talking a lot more.

It helped Rafe, gave him an anchor and a way to orient himself as he figured out the system.

Like now, as he dug the puck out from the tangle of guys along the wall.

“Here, here!” Mickey called out.

Sweat dripped into Rafe’s eyes, burning, as he shot the puck in Mickey’s direction. Mickey took it and skated backward, eyeing a Florida forward. Mickey deked a little behind Florida’s net, toying with the puck before blindly shooting it to Anker Henriksen.

Anker blasted the puck in, and it glanced off the goalie’s left shoulder before tumbling into the net.

Over the sound of the goal horn and the crowd cheering, he heard Mickey’s excited whoop. He collided with Anker and Mickey, wrapping them both up in big hugs.

Happiness sizzled through Rafe but that was almost overwhelmed by the relief at the assist. It had been so long. So fucking long since he’d gotten a point.

He pulled away to beam at Mickey and Anker, hollering his joy in a wordless bellow of happiness.

Mickey slapped him on the back, beaming at him. “Good one!”

“Dude, I got the fuckin’ goal,” Anker muttered.

Mickey laughed and shoved at their teammate’s shoulder. “I know, but this is Rafe’s first point with us.”

“Yeah.” Anker shot Rafe a sideways grin before holding out his glove to tap. “Nice one.”

He skated off to get his fist bumps from the bench and Rafe turned back to Mickey.

His cheeks were flushed, and he was still smiling.

It made Rafe smile too but before he could say anything, like “thanks for helping me these past few days” or “thanks for helping me find you on the ice”, Mickey pulled away, skating over to set up for the next faceoff.

There was more hockey to play.

And for the first time in a long time, Rafe was genuinely excited to play it.

“Wheel, wheel, wheel,” Mickey shouted a little later in the period. “Behind the net, Moon!”

Since their first practice together, he’d found himself shouting instructions at Rafe sometimes and was surprised when Rafe immediately responded, quickly sliding into place wherever Mickey told him to go.

Rafe did it now, taking the puck behind the net and breaking out on the weak side and firing the puck to Connor.

It worked too, Connor rocketing through the defensive zone and gaining speed as he tore into their offensive zone. Mickey skated into position, checking to be sure Rafe was in position too, mentally urging Connor on as he snapped the puck in on the goalie’s blocker and it went in.

After they celebrated the goal—the team’s second, which only put them one point behind Florida here in the third period—Mickey skated for the bench.

“Hey. You know, I like it when you call out like that,” Rafe admitted a few moments later as he slid in beside Mickey, leaning in and bumping their elbows together.

“Yeah?” Mickey froze, water bottle halfway to his mouth.

“Sometimes I get too up in my head, you know? Second-guess what I’m supposed to do.” Rafe said with a shrug. “So, this makes it easy.”

Mickey frowned. “Huh. Guys usually complain when I do it.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Mickey glanced over and, for a moment, everything faded except for the soft look on Rafe’s face, his big brown eyes and his handsome face.

“Okay,” Mickey said slowly. “If you’re sure .”

“I’m sure.” Rafe nodded, eyes wide and earnest.

Mickey swallowed hard, a dizzy rush of anticipation shooting through him. Oh, this was bad.

Good, but very, very bad.

Because Mickey liked telling people what to do. On and off the ice.

He’d had a lot of D-partners who hated it. And he’d dated or hooked up with some people who’d hated it and others who loved it.

His longest relationship was with a girl named Emilia back home.

Dating her was how he’d finally figured out what he liked in the bedroom.

After some particularly hot sex where he’d gotten a little demanding and she’d been loudly and enthusiastically into it, she’d rolled over and eyed him up and down.

“It’s always the quiet ones, huh?” she’d said with a gleam in her eye and kissed him, starting the whole thing up all over again.

And while Rafe liking being told what to do on the ice didn’t at all guarantee he was into that in the bedroom, or he’d want to do that with Mickey, it sent Mickey’s head spiraling down rabbit holes of imagination.

He could picture Rafe sprawled on his back, gripping the headboard and being so good about not coming while Mickey stroked his cock and toyed with his prostate?—

“Get your head in the game, Krause!” Coach Hoyt shouted in his ear. “You’re up! We need you out there.”

Mickey swore in every language he knew as he hopped over the boards, muscle memory taking over as he scanned the ice and tried to figure out what he’d missed while he’d been thinking about things I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about, he reminded himself. Especially on the bench!

He kept it together for the rest of the game and he wasn’t the reason they eventually lost to Florida by a single point.

But it was a reminder that he absolutely needed to stop this.

And yet, when they stripped off after the game and Rafe dropped his base layers on the dressing room floor, then started walking toward the showers, Mickey automatically barked, “Hey! Pick that up. It belongs in the laundry, not on the floor.”

Rafe turned back, limp cock swinging softly between his thick thighs as he crouched down and did exactly what Mickey had ordered, shooting him a sweet smile and a quiet, “thanks for the reminder,” before he walked away.

Mickey nodded tersely, looking away, his blunt nails digging half-moons into his palms. After Rafe disappeared through the door, Mickey took several deep breaths, like that was going to do a damn thing to help the situation.

Oh, he was so screwed.