Page 25 of Slew Foot (Scoring Chances #3)

Mickey felt like he hadn’t slept at all when he finally dragged himself out of bed the following morning.

When he opened his door in search of coffee, he found Rafe standing in the kitchen, shirtless, posing with a mug of coffee while Tanner took pictures.

Mickey nearly turned around and went straight back to bed, right then and there.

But they had practice today and it definitely wasn’t an optional one and Mickey had already dragged out leaving his room as long as possible. Plus, he needed to clean the kitchen after his tantrum last night.

And it had been a tantrum.

In the cold morning light, Mickey could see he’d acted horribly immature. He was going to have to apologize to Rafe and Tanner for his behavior.

He’d always been so cool and calm and rational. But that had all gone out the window upon meeting Rafael Fucking Moon.

None of it was Rafe’s fault. This was allll on Mickey.

“Hey!” Tanner said, lowering the phone to sneeze.

“Eww, cover your mouth,” Mickey said automatically, before he realized that probably wasn’t the best way to start this conversation.

But it appeared to bounce right off Tanner, who passed the phone over to Rafe with a shrug. “Did you know Rafe here has a total thirst trap account on Insta?”

“I’m not on social media much,” Mickey responded. Which was true, but the time he had spent on it recently had involved staring at the exact pictures Tanner was talking about. He was not about to admit that aloud, however.

“Boring,” Tanner said with a roll of his eyes. “So, like, you want to see the ones I took this morning?”

“No thank you,” Mickey said politely because it was either that or sport an awkward and uncomfortable erection in the kitchen. “We need to get to the rink, and I need coffee first.”

“It’s right there,” Rafe said quietly, nodding at a Harriers travel mug. “I fixed it the way you like it.”

“Thanks,” Mickey said. “Look?—”

He paused when he realized the counter was clean. There were no dishes sitting out, no cutting board or knife or pan from when he’d made hot chocolate. “Did you guys clean ?”

“Yeah,” Tanner said, sneezing again. “Rafe said we should.”

Tanner pulled open the dishwasher with a proud grin. It was an unholy mess and looked like a raccoon on cocaine had loaded it. But the dishes were more or less clean and so were the counters and Mickey felt unexpectedly emotional about it.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

“Kinda seemed like you were having a bad day,” Tanner said carefully, like he was afraid Mickey might explode again.

“No, it was a good day,” Mickey said, because it had been, up until he’d lost his fucking mind watching Rafe do obscene things to a whisk with his tongue. “I, uh …”

He deflated, finally glancing up from the dishwasher. “I’m sorry I lost my temper.”

Tanner shrugged. “You should’ve seen me when we lost in Concord last year.”

“Didn’t the team lose a lot?” Mickey asked with a frown.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

Tanner grinned. “So, no worries. Your hot chocolate is kind of crap though. Did you know that? I stole a sip of Rafe’s before he wrestled it away from me.”

“What?” Mickey sputtered.

Rafe, who had been standing there quietly and looking devastatingly good in his low-slung sweatpants, said, “It is not!” so hotly Mickey and Tanner both turned to look at him.

“Well, it’s not,” he said defensively when they stared at him. “It’s the best one I’ve ever had.”

“I’ll take you to Austria sometime,” Mickey said without thinking. “Viennese hot chocolate is thicker and very rich.”

Rafe blinked. “I didn’t know they made hot chocolate in Asian countries.”

Mickey blinked back at him trying to work that one out.

“No,” he said slowly when he figured it out. “Viennese, as in from Vienna .”

Rafe stared at him blankly like he was speaking Martian.

Mickey didn’t think Rafe was that dense but Tanner was staring at him with just as much confusion, so Mickey decided it was probably because both of them were guys who’d spent way too much time playing hockey and not enough learning world geography.

“Vienna is a city in Austria,” he explained. “I wasn’t saying Vietnamese, like from the country of Vietnam.”

“Oh. Got it.” Rafe nodded. “I think.”

“Let’s head to the arena and get some breakfast there,” Mickey said with a sigh as he rubbed his head. He wasn’t sure how much more of either Rafe or Tanner he could take right now.

Though, for very different reasons.

Rafe looked down at his bare chest and frowned. “I should probably put something on before we go.”

Mickey nodded and resisted the urge to pat Rafe’s bare shoulder. “Good idea, bud.”

Later that night, as Tanner and his latest hookup were loudly and enthusiastically going at it, Mickey lay in his bed, trying to ignore his hard-on. He wasn’t even remotely attracted to Tanner, but the sound of sex, when he was this pent-up all the time, was too hard to ignore.

He closed his eyes, debating if he should give in to the urge to jerk off to the memory of his last hookup with the guy who reminded him of Rafe or maybe that one really hot time with Emilia … when there was a knock on his door.

Tanner—or the guy he was fucking, Mickey wasn’t sure—were still filling the apartment with their sounds of ecstasy, so unless someone had snuck into their apartment, that had to be Rafe.

Mickey bit his lip against the groan he wanted to let out, threw back the covers, and stood. He tucked the head of his very hard dick under the waistband of his pajamas, tugged his shirt down to cover it, then opened the door.

On the other side was Rafe, looking like a fantasy brought to life. Shirtless, in the pair of low-slung sweats he loved so much. Only this time, it was clear he had nothing on underneath.

With his hair a fluffy mess and his eyes sleepy and warm, he was Mickey’s wet dream.

Mickey cleared his throat rather than wrap an arm around the back of Rafe’s neck, haul him into the room, and kiss him senseless.

“Hey. Do you need something?” he asked instead, trying to be polite and not a horny jerk.

“Uhh.” Rafe dragged a hand through his hair, making it even worse. Making Mickey wonder what it would look like if he was the one to mess it up.

Would he moan if Mickey tugged on it?

“How do you sleep through this?” Rafe asked.

Jerk off and try to pretend like it’s not you I’m imagining? Mickey thought. Because that was kinda what he’d been doing since Rafe joined the team. Which wasn’t that long ago but it was long enough Mickey was starting to feel a little wild and unhinged from it.

“Earplugs,” he said instead.

“Oh.” Rafe’s face fell. “Shit. I don’t have any. I mean, I think I have some somewhere, but I don’t know which box it’s in, you know?”

There was still a stack of boxes in Rafe’s room he hadn’t unpacked yet so that made sense. And Mickey didn’t blame Rafe for not wanting to dig through them at one in the morning.

“I think I have a spare set,” Mickey offered with a stifled sigh. Because he was a nice person, or at least he tried to be.

He added, “Come in,” when Rafe hesitated in the doorway.

Mickey walked across the room and yanked open his nightstand drawer, only belatedly remembering there were sex toys in it too. He wasn’t surprised to see a dull flush on Rafe’s cheeks when he glanced over.

North Americans were so weirdly puritanical about sex.

But rather than reach for a plug or cock ring, or even the soft leather cuffs he’d bought the last time he was in Berlin and had sadly used far too little, he grabbed a small tin where he kept his spare earplugs.

He pulled out a pair, still freshly wrapped in plastic, then handed them over.

Rafe took them, the plastic crinkling as he clenched his fingers around them, but his gaze was trained on the drawer.

“What are those?” he asked, pointing to the cuffs.

Mickey thought they were fairly self-explanatory, but he pulled them out, hooking a finger in one and letting the other dangle. “Cuffs,” he said bluntly. “Sometimes I like to tie people up.”

“Oh.” Rafe blinked at him, reaching a blunt finger out to stroke along the supple leather. “Huh. Cool.”

There was nothing particularly sexual about Rafe’s response to them other than a mild sort of interest. He wasn’t hard or breathing more harshly. So it wasn’t like Mickey thought it meant Rafe was into the idea of being the one in those cuffs.

But then he asked, “And people like when you tie them up?”

Mickey’s mouth went dry because damn it, he was only human.

And a part of him desperately wanted to open his mouth and tell Rafe yes, people did.

And yes, it was good. And yes, Mickey would do that to him if he wanted and oh, Mickey’s instincts were screaming at him that Rafe would be into this too if he gave it a chance.

The whole fucking point of restraining someone—for Mickey—was that they trusted him and wanted to be in that position. Trust and the surrender underpinned everything.

And while Rafe trusted him, he’d been so clear about it. So clear about being demi and being completely uninterested in dating a teammate and …

So Mickey merely cleared his throat and nodded. “Yes. I always make sure they do.”

“Huh.” Rafe traced his finger along the cuff one more time and Mickey could almost feel it. A physical, visceral touch like Rafe had touched him instead. He shivered and clenched the cuff more tightly, the chain making a quiet metallic clanking noise.

He was suddenly acutely aware of how close they stood and that he could feel the heat of Rafe’s body. The room was dim with the lamp beside the bed on and with the door open, he could hear the rattle of the headboard and someone moaning down the hall.

He looked at Rafe and his thick arms and flat stomach and wanted .

But he merely clutched the cuffs in his fist and turned away to tuck them back in the drawer. Because that was the type of man he wanted to be. Respectful .

“Thanks for the earplugs,” Rafe said with a smile when he turned back. “G’night.”

“Night, Rafe,” Mickey whispered to his retreating back.

Mickey shut and locked the door behind Rafe, the images of his broad shoulders and narrow waist which swelled out into a truly impressive ass lingering in his head.

Mickey didn’t even take off his sleep pants or climb on the bed, just pulled those pants down, fumbled for some lube, and fucked into his fist like a man possessed.

The images that had played out under his closed eyelids were a chaotic mish-mash of Rafe cuffed to his bed, naked and begging.

In some of them, Mickey fucked his mouth, murmuring words of encouragement while Rafe looked up at him with those big trusting eyes.

In others, Mickey turned him onto his stomach and took his ass, slowly and sweetly at first, then fast and rough when Rafe begged for it.

In every scenario there was a point where Rafe cried out, “Please, Mickey! Please, I need … I need to …”

And Mickey had crooned to him, told him to be good and hold out until Mickey ordered him to come. Rafe had responded so beautifully, so perfectly , that Mickey felt it deep in his chest, his eyes wet, his heart full.

In his bedroom, alone, Mickey came into his fist. His skin was sheened with sweat and he breathed harshly, his chest rising and falling like he’d come off a particularly long penalty kill shift.

Mickey bit his lip to keep from crying out and tasted blood, sharp and metallic on his tongue.

He staggered back, sliding down the edge of the mattress to rest on the floor and pressed his forehead against his knees, silently begging for the strength to get through this.

To somehow be the friend and teammate Rafe needed, instead of the partner, the boyfriend, the everything Mickey wanted to be.

The following morning, Tanner had to drive his hookup back to his place before going to practice, so as Mickey and Rafe walked out to the car, Mickey psyched himself up for the conversation he needed to have with Rafe.

Yesterday, he’d told himself he’d apologized and there was no need to bring up his little outburst again. But after the events of last night and the tossing and turning Mickey had done for hours, worrying about the situation, he knew he needed to clear the air.

The minute they were in the car with the doors closed, he said, “I’m sorry.”

Rafe turned to look at him, letting his seatbelt slip through his fingers and retract, the metal pinging off the glass. “For what?”

“The problem is …” Mickey cleared his throat. “I’m attracted to you, Rafe.”

Rafe winced. “I know.”

Mickey blinked. “You … do?”

Rafe nodded, biting his lower lip. “That’s what Tanner said the other night, anyway.”

“He’s not wrong.” Mickey looked down at his hand where it was clenched on the wheel for no apparent reason. He forced himself to let go. “But I know you don’t feel the same way and?—”

“I think I could,” Rafe blurted out.

“You … do?” Mickey repeated, because he apparently didn’t know how to say anything else today.

He tried not to let hope fill him, but it was impossible. It fizzed through his veins like sparkling water, filling him with nervous energy and excitement.

“I mean, yeah,” Rafe said softly. “I think I’m starting to. I like you, Mickey. I do. You’re great .”

“But?” Mickey asked, deflating a little. Because there was definitely a but there. And not the kind that filled out Rafe’s team sweats to an obscene degree.

“But, uh, we’re teammates, you know.”

“I know.” Mickey swallowed, the bubbles popping and going flat.

“And after the stuff with Logan?—”

“I get it,” Mickey said because he couldn’t stand to hear Rafe let him down nicely. “I do. You don’t want to go through it again and I understand, Rafe. You can like me or be attracted to me or think the potential is there and still not want to date me.”

“But it makes you … upset?” Rafe asked. “Because you seem upset.”

Mickey smiled faintly, still staring out the window, his eyes stinging. “Disappointed, maybe,” he admitted, his voice a little rough. “But I get it, Rafe, I really do. And this doesn’t mean we can’t still be great partners on the ice and friends and roommates and?—”

He forced himself to take a deep breath and soften his voice, turning to look at Rafe. “It’s okay,” he said gently.

Rafe was the one who looked upset now and Mickey gripped the wheel tightly again before he reached out and cupped his beautiful sad face and kissed it better.

“It’s okay,” Mickey repeated hoarsely. And maybe this time he was saying it to reassure them both it would be.

Eventually.