Page 9 of Slew Foot (Scoring Chances #3)

Rafe woke to the sound of his phone buzzing.

He slapped at it, pulling the charging cable loose and nearly knocking the phone off the nightstand before he finally cracked one eye open. He squinted as he looked around, confused about where he was.

Oh, his hotel in Boston.

Well, it looked like a hotel anyway, and his bags were in the corner of the room. He had no idea how he’d gotten here though. The last thing he remembered was drinking with the team.

His phone buzzed again, vibrating against his palm, and he looked back at it. The name Mouse flashed across his screen with a little emoji of a cartoon animal’s face and Rafe fumbled to answer it.

“’lo?” he managed.

“Sorry to wake you. I thought you might be up by now. Would you like me to let you go back to sleep or would you like to go to brunch at O’Sheas’?”

“Weren’t we just at the pub last night?” he rasped. It was way too early to be drinking this morning. Even if a hair of the dog cocktail did seem like a good idea right now.

Mickey laughed softly. “That was O’Neill’s. Catherine and Declan O’Shea are hosting brunch at their home today.”

“Oh.” Rafe rubbed a hand over his face. He had a fuzzy memory of Connor’s mom inviting him at one point. “I mean, it’s still pretty early, right?”

“It’s one pm,” Mickey said sounding like he was trying not to laugh, though his tone was kind.

Rafe groaned and sat upright. “Fuck. Um, yeah, let me … uh, shower and get dressed and stuff.”

“I’ll meet you in the café in the lobby when you’re ready.”

With that, Mickey was gone.

Rafe ended the call, then glanced around the room. The room darkening drapes were half-open, allowing in light through the sheer curtains, and he stumbled out of bed and over to the window to pull the heavy ones apart.

There was water and a sports drink on the nightstand, and he gratefully took the red drink and gulped half of it down.

He turned to find his suitcase in one corner, his duffel resting next to it, then frowned when he saw his tie and undershirt, folded neatly on the nearby dresser.

When he stumbled over to the closet, his gameday suit hung there perfectly.

What the fuck? Even sober, Rafe had never been good at hanging up his clothes. Logan had always complained about his mess, the way he’d thrown stuff everywhere.

There was no way in hell Rafe had neatly hung up everything last night, tired and drunk.

He … how exactly had he gotten back here?

Rafe had some blurry memories of the pub, of drinking beer with Mickey and then a sticky sweet shot that had gone down easily. Then another one. And maybe a third.

He remembered laughing at something and then cool air on his face, his arm slung over someone’s shoulder.

Had … had Mickey brought him back to the hotel? He thought so. Thought maybe he remembered Mickey in the elevator, Mickey guiding him toward the bed and …

Rafe’s face went hot as he remembered stripping off with Mickey standing a few feet away. He’d done the same in the locker room, but it was different here. Different when they were alone in a hotel room like this.

But try as Rafe might, he couldn’t remember anything else after.

With a groan, Rafe finished the last of the sports drink, then tossed the bottle in the trash before he went in search of a shower.

The hot water helped a little and he was somewhat more clear-headed when he stared at himself in the foggy mirror. He looked like shit but he felt slightly better. He was pretty sure he could’ve slept for a whole twenty-four hours if Mickey hadn’t woken him, but …

But I need to get to know my new team, he thought with a little sigh.

Teeth brushed, dressed and ready, Rafe found a key card next to his wallet, and pocketed both before leaving the room. He drank the bottled water while he waited for the elevator and then on the ride down.

As promised, Mickey was waiting for him at a small café in the lobby. His wool coat was draped over a nearby chair like he’d been there a while and he looked relaxed, legs crossed and leaning back in his chair as he read something on his phone and sipped his coffee.

He glanced up, smiling as he spotted Rafe approaching. He passed over a takeout cup of coffee. “Good morning. You look like you could use this.”

“Thanks,” Rafe said gratefully.

“I got you a cup of black coffee. I wasn’t sure what you liked. Creamer and sugar are over there.” He pointed to a nearby marble bar.

“Perfect.” Rafe made a beeline for it.

“Dark and sweet, huh?” Mickey said from beside his elbow. “Like you.”

“What?” Rafe asked hoarsely, turning to look at him.

Mickey glanced away, his swallow was audible. “Nothing. Sorry.”

“I—” Rafe frowned but maybe he’d heard Mickey wrong? He remembered telling Mickey he didn’t date teammates. Mickey didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would flirt without thinking either.

“Shall we go?” Mickey said briskly, neatly tossing his empty cup in the trash nearby. “Brunch is an open house so we don’t have to be there at any particular time, but I would hate to miss any of Mrs. O’s delicious food.”

“Mrs. O?” Rafe asked, sipping his coffee as they crossed the lobby.

“That’s what most of us call Connor’s mother.”

“What do they call his dad?” Rafe asked.

“Declan. He said he’s still one of the boys.”

Rafe laughed softly. The man was in the hall of fame for fuck’s sake. But maybe once a player, always a player.

“Anything else I should know?” Rafe asked.

“Finn O’Shea and his wife, Jenna, will probably be there with their kids, along with Pat and his wife, Aubrey, and their kids.”

“Even though they’re no longer with the team?” Rafe frowned, pretty sure he wasn’t going to remember all their names.

“They’ve always been very involved, but,” Mickey said, dropping his voice as they walked through the doors. “Finn just got hired as president of hockey operations. They announced it to the team shortly before you arrived. The public doesn’t know yet though.”

“Huh,” Rafe said. He did vaguely remember doing a toast to that last night.

Mickey retrieved his keys from the valet, unlocking a silver car. Rafe squeezed himself into the passenger seat.

“I hope I didn’t embarrass myself too much last night,” Rafe said when Mickey fell silent, focused on pulling away from the hotel and easing into traffic.

“Other than when you danced on the tables, no,” Mickey said, his glance flicking toward Rafe.

He gaped at Mickey. “What? I don’t remember …”

He fell silent when Mickey’s shoulders began to shake.

“You asshole. You’re fucking with me.” He shoved at Mickey’s shoulder, making the car swerve a little.

Someone beside them honked.

“I am.” Mickey’s lips twitched but he focused back on the road. “You were fine last night. You had a few drinks and were dead on your feet. I got us a ride share to the hotel, got you upstairs and tucked in bed, then went home to my place.”

“Oh.” Rafe let out a relieved sigh. “Sorry if I, uh, stripped down in front of you or anything.”

Mickey shrugged. “Nothing I haven’t seen before. I was just glad you were able to take care of that yourself. Didn’t want to … cross a line.”

“No, you’re good,” Rafe said, feeling grateful. “And thanks for the water and sports drink and hanging up my suit and everything.”

“How hungover are you?”

Rafe shrugged. “Not very. I think I’m mostly still tired.” As if to prove it, he yawned widely.

Mickey chuckled. “I know the feeling and I didn’t even have the twenty-four hours prior you did.”

“It was a long, long trip to Boston,” Rafe said with a heavy sigh.

“But you’re here now,” Mickey said, his voice soft.

“I am.” Rafe leaned his head against the window and sighed again, watching his new home flash by.

Mickey found a spot along the street a few houses down from the O’Sheas’ red-brick townhouse, parked, then struck out at a quick walk, Rafe on his heels. Although they weren’t the first people to arrive, he doubted they were the last either.

“It’s nice the O’Sheas do this,” Rafe said as they approached the front door.

“It is,” Mickey agreed.

While most teams had a married captain, whose wife or—Mickey supposed, now that the league was a bit more open, husband—hosted events, Connor’s parents seemed to be the ones who did that. From what the guys had said, it had been that way for a long time.

Connor had an ex-wife and was with Jesse now, but clearly Catherine and Declan enjoyed hosting and it was always warm and welcoming at their home, so Mickey had no complaints.

Inside, the air was warm and smelled of good food. Mickey stripped off his jacket and hung it from a hook in the entryway, then took off his shoes, lining them up on a mat so the slushy snow would dry.

Rafe glanced around, then followed suit.

Mickey showed him to the kitchen, greeting teammates and other familiar faces from the organization as he did so and introducing Rafe to them.

At some point, in the crush of bodies around the food set up on the lower level of the house, Mickey lost track of Rafe, and Tanner appeared.

“Sooo, you and Rafe, huh?” Tanner waggled his eyebrows.

“No,” Mickey said firmly. “Just trying to help the new guy get oriented.”

“Sorry if I kept you up last night.” Tanner’s smile was impish.

He always reminded Mickey of the devilish creatures from German folklore, filled with mischievous humor rather than evil intent like the biblical stories. Though, Mickey had to admit he was a good deal better looking than the way imps were usually portrayed in wood carving prints.

He’d certainly never tell Tanner though.

“How was your night?” Mickey asked. “Or should I say when did they leave?”

Because he’d gotten home from getting Rafe to his hotel and settled into his own bed when he’d heard the laughter of Tanner and two women. Rather than yell at Tanner to be quiet, he’d fetched his noise-cancelling earplugs, rolled over, and gone to sleep.

By now, he’d learned.

“This morning. After round two. Or was it three?” Tanner pretended to look thoughtful.

“Very happy for you,” Mickey said drily.

“It was a good way to start out the new year.” Tanner took a sip of his coffee. “What about you? You and Rafe aren’t?—”

“No!” Mickey hissed, glancing around to be sure his new D-partner wasn’t within earshot. “And stop saying that. He—he got out of a relationship with a teammate recently and he sounds pretty heartbroken. I don’t want him to think I’m being pushy or a creepy.”

The earlier coffee comment in the hotel café had slipped out accidentally but Mickey immediately regretted it. That wasn’t how Teammate Mickey acted, or even Hookup Mickey. That was Relationship Mickey. Who was not allowed out around Rafe under any circumstances ever again.

“A creeper, you mean?” Tanner asked.

Mickey shrugged because sometimes he got tripped up on idioms and slang. “Yes that.”

“But you are into him, right?” Tanner asked, still grinning. “Because I saw you in the locker room yesterday. You looked like you wanted to climb him like a tree. I don’t blame you. That’s onnne big slab of man meat.”

“He’s very attractive,” Mickey agreed. “But that doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Tanner sighed, looking mournful now. “It’s a shame you don’t have more fun.”

“I have plenty of fun,” Mickey protested.

“Tannnerrrrrrrrrrr!” a little girl bellowed from across the room.

Mickey turned to see one of Connor’s dark-haired daughters—the older one, so Evie—running toward them.

“What’s up, kiddo?” Tanner asked, his voice going a little soft.

“You need to come play ponies with Maura and me.” She tugged at his arm.

Tanner shrugged, thrust his plate at Mickey, then followed without so much as a goodbye. Tanner had little sisters he missed a lot and could always be convinced to play with Connor’s girls. Oddly enough, Luke Crawford had a soft spot for them too and he often gave them piggyback rides.

“Evie,” Mickey heard Connor say a moment later, his tone a little warning. “What have we talked about? You need to ask people for things nicely instead of demanding it.”

Evie sighed but stopped in her tracks to look at Tanner. “Would you please come play ponies with Maura and me?”

“I’d love to,” Tanner said.

Mickey smiled. This team really was quite close.

Several of the veterans had looked surprised when Mickey had commented on it a few months ago, agreeing it was getting that way. Apparently, it hadn’t been after Patrick O’Shea had stepped down as captain and Connor had taken over.

Mickey had only been here since the beginning of the season though and, honestly, he hadn’t been quite sure what to make of the team when he’d arrived. But he’d come to enjoy these brunches and parties. The food and the camaraderie.

He glanced down at his plate, belatedly realizing he still held Tanner’s as well.

There was quite a bit of food on it, and he glanced around for a place to set it down.

He spotted a relatively empty end table beside the end of the sectional and made a beeline for it, only noticing halfway there that Rafe was sprawled out on it.

He glanced up, looking almost relieved when he spotted Mickey.

“Hi,” Rafe said. “Come to join me?”

“I … can,” Mickey said, hesitantly perching on the arm of the sectional next to him. “If you want company.”

Rafe’s skin had a warm, brown glow and he looked like he might have Italian or Greek heritage, but a bit of dull red still appeared on his cheeks.

“I’m feeling a little out of place,” he said, his voice soft. “Overwhelmed, you know?”

Mickey felt a tug at his heart because this big man with his soft dark eyes and earnest voice did something to him.

“Sure,” he said. “I get it.”

Because he did. Because he’d been in Rafe’s shoes not so long ago. He’d felt overwhelmed by the noise and the laughter and the guys who knew one another so well. He’d felt small and insignificant.

It was why they’d called him Mouse.

Well, his name too, but mostly because he hadn’t spoken much, just taken everything in and he tried to figure out who everyone was and how they all fit together before he was ready to contribute.

Now that Tanner had helped him get settled in, he felt more confident.

Hopefully he could do the same for Rafe.

Mickey shifted, intending to set Tanner’s plate on the end table, when Rafe reached for it. “Thanks. It was nice of you to bring me food.”

“Uhh,” Mickey said as Rafe lifted an egg cup to his mouth.

Mickey couldn’t remember the name of them, but they were like little omelets tucked into muffin-sized circles of tortilla and baked.

“That was actually Tanner’s plate,” he said hastily.

Rafe frowned, glanced at the bite of food, then shrugged and lifted it to his mouth. “Mine now,” he mumbled around it.

Mickey hid a smile and, with his free hand, tucked into his own food.