Mickey nodded.
Rafe tossed his sodden T-shirt at Mickey. “Can’t wait.”
Rafe took off, leaving Mickey sputtering and fumbling for the shirt. It took him a moment to stuff it and the water bottle back in his bag and chase after Rafe. He’d gotten a bit of a head start and Mickey couldn’t go as fast as he’d like—the paths were fairly crowded, even on a weekday—and he had to dodge parents with strollers, little kids toddling along, and people walking their dogs.
But he was laughing and his blood sang in his veins when he finally caught up, carefully snagging Rafe’s hand and tugginghim in for a quick but hard kiss. Laughing against his mouth, Rafe kissed him back.
Mickey was so in love with him ithurt.
“Want to do this final loop and then head back to where we came into the park?” he asked, rather than say that aloud. “I think it’s over there.”
“Sure. Sounds good.”
Rather than deal with parking, they’d taken public transportation there and would need to catch the subway back to their apartment.
Mickey and Rafe had almost reached the edge of the park when a college-age guy came running toward them, wearing a Boston Harriers shirt.
His face brightened when he saw them. “Hey, Krause, glad to have you back on the ice! I’m a big fan!”
“Sorry we couldn’t make a deeper run,” Mickey called out as they passed him on the path.
“There’s always next season!” the runner shouted back. “Have a great summer, guys!”
And Mickey grinned at Rafe, because it was hope that had gotten him through the toughest parts of the season and hope that would get them through the doldrums of the off-season.
Well, hope and Rafe.
And really, what more did a man need?
