The Long Game (Game Changers, #6)

by Rachel Reid

“I hate that you can outrun me like that. It doesn’t make sense.” Ilya opened one eye. “Maybe you should eat carbs.” “I eat healthy carbs.” “You eat nothing.” “You smoke.” “Almost never.” “You had a cigarette last night.” “How do you know?” “I have a nose.” Ilya booped the tip of Shane’s nose. “A cute one.”

“You’re unfairly handsome in the mornings, you know that?” Ilya grinned. “Tell me in Russian.” Shane’s nose scrunched up in concentration. “Um...ty ochen’ krasiv?” Ilya’s heart fluttered the way it always did when Shane attempted Russian. “Close enough.”

He closed his eyes and focused on how good it felt to be with Shane, alone in the dark, and tried not to wish it could be the same in the light.

“I can’t believe no one has figured it out yet.” “Well,” Ilya said, brushing a thumb over Shane’s cheek. “I am way out of your league.”

The Centaurs logo was one of many baffling things about the team: a cartoon drawing of a centaur playing hockey. Ilya wasn’t sure how exactly that would work. It was sort of the perfect representation of Ottawa’s team, though: a bunch of things mashed together that had no hope of winning hockey games.

“Ya lyublyu tebya.” “Ya vsegda budu tebya lubit,” Shane replied.

Shane: You gonna watch tonight? Ilya: Maybe. If I am very bored. Shane: I’ll try to win for you. Ilya huffed and wrote, Try to lose. We are in the same division, idiot. Shane: Nah.

“Do you think I’d be a good dad?” “Sure. You’d be the responsible one who makes sure they, like, eat vegetables and brush their teeth and stuff. Ilya would be the fun one who buys them Jet Skis for their tenth birthdays.” “Oh god. He would do that.”

“And you’d return them and buy the kids sensible shoes or something instead,” Hayden teased. “Eat shit. I’d be a cool dad.” Hayden wrapped a hand around Shane’s forearm. “Shane. Buddy. You’ve never been cool about anything ever. And parenting is the most high-stress thing you can do. You’ll be an absolute mess.”

Shane was standing in the Pikes’ living room wearing a magician’s cape, a top hat, and holding a pink plastic heart-shaped ring. Ilya was standing next to him wearing a red sequined bow tie and a headband covered in flowers. He was holding an identical purple ring.

“I’m two hundred pounds!” “Sure you are.” “I am!” “Like you are five-ten.” “I am five-ten!”

“How’s your knee?” “It fell off,” Ilya said dryly, clearly done with Shane asking the same question over and over. “Let me look at it.” “You saw it this morning.” Ilya had his sore leg stretched out on the sofa. “Is still just bruised.” Shane was already at his side. He tried to slide Ilya’s pants leg up, but the tapered cut of the fancy jogging pants made it impossible. “Pull your pants down.” “You are terrible at foreplay,”

I thought I could talk to you and fix myself so I can be good enough for him.”

Shane realized that most of Ilya’s posts were, in weird cryptic ways, about Shane. His entire account was like a secret diary of their relationship, full of inside jokes and little references that only Shane would understand.

“The hell?” Shane said when he realized Ilya had led him to his trophy room. Ilya just smiled at him. “No way,” Shane said. “Weird.” “Is it?” Ilya asked, trailing a finger along Shane’s jaw. “I thought you need a reminder, before our meeting tomorrow.” “Reminder of what?” Shane said faintly as he tipped his head to the side and closed his eyes. Ilya kissed just under his jaw, then in front of his ear. “Of who the fuck you are.”

Shane felt like he was playing an unending version of that board game, Operation, and the slightest mistake—anything less than perfection—would get him zapped.

All three Hollanders had been in the audience for that one, which had been exciting for Ilya. He’d never had so many people he loved at one of his games before.