Heated Rivalry (Game Changers, #2)

by Rachel Reid

“You are very beautiful,” Rozanov said suddenly. It was said very matter-of-factly. Shane wasn’t sure how to react. They didn’t really say things to each other. Not like that.

For the rest of his life, Shane Hollander would have to live with the fact that he had ended his NHL draft day by getting himself off to thoughts of Ilya Rozanov.

Russia was undefeated in the tournament so far. Canada was also undefeated. Only one team would stay that way until the end. Ilya had more important things to think about than freckles and polite Canadian boys.

He leaned in and breathed against Shane’s ear in his heavily accented English, “Do I make you curious?” Rozanov made Shane a lot of things: confused, infuriated, terrified, aroused, and, yes, curious. “Obviously,” Shane said, a little irritably. “Did you like sucking my dick?” “Oh, those English words you know?”

Rozanov looked directly at the camera, and Shane froze. He can’t see you, dummy. He watched Rozanov wink at the camera and Shane’s eyes narrowed. He was going to shut this fucker up when their teams finally met.

Ilya told himself the twisted feeling in his stomach was just jealousy, but he was terrified that it was something much, much worse.

He loved taking the puck from Hollander. He loved slamming him into the boards. He loved skating around him. He loved shit-talking him because his eyes would get all squashed up in anger and his pink lips would curl into an adorable little attempt at a snarl. Like an angry kitten.

Under the table, he felt Rozanov’s foot tap against his own. It was the chastest contact in the world, but it still made Shane’s heart stop.

Ilya kissed his dumb mouth and swallowed his stupid little sighs and felt his annoying fingers in his hair. He pulled back so he could look at his horrible face with its ridiculous freckles. Fuck.

He wrapped his foot around Rozanov’s ankle, and Rozanov growled and, without warning, grabbed Shane’s thighs and hoisted him up the wall so that Shane had no choice but to wrap his legs around the taller man’s waist.

This, he realized, was why people were so wild about sex. He had never, ever felt like this with anyone before. And of course Ilya Rozanov, all of nineteen years old, fucked with the confidence and skill of, like, a sex god.

“Did you buy a building so we would have somewhere to fuck, Hollander?”

Shane had been sick with jealousy, but had also been undeniably proud when he’d watched Ilya Rozanov lift the cup over his head and roar.

And he hated himself for wanting any of this. But not enough to stop. Never enough to stop.

Shane kind of couldn’t believe that Rozanov had made them both dinner. He found it, he realized with some horror, adorable.

“Why do I need this so much?” Shane muttered the words against Rozanov’s lips, and hoped the other man hadn’t heard them. “Need what?” Rozanov asked, as if he didn’t know.

Was it just that Ilya liked his sex with a generous helping of danger, and Shane provided both? Or was he just being childish about having to share his favorite toy with a gorgeous movie star? Somewhere, buried deep in his brain, there was a third reason that was screaming for attention. Ilya ignored it.

The truth—the truth that he tried so very hard to ignore—was that no one set him on fire like Shane Hollander. All of these women...they were gorgeous. Fun. Very sexy. But he didn’t think about them after they were gone. He didn’t long for them. With them, he could be sated.

Ilya shrugged and looked away. He knew it was the wrong reaction, but he felt a horrifying swell of emotion that he couldn’t let Shane see.

“I don’t give a shit about that, Ilya. You know that’s not why I’m calling.” Another sigh. “Should you really be alone right now?” Shane asked. “I am not alone,” Ilya said. “You are here now, yes?” Shane’s hand flew to his chest to make sure his heart was still beating; he could have sworn it had just melted into a gooey puddle.

“I forgot about the glasses,” Ilya said. “Already.”

Shane laughed, and his nose crinkled. The freckles got all bunched up under his glasses, and Ilya nearly died.

“Was he? What you needed?” “No. I mean, sort of. But...” “Did he hurt you?” “No. He just wasn’t...” Ilya needed to hear it. “Wasn’t what?” Shane clenched his eyes shut and said, “You. He wasn’t you.” Ilya damn near lost it. Shane was going to ruin him, saying things like that.

Two weeks. For two weeks they could pretend that their situation wasn’t impossible.

Shane looked so happy. Somehow, Ilya made him happy. Ilya wanted to always make him happy.

“Mine.” Ilya’s breath tickled Shane’s skin when he spoke the single word. “Yours,” Shane said dreamily. “All of this. For two weeks. Is mine.” Forever, Shane wanted to say. Forever if you ask.

“You can tell your parents that you are gay, I think, without telling them the names of men you are fucking. I am pretty sure about this.”

The morning light was making everything beautiful, and Shane was in love, so he had leaned in and lightly kissed Ilya’s wrist.

But mostly he just wanted to hold Shane close to him in this place where no one would ever find them.

“Does it...does it feel like agony for you too?” Ilya started to nod, then stopped. He shook his head slowly instead. “Not anymore.”

After a minute, Ilya pulled himself up into a push-up position over Shane, then quickly kissed him before sliding back into the water. Shane followed him, figuring it would at least clean his shorts a little bit.

“If you mix that with cranberry juice I will drown you in the lake.”

He’d left Russia, he was uneasy in America, and he’d spent his entire adult life drifting between continents and between lovers. But now he had been reeled in by this annoying Canadian, and all that he knew was that he wanted to stay. He wanted to anchor himself to Shane and just...stay.

Now that they were both honest about what they were to each other, Ilya feared it might be impossible to hide their relationship from the world. Especially when Shane looked at him like he was looking at him right now—like Ilya was worth all this trouble. Like he was worth loving.

“I do have some other hot Russians coming to stay with me in a couple of weeks...” Ilya gasped. “Shane Hollander! You have not ever told me that I am hot before.” Shane frowned. “I haven’t?” “No. I would remember.”