Heated Rivalry (Game Changers, #2)

by Rachel Reid

He went to the stainless-steel fridge and took out one of the five bottles of beer—the only things in the pristine refrigerator.

He didn’t like that Hollander—if that was Hollander—was here watching them. Or maybe he did.

Ilya struggled a bit to translate so many words, then said, “Is fine.”

In the car, Shane told his parents that he had been talking to Ilya Rozanov. “What’s he like?” his mother asked. “Kind of a dick,” Shane said.

Shane knew his career was now going to be inescapably linked to Rozanov’s.

He was one of the taller men there, and cleaned up—with his dark navy suit hugging his body—he looked like a GQ model.

Shane felt short. He had turned eighteen last month, but he felt like a kid. Rozanov had turned eighteen too. Just last week. Which Shane knew because he was obsessed with him.

A girlfriend you are hoping will break up with you. She didn’t even come on this trip to see you get drafted.

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.

Ilya had more important things to think about than freckles and polite Canadian boys.

But it’s not like he wasn’t into girls. Girls were very into him, and they were throwing themselves at him now that he was about to become a millionaire superstar. So, yeah, he’d been hooking up with girls. Plenty of girls.

For all his cockiness and teasing, Ilya took hockey very seriously. And he hated to lose.

He wanted to be rich and famous and loved and have a huge garage full of sports cars. He wanted expensive clothes and gorgeous women and hot nightclubs. He wanted the weight of his family, and his country, lifted. He wanted to be himself.

He turned and saw him standing there, huge and handsome, and also wearing makeup.

“Very pretty,” Rozanov teased him. “Like a doll.” “You’re painted up too.” Rozanov leaned on the top of the boards and grinned. “Yes, but I’m not pretty.”

He had been called “pretty boy” a few times before, usually during games, and he hated it. He w...

Rozanov did not look pretty. He looked stunning. Once again, Shane was astounded and irritated by how manly Rozanov was. The sharp edge of his jaw framed cheeks that didn’t have any of the baby fat that lingered on Shane’s own. And his eyes were like sparkling...somethings.

Shane blinked and tried his best to stare Rozanov down, like it was a real game. But a real game would only require him to hold this position for a few seconds. This was awkward.

He saw Rozanov’s lip twitch, and then the big Russian snorted and started laughing. Shane cracked too, and started giggling.

If he hurried, maybe he could be out of the shower before Rozanov came in.

Shane quickly turned his eyes to the floor. He had showered with hundreds of guys in his life, in rooms just like this one. It was just part of the game. He had never looked at any of his fellow players before. It was just...unthinkable.

“What were you thinking about?” Rozanov asked, his voice low. Shane swallowed. His throat was bone dry. “You,” he said quietly.

Shane actually just wanted to watch Rozanov jerk himself off. But...

“What is your room number?” Rozanov asked. “Fourteen ten,” Shane said, far too quickly.

Aaahhhh

“If I knock on door of room 1410 tonight...maybe around nine?” Shane fought to keep his voice even. “I might open the door.” Rozanov smiled. “I might knock.”

Fuck. This was really gay.

🩷

He liked to be excellent at everything. His only experience with this sort of thing had been at the receiving end, so he tried to mimic what some of those girls had done.

He knew he must look ridiculous. Rozanov’s expression didn’t suggest that he was watching something ridiculous.

He held Shane’s face with one big hand and gazed down at him with hooded eyes. He murmured something in Russian and then said, “Look at you.”

“Yes. Curious. And you make me curious.”

“Do I make you curious?” Rozanov made Shane a lot of things: confused, infuriated, terrified, aroused, and, yes, curious.

“Did you like sucking my dick?” “Oh, those English words you know?”

“Would you like me to lie on the bed and let you do it some more?” “Let me?” Rozanov chuckled against Shane’s neck. “I’m a nice guy.”

Being naked in the presence of other guys was not foreign to him, but there was nothing familiar about this scenario.

“So smooth.” “Look...” “Like a swimmer.” “I don’t...it’s natural, all right?”

“You think I’m an asshole,” Rozanov said. “You are an asshole.” “I would not leave you like that.” “No?” He kissed him again. “No.”

Shane had enjoyed watching some truly hot girls sucking him off in the past, but this was beyond anything he had ever experienced before. Watching this big, beautiful man, who knew exactly what to do with his tongue and lips and—god, his teeth—work him like there would be a medal awarded for performance...

Well…

He expected Rozanov to get the hell out of the way, but instead he sucked him harder and Shane emptied himself into his mouth. A stream of nonsense fell out of Shane’s mouth. “Holy shit. I’m sorry. Oh my god. I’m so sorry. Fuck. Wow. God.”

HA

Shane had the stupid urge to ask him to stay. He imagined falling asleep in his arms and what the fuck?

As far as hookups went, Shane really could not have chosen a less appropriate person.

Shane wanted to kiss him one more time, because he was sure he would never get the chance again.

He’d never really felt that need to distance himself from them. Maybe it was because he was an only child, or maybe it was because he knew how much his parents had given of their time and money and energy to get him to where he was now. Plus, he liked them.

He’s better at blow jobs than me.

😮

“You will. Screw Ilya Rozanov, right? That can be your mantra tonight.” Or not.

Why was Shane Hollander so fucking hard to shake? They’d hooked up once. Months ago. It had been a mistake, obviously. A giant, ridiculous mistake. Or, at the very least, something that should be forgotten about. Not a big deal.

Ilya actually loved playing against Hollander. He would never actually tell him, but Hollander was really fucking good. He challenged Ilya in ways that Ilya wasn’t used to. 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. Okay. It wasn’t entirely easy to focus on the game.

He didn’t even have Hollander’s phone number. He’d see him tomorrow night.

Rozanov was wearing a ball cap and had his head down so the reporters couldn’t see his reaction, but Shane could feel him rolling his eyes beside him.

His left elbow was almost brushing Shane’s right. Shane could swear there was an electric current in the narrow space between them. He felt like the hair on his arm was standing up.

Shane looked at him, and Rozanov caught his eye and winked. Shane pursed his lips to stifle a grin.