Heated Rivalry (Game Changers, #2)

by Rachel Reid

This fucking guy.

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

And he hadn’t thought about Ilya Rozanov’s dark, wet lips or his crooked smile at all.

That look, and that squeeze, had said so many things to Ilya. I know. We were supposed to stand alone at the top, but we will always be there together. We will keep climbing until no one else can reach us, but it will always be together.

Fuck. This was really gay.

Ilya couldn’t even say a basic English sentence without sounding like a cartoon villain.

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.

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.

Shane wanted to tell him to fuck off, but Rozanov was kissing his throat, scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin, so instead he threw his head back against the wall like the eager slut he apparently was.

“This is soft,” Rozanov murmured. “It’s cashmere,” Shane said stupidly. “Yes. Take it off.”

“Ass fucking?” Shane rolled his eyes. “You sweet talk all your sex partners like this?” “I’m very charming.”

Shane wanted to crosscheck him in the mouth, and then kiss it better. He wanted to forget about him, and he wanted to play every game against him. He wanted...

Ilya: Your mom.

Ilya smiled against Hollander’s skin. He was such a little brat.

Scott was a super nice guy. Carter was nice too, but Scott was, like, an angel who was really good at playing hockey. He looked like an angel: blond hair and blue eyes and built like a Navy SEAL who was also a model and maybe also a firefighter.

Fuck him. Not even a text for five months and now he’s going to be all sexy and annoying like nothing’s changed?

And Shane left. He realized, when he was back in his room, that they hadn’t even kissed. He also realized, with horror, that he regretted that.

“Suck my dick, Rozanov.” Be the best blow job of your life, sweetheart. Ilya winked at him.

“and on top of everything, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“You. He wasn’t you.”

Ilya couldn’t believe what he had been reduced to. He was...infatuated. It was disgusting.

“You wanna kiss me on television?” “Yes. After I win the Stanley Cup.” Shane spread his arms out. “Oh, so in this romantic scenario, you’ve just defeated me?” “Yes. Sorry.”

The kiss felt weird, and Shane realized it was because neither of them could stop smiling.

“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.

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

“How could we let this happen?” Ilya asked, and his voice was shakier than he would have liked. “I don’t know. We are very stupid and irresponsible.” “Very dumb, yes. Oh god, Hollander.” And then he did kiss him. How could he not?

“And he’s been...visiting. He’s...we’re, um...” What were they, exactly? It occurred to Shane that he and Ilya hadn’t even figured out what label they were comfortable with. “Lovers,” Ilya offered. Fuck, way to choose the grossest possible word, Ilya. Well, there was no going back from that word.

“This has been the weirdest day of my life.” Ilya wanted to tell Shane that it had been one of the best days of his life. It had been awkward, sure, but Ilya felt that, if he hadn’t quite been already, he would be welcomed into Shane’s family, and that was no small thing. In fact, to Ilya, who had barely been welcome in his own family, it was huge.

He wanted to tell Shane that the closest he felt to home was when he was with him.