Heated Rivalry (Game Changers, #2)

by Rachel Reid

“No,” was Ilya’s immediate reaction. He hoped it sounded more dismissive to his teammates than shocked.

It wasn’t nothing.

As Ilya was exiting the team gym, he stubbed his toe on one of the other bikes. He bellowed a string of Russian profanity and hurled his water bottle at the wall.

“Nothing,” Ilya growled. “Stubbed my toe.” He left the room in a hurry, not bothering to pick up the water bottle.

Hayley, he thought to himself.

He liked Hayley. She was fun, and she had dark ha...

“Yeah,” Shane said softly. “Yeah. It was better.” He cleared his throat. “The thing is... I kind of prefer to be the hole. Than the peg.”

She had vivid blue eyes, and long, straight hair that was so blonde it almost had no color at all. She couldn’t have looked less like...

Don’t you dare put your clothes on, Hollander. I’m not done with you yet.

“I, uh...” Ilya waited for the words. I’m seeing someone. I’m engaged. I don’t need you anymore. “I hired a personal stylist.”

Ilya put his hand over his mouth to hide his ridiculous smile.

Ilya kissed him, hard, on the cheek. He was sure, to the crowd, that it looked like Ilya’s usual obnoxious shenanigans, that the kiss was just another way of annoying Hollander. But the truth was he simply couldn’t help himself. He had seen an opportunity, and he had taken it.

“What the fuck?” Shane laughed. Ilya felt his own cheeks flush, which was a rare and uncomfortable feeling. “Nice goal,” he said. “Nice assist,” Shane said, shooting him a weird look.

Ilya pulled his thumb away. Shane wanted to grab it back.

He was tired of hotel rooms.

“It’s...” Shane grimaced. “It’s not just me, right?” “Not just you?” “I mean...you feel it too, don’t you?” “Feel what?” “God, fuck you. You know what I mean! The last time we were...together...it was...different.”

Ilya slid off the dresser and went to the mini fridge. He pulled out a can of Coke and a can of ginger ale. He handed the ginger ale to Shane as he sat beside him on the bed.

“Last time we were together it was...nice,” he said quietly. Ilya was silent a moment, then admitted, “It was.” “It felt like we were...more.” “We can’t be more, Hollander.”

can’t keep pretending I don’t like you,” he said finally. “You don’t like me,” Ilya argued. “I do. I... I maybe like you too much.” Ilya’s heart clenched. “Don’t,” he groaned. “Don’t fucking do this, Hollander. I’m not...”

Ilya gave in and reached for him. As soon as he had Shane in his arms, he was done for.

Shane’s hands cradled Ilya’s face as he kissed him with the force of everything they had almost said out loud.

“Stay,” Ilya said. “Can’t.” But he loved that Ilya was asking.

Ilya shook his head. “When will I have you for as long as I want?”

“We’ll climb a mountain. Find a cave.”

He wanted a whole day with Shane. A weekend. A week. He wanted to be somewhere that no one could possibly interrupt them. Maybe that would be all he would need. Just the opportunity to get Shane Hollander out of his system. He needed to drink his fill and walk away.

Except Ilya was breathing Shane’s name—his first name—like a prayer and gazing at him like he was just as close as Shane was to saying something truly embarrassing and stupid and definite.

“Just...call me, all right? If you need to talk. Or text me. Whatever. But... I’ll listen. I want to help, if I can.” Ilya was silent for a moment. “You did. Thank you.”

Shane lowered his voice and said, “Maybe you could teach me Russian someday.” “Only useful phrases,” Ilya said. Shane could practically hear his crooked smile. Then Ilya purred something in Russian. “What does that mean?” Shane asked. “Get on your knees.” “Oh.”

“You don’t love her, then?” “No,” Ilya said quietly. He sounded like he was falling asleep. “Not her. No.”

out, “You should come to the cottage this summer.” “Cottage? What are you talking about, Hollander?” “My cottage. In Ontario. You’re not going back to Russia, so...come to my cottage with me. It’s quiet, and beautiful and...private.”

“Oh, shit. Here.” And now a shirtless Shane Hollander’s face and shoulders (and glasses) filled the screen.

Ilya smirked. “Show me. Get on your knees. Face the camera. Show me.” Shane obeyed immediately, which Ilya found incredibly hot.

“I’d take you in my mouth. I’d suck you all the way down. Fuck, I... I wish I could. Right now.” “Mm. Me too. Love your mouth, Hollander.” He loved a lot of things about him.

“No. But... I think I’d rather see your face.” Ilya was grateful that Shane couldn’t see his face at that exact moment, because he was pretty sure it had the world’s sappiest expression.

“You are very beautiful,” Ilya said. Shane smiled without opening his eyes. “Come on.” “Is the truth. Your freckles.” Ilya grazed a fingertip over his own cheek. “I am nuts about them.”

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

Shane opened his eyes, and rolled them. But he said, “That crooked fucking smile of yours. I can’t even tell you...that smile haunts me.”

“Do you ever think of me?” Shane asked. “When you’re doing this? Alone?” He blushed furiously as soon as he said it. Cute as hell. “Yes.” “I do too. A lot. All the time. Maybe...every time, honestly.” Ilya raised an eyebrow. “Every time?” He saw Shane’s shoulder lift in a tiny shrug. “I’ve never...had anything. Like this. With anyone else.”

“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.”

God. “Mexico top. Hollywood blow job guy. And me.” Shane laughed. “Yeah. And a bunch of disappointed women.” “A bunch?” “A few. Anyway, I’m trying to jerk off here, so...” Ilya laughed. They both went back to the task at hand.

“I’m fucked,” he murmured in Russian. “I am so fucking in love and it’s horrible.”

And then... Shane kissed the tips of two fingers and reached out and touched them to the screen. And Ilya’s heart fucking stopped. “Good night, Ilya.”

Ilya loved playing against Hollander almost as much as he loved fucking him.

“Ilya?” Did I say that? Shane heard his own voice, but had he moved his lips? He blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus.

“Is he all right?” That was Ilya’s voice for sure. It sounded different, though. It was...unsteady. Panicked.

He thought of Ilya. He wished he could text him. He wished he could tell him he wiggled his toes.

That he would move into his apartment and help him with his recovery and make him sandwiches and watch the playoffs with him and read him his boring hockey book.

“We can have a week or two, Ilya,” Shane said. “Haven’t you ever wanted more time?”

Shane was so completely in love with him. He would hit his head all over again just to be alone in that quiet hospital room with those careful fingers and those concerned eyes.

So he was watching hockey, alone, and texting the man he desperately wished he could be sharing his summer with.