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“We should go home.” Shane nodded against the steering wheel before sitting up and pressing the ignition button. Ilya spent the entirety of the short drive back to Shane’s cottage wondering if it was weird that he’d just called Shane’s cottage home.
Ilya wanted to tell Shane that it had been one of the best days of his life.
He wanted to tell Shane that the closest he felt to home was when he was with him. It didn’t matter if it was in a hotel room, or Ilya’s apartment, or at that weird hideout building Shane bought in Montreal, or here at Shane’s cottage; he was himself when he was with Shane.
“Now? My head is racing! How can you even be thinking about sex right now?” “Because it is a beautiful day. And we are alone. And I met your parents. And I want you to calm the fuck down. And I love you.”
“Ilya—” “And I will say, ‘Shane Hollander, will you please marry me so I can become Canadian citizen faster?’” Shane burst out laughing, and shoved him. “You’re such an asshole.” “And you will say yes, because you are a nice, helpful guy.” “No,” Shane said, taking his hands. “I will say yes because I will still be madly in love with you. And I’ll want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“Does this mean I get to see your apartment in Montreal? Your real one?” “You can even keep a toothbrush there. I’m going to sell that other place. I was being paranoid when I bought it. I’m sorry.”
“Buying an entire building because you are nervous is very you.”
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 want to tell everyone,” Ilya said. “Right now.”
“You and your plans. What if I just kissed you on the mouth at the next All-Star Game?” “I’ll punch you. I swear to god.”
“Well, I mean...obviously you’re hot. Like, I-can’t-believe-I-get-to-kiss-you hot.” “Come upstairs. You can kiss me and tell me about Ottawa. And maybe get me off because I am fucking dying.”
Ilya smiled at him. “I need to kiss you here, or else I will do it out there.” “Okay.” He held Shane’s face in his hands and gazed at him for a few seconds before leaning in and kissing the hell out of him. “I love you,” Ilya said. “I love you too.”
Ilya hadn’t been kidding about wanting to marry him. And not for citizenship, of course. He wanted to be Shane’s husband, and to live together, and maybe even raise children together.
“Nineteen,” Ilya said at the same time Shane said, “Eighteen.” Ilya shot him a curious look. “We were nineteen the first time we—” “Oh,” Shane said. “I thought the question was the first time we felt, um, sparks.”
Ilya Rozanov and his boyfriend, Shane Hollander. Ilya liked the sound of it. The idea of hockey commentators saying those words. Ilya Rozanov and his husband, Shane Hollander. Oooh. Better. Hollander passes the puck to his sexy husband, Ilya Rozanov...
