Heated Rivalry (Game Changers, #2)

by Rachel Reid

Part of him wanted to lie back and close his eyes and let himself believe that it was anyone other than Ilya Rozanov making him feel so good. But most of him wanted to see exactly who it was.

Rozanov rested a hand on Shane’s face and tipped his head up. He looked at him fondly, with a little smile on his lips, and then he kissed him. “I have ruined you,” Rozanov said when they broke apart. “No one else will do.”

He knew making plans to end this was pointless. As long as this was being offered, Shane would never be able to say no.

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.

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.

“You don’t play with your ass? It makes you gay?” “Oh my fucking god...” “You know what makes you gayer?” “Rozanov...shut the fuck—” “Sucking my dick. You were doing that a minute ago.”

“I hate you.” “Yes. I know. Show me.”

He traced a finger over Shane’s clenched jaw—so gently it made Shane close his eyes and part his lips involuntarily. “Maybe ask nice.” Shane wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. But instead, to his mortification, he heard himself say, “Please.”

“Is my special night, Hollander. I want to watch you.”

“The Cup. Do you want to know what it feels like to hold the Stanley Cup?” “Oh fuck you.” Rozanov laughed. “I cannot describe it anyway. Impossible.”

Ilya smiled to himself. He actually loved this. He loved being on the road, and disappointing home crowds across North America. He loved the insults, the booing, and, most of all, the sound of a crowd so gutted by his team’s performance that they couldn’t even bother to boo. A winded, humiliated crowd. That was Ilya’s favorite sound.

“I like girls.” “Yeah, no shit.” “But I also like you.” “Well, lucky me,” Shane grumbled. “Not as a person, of course,” Rozanov teased. “But you have a good mouth.”

Shane. He called me Shane.

The truth—the truth that he tried so very hard to ignore—was that no one set him on fire like Shane Hollander.

“I think I’m gay,” Shane blurted out. Ilya looked at him, startled, for a moment. Then he laughed. “Oh yeah? What gives you that idea?” Shane glared at him, which made Ilya laugh more. “The last time my dick was in your mouth, I thought you might be a little gay,” Ilya teased.

“We can’t be more, Hollander.” Shane turned his head sharply to look at Ilya. “Would you want to be? If we could?” “We can’t.” “That’s not what I asked.”

“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.”

He had convinced himself that the only sensible thing to do was to end this thing between them entirely. No good could possibly come of it. Ilya’s heart had entered into it, and that changed everything. It wasn’t thrilling or fun anymore—it was torture.

Shane chickened out. Because he couldn’t tell them that the right one had come along, and it was the pissed-off Russian man who was currently heading to the penalty box on their television.

“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.”

“I want to sleep in your bed, Shane Hollander,” Ilya murmured.

“Years,” Ilya sighed. “Years I have wanted to have you in your real bed.” Shane froze. “Years?” Ilya wrapped long fingers around Shane’s jaw, and tilted his head up to meet his gaze. “Yes.”

“All of this. For two weeks. Is mine.” Forever, Shane wanted to say. Forever if you ask.

His father stood up. “Would anyone like a beer? I could use a beer.” “Yes,” said Ilya. “Definitely,” said Shane. “Is that the strongest thing we have?” asked his mom.

“I have been with lots of women. That was not...fake. But...” He looked at Shane, and Shane held his breath. “I have only been in love with one person.”

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.

“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.”

“He tripped me! Hey, what the fuck, ref! That was tripping!” Shane glared up at the ref, and then at Ilya, who was looming over him in his Ottawa jersey. “You fell,” Ilya said. “I didn’t fall. It was tripping.” “Yes. Was you tripping over your own skates.” “Get fucked, Rozanov.” Ilya’s lips quirked up. “Was planning on it.”