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Rozanov had turned eighteen too. Just last week. Which Shane knew because he was obsessed with him.
Rozanov increased the speed on his machine. He didn’t glance at Shane at all. Because Shane was petty and competitive, he increased the speed on his own machine...just a little faster than Rozanov’s.
😂
They were silent a moment, and then Rozanov tapped Shane’s ankle with the bottom of his sneaker. “Hey. We will see a lot of each other.”
😌
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.
Unless Ilya was very bad at reading people—and he definitely wasn’t—Hollander probably would have kissed him right back. And, Jesus, that thought had consumed Ilya since draft day.
Fuck. This was really gay.
💀😂
“Do you feel pressure to outperform Shane Hollander this first season?” the interviewer asked. “Who?”
💀
Under the table, he felt Rozanov’s foot tap against his own. It was the chastest contact in the world, but it still made Shane’s heart stop.
I’m giddy 😍
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.
“Just relax, Mr. Lots-of-Sex,” Rozanov said.
😂😂😂
Ilya: You are very bad at sexting. Jane: Who taught you that word? Ilya: Your mom.
He gripped Hollander’s arms and pushed him back against the closest wall and kissed him. Hollander had bought them a fucking building.
Asdfghjjkkhgfmk 😭😍🥹🥹🙈
Ilya was grinning like an idiot for the entire cab ride back to his hotel.
Same 😍
He spun around, and spotted two familiar faces approaching him: Carter Vaughan (yelling) and Scott Hunter (not yelling).
😍
Ilya wondered if Hollander had ever fucked anyone in that cottage. Probably. Probably some nice, wholesome girl that he had met while...canoeing. Or whatever.
💀😂
Shane and Ilya were opposites in almost every way imaginable, but it was getting harder for Ilya to deny that there was something in his core that was drawn to Hollander.
“I got, um, ginger ale. You like that shit, right?”
SIMP 🤭
He seemed to really want Shane to drink the ginger ale. As Shane took one from the fridge, he wondered if it might be poisoned.
😂
Rozanov nodded. “We are in town here for this week. Then out west for a while. Ginger ale good? Cold enough?” “Yeah, it’s great. Thanks.” He looked pleased.
I am FREAKING OUT, ok?!?!
Rozanov returned with two plates that he seemed to put some care into arranging tuna melts, potato chips, and dill pickles on.
I’m going to DIE.
No one makes me feel like Ilya Rozanov does.
Rozanov cleared their dishes away and, when he came back, wedged himself between Shane and the arm of the couch. He turned slightly and wrapped an arm around Shane, guiding him back to rest against his own chest. Shane was surprised, but he went willingly. Very willingly.
Plz.
“Oh god. Shane...”
SHANE???? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME????? 🤭
“Ilya,” he said, barely more than a whisper.
I am dead.
Shane went into the bathroom to take a shower and freak the hell out in private.
He would text Hayley and see if she was doing anything tonight. He liked Hayley. She was fun, and she had dark hair. And freckles.
😳
Ilya had been ready to let that weird girl with the kinky boyfriend do whatever she wanted to with him.
😂💀😂💀
And Shane had looked so fucking good. Not, like, clothes-wise; Shane’s wardrobe was as boring as he was.
💀
Ilya put his hand over his mouth to hide his ridiculous smile.
Me too 🤭
“Ah! Fu—” Shane stopped himself. “Knock it off!” Instead, Ilya swooped down and wrapped his arms around him. Shane’s eyes went wide. “Get off! What the—” He was shocked that Ilya would do something this...public. Shocked and a little thrilled.
🤭
Ilya embraced him, and Shane wrapped both of his arms tight around him. Ilya felt a puff of Shane’s hot breath on his neck, and he could see the glisten of sweat on his skin and Ilya kissed him, hard, on the cheek.
I mean...plz.I'm dying.
Because the hall was empty, no one saw the smile that nearly split Shane’s face in half.
Can you believe that shit with Zullo?
Oh shit!! Timeline overlap.
He had the embarrassing urge to write Wish you were here or something. He resisted. Instead he wrote, Later, and punctuated it with the emoji of a smiley face wearing sunglasses. Ilya signed off with the emoji of a kissy face.
😎😚
What was Shane’s room like? Boring, probably. White walls. Probably a framed photo of his parents on his nightstand. Ilya quickly changed it to a framed photo of himself. An autographed one.
💀
He probably wore, like, full pajamas to bed. The kind with buttons.
😂😂😂
He could list a million reasons why he couldn’t go over there, and he ran them through his head as he grabbed his jacket and left the hotel room.
That admission would have been embarrassing enough, but Ilya had also slipped in an “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.”
SCREAMING
“I am not alone,” Ilya said. “You are here now, yes?” Shane’s hand flew to his chest to make sure his heart was still beating; he could have sworn it had just melted into a gooey puddle.
Mine did...
“You don’t love her, then?” “No,” Ilya said quietly. He sounded like he was falling asleep. “Not her. No.”
Shane accepted, and then there he was, filling the screen of Ilya’s iPad. He was wearing a hoodie and...glasses?
SLUTTY LITTLE GLASSES??!?!?!? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?!?
Shane laughed, and his nose crinkled. The freckles got all bunched up under his glasses, and Ilya nearly died.
“I’m fucked,” he murmured in Russian. “I am so fucking in love and it’s horrible.”
🤭😍🥹
And, so help him, in that moment Ilya wanted to tell him he would stay with him. 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.
😍
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.
And 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.
Ilya couldn’t believe it either. Scott fucking Hunter was going to be a Stanley Cup champion in about forty seconds.
EEEEEEK😍
“I’m coming to the cottage.”
YAAASSSS
Ilya couldn’t believe what he had been reduced to. He was...infatuated. It was disgusting.
With a playful little grin, Ilya flipped the photo so it lay facedown. “Do not want to shock them,” he said. Shane laughed.
