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“I have ruined you,” Rozanov said when they broke apart. “No one else will do.”
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.
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.
No one makes me feel like Ilya Rozanov does.
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.”
“Should you really be alone right now?” Shane asked. “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.
“I’m fucked,” he murmured in Russian. “I am so fucking in love and it’s horrible.”
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 couldn’t believe what he had been reduced to. He was...infatuated. It was disgusting.
Shane laughed. “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’m not going to be in the mood to kiss you if I’ve just lost the Stanley Cup, Rozanov.” “But you would be so proud of me!”
“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.
“No,” Ilya said. “I like you, Hollander.” It wasn’t an earth-shattering confession, but the words still moved Shane enormously. “I like you too, Rozanov.”
“You want that? To be together?” “I do. So much it terrifies me.”
“I love you.” Shane froze. And then Ilya froze. “Holy shit,” Shane whispered. It wasn’t how he had meant to respond. “I...” Ilya’s eyes were so wide and so scared. “I love you too,” Shane said.
“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.”
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.
The thought hit him that this was it. This was going to be his sex life now. No more meaningless—but undeniably hot—one-night stands. No more booty calls while he was on the road. He was going to give it all up for this chance at something lasting. For the chance to hold the heart of the beautiful man who was exhaling Ilya’s name like it was the most important word in the world.
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. Not as many children as Hayden had, but, like, a reasonable number.
