Heated Rivalry (Game Changers, #2)

by Rachel Reid

“I told you...” Ilya grinned. “You love praise.” When Shane didn’t reply, Ilya said, “And you like to hog it all for yourself. You asshole.”

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

“You’re very attractive, Ilya,” Shane said, in an exaggerated, placating tone. “Not good enough. I want details.” Shane opened his eyes, and rolled them. But he said, “That crooked fucking smile of...

And your eyes. I love your eyes.”

“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.” “You have not been with another man?” Ilya may have held his breath as he waited for the answer.

“You don’t let yourself have release enough, Hollander. I don’t know how you do it.” Shane laughed, a little darkly. “I haven’t come since I saw you last, you know that?” Ilya inhaled sharply and sped up his hand.

“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.” Ilya damn near lost it. Shane was going to ruin him, saying things like that.

“You know the night of the draft, in that hotel gym?” Ilya groaned. Fuck. “I wanted to pin you to the floor,” he confessed. “I could not stop staring at your mouth. I thought you would notice.” “I didn’t. I was too busy trying to stop myself from straddling you. Kissing you.”

But you...god, Ilya. I went right back to my room and jerked off thinking about you.” Now Ilya squeezed his eyes shut. He stroked himself harder, faster. He suddenly couldn’t care less about winning this dumb contest. He gasped out, “Me too.”

Ilya couldn’t even respond. He forced his eyes open so he could lock his gaze with Shane’s.

And normally Ilya would want to see it, but in that moment he couldn’t imagine anything sexier than Shane Hollander’s face as he came. Ilya felt pleasure flood every part of him as he climaxed hard, covering his fist and his stomach with his release.

“I’m fucked,” he murmured in Russian. “I am so fucking in love and it’s horrible.” When he looked back at the screen, he could see Shane’s sex-drunk eyes gazing longingly at him from behind his glasses. “It’s sexy when you speak Russian. You know that?”

Your accent doesn’t sound ridiculous. At all.” “No? You like it?” “I do. And I want to learn Russian. I wasn’t kidding about that.” “I’ll teach you.” Shane smiled so wide and bright, Ilya almost had to look away.

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.”

He was never supposed to have fallen in love with Shane Hollander. He should have ended it long before because now it was going to hurt so fucking much.

“Good night, Shane,” he said, keeping his voice as steady as possible. As soon as he closed the window, he covered his face in his hands and released all of his anguish and frustration and fear into the lonely apartment.

Ilya turned and met Shane’s eyes, and Shane felt a stab of longing in his heart. They were so close, but they couldn’t be more under the microscope than they were right now.

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

Then he took off again, with a challenging (and somewhat flirty) glance back at Ilya. Ilya grinned and launched himself after him, but this time Shane was flying and Ilya was struggling to close the gap and then...

“Hollander?” A different voice. “Ilya?” Did I say that? Shane heard his own voice, but had he moved his lips?

“Is he all right?” That was Ilya’s voice for sure. It sounded different, though. It was...unsteady. Panicked. “Mmokay,” Shane murmured. He had no idea if it was true, but he didn’t want to hear the worry in Ilya’s voice anymore.

“We’re not alone,” Shane slurred. “Ilya. They can see us.”

His eyes were stinging. He was scared

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

The door was open a crack, so Ilya gently pushed it open. Hollander was elevated a bit by the hospital bed into an almost-sitting position. The room was, to Ilya’s relief, otherwise empty. “Ilya!” Shane exclaimed.

“Hi,” Ilya said awkwardly. “I just needed—are you—?” “I’m okay,” Shane said. He smiled shyly, and Ilya knew he was happy to see him.

Ilya wanted to touch him and know that he was really, really okay. He had barely slept last night. He’d spent the whole night sick with worry and refreshing sports sites looking for news of Shane’s injuries. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing Shane’s unmoving body on the ice.

It must have shown in Ilya’s eyes, because Shane extended his good hand and said, in a soft voice, “Hey.” Ilya nudged the door closed and crossed the room until he was right next to Shane’s bed. He gently brushed his fingers over Shane’s face as Shane gazed up at him and smiled. “You scared me,” Ilya admitted. “Scared myself.”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. I wanted to tell you last night. I wish I could have texted you. I was—” “Shhh.” Shane’s eyes fluttered closed as Ilya’s fingers trailed into his hair. “I had been looking forward to last night,” Shane murmured. “Yes...

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.

Ilya’s heart had entered into it, and that changed everything. It wasn’t thrilling or fun anymore—it was torture. He was going to tell Shane as much last night, but now... “Shane,” he sighed. Shane reached his hand up and took Ilya’s, tangling their fingers together and holding tight. “Will you come to the cottage?” “I—I don’t know.” No. No, there was no way Ilya could do that. He couldn’t possibly spend that much time alone with Shane. Not if he ever wanted to be free of this.

“We can have a week or two, Ilya,” Shane said. “Haven’t you ever wanted more time?” Ilya’s stomach clenched. He should just say no. Let Shane believe that he didn’t want any more from him than the hour or two they stole a few times each season.

But instead he brushed his thumb over the back of Shane’s hand and said, “Of course.” “Then come to the cottage. Please. It will just be the two of us, completely alone for as long as you want to stay.” And, god, that sounded so perfect. And Shane was looking at him like his heart...

“Thank you for coming,” Shane said, all business. “I appreciate it.” Ilya nodded. “Get well soon, Hollander.” He quickly left the hospital room of the man he loved,

He could remember Ilya’s gentle fingers on his face and in his hair. He remembered being so happy to see him. Even now, just knowing that Ilya had made the trip to the hospital filled Shane with a tingly warmth. Shane was so completely in love with him.

He was in love with him and he could never, ever tell him that. But maybe...maybe he could at least tell his parents...part of the truth?

He had the most ridiculous urge to send Ilya a text that just said I love you. He had those words trapped inside of him, filling every part of him, and, the strain of keeping them from slipping out was getting harder to endure.

Although, there was one person he wouldn’t mind having around. But that person was looking frustrated as hell on his television. Sexy too, though. Ilya had a thick playoff beard—the

The other path led to nothing but heartache and scandal and misery and...soft Russian words being breathed against Shane’s skin. It led to falling asleep with strong arms wrapped around him, and waking up to a lazy, crooked smile and playful kisses. It led to homemade tuna melts and the precious times when Ilya would offer Shane the tiny pieces of himself that he usually kept so carefully guarded.

He wasn’t inviting Svetlana over anymore because...just because. So he was watching hockey, alone, and texting the man he desperately wished he could be sharing his summer with.

He’d had every intention of ending things with Shane. He hadn’t been able to do that. Not yet.

If it weren’t the worst idea in the world, Ilya would be on his way to Wherever-the-Fuck, Ontario, already.

Ilya reached for the remote, and was about to turn off the television when... Holy shit. Holy. Shit. Scott fucking Hunter was kissing a man

Scott Hunter was kissing a man wearing street clothes full on the fucking mouth. It looked like tongues were involved. Ilya’s phone buzzed. Jane: Holy shit. Jane: Are you seeing this? Jane: What the fuck?!!!? Is that his boyfriend???!!!!!

But there Hunter was, smiling at this mystery man like he was the only thing that mattered in the world. And holding his face as he leaned in to kiss him again. Ilya felt like he was watching all the worst things about his life getting sucked up by a tornado.

Then the cameras cut away, and Ilya looked at his phone. Jane: What is happening??!!! Did he really just do that???!!! Ilya stabbed the call button. There was only one ring before, “Holy shit, Ilya! Can you belie—” “I’m coming to the cottage.”

He wanted to be the best hockey player in the world, and he wanted to be in a relationship with the man he could finally admit he was in love with, without shame or fear.

“Is that what we are going to do?” Ilya asked. “Relax?” Shane swallowed. He turned onto the on-ramp for the highway. “I hope so,” he said finally. “I would like to relax with you. For once.”

Two weeks. Alone together. Possibly constantly alone together. What the hell had he been thinking when he’d suggested this? “Thank you,” Ilya said suddenly. “For inviting me.” Shane felt his panic subside. “I’m glad you’re here.”