Heated Rivalry (Game Changers, #2)

by Rachel Reid

In the car, Shane told his parents that he had been talking to Ilya Rozanov. “What’s he like?” his mother asked. “Kind of a dick,” Shane said.

Shane had spent the past six months since the World Juniors being a little bit...obsessed...with Ilya Rozanov. They had quite a bit in common, career-wise. They were both the captains of their respective teams, and had both led their teams to the championship this season. Both men had been named league and playoff MVPs, and both had been the scoring leaders of their respective leagues. The only difference between them was that Shane had a silver medal at home, and Rozanov had gold. And now Shane had come in second place again. After a life of always coming first in hockey. This fucking guy.

“Do you feel pressure to outperform Shane Hollander this first season?” the interviewer asked. “Who?” Fuck. You. Rozanov.

His crucifix chain dangled between them, scraping Shane’s chest.

Rent free

It was weird, this domestic scene. It wasn’t anything that they had done before. The melts went into the oven and Rozanov grabbed himself a bottle of Coke out of the fridge. Shane realized that he knew that Coke was Rozanov’s beverage of choice. So maybe they had picked up things about each other over the years, without really trying.

No one makes me feel like Ilya Rozanov does.

“You don’t believe in God, but you believe if you put right skate on before left you will play a terrible game.” Shane shook his head and smiled. “That’s different. That’s science.”

“You are very beautiful,” Ilya said. Shane smiled without opening his eyes. “Come on.” “Is the truth. Your freckles.” Ilya grazed a fingertip over his own cheek. “I am nuts about them.” “I have no idea why. I hate them.” “Noooo...” Ilya moaned. “Hollander. They are stunning.” “Stunning?” “Yes. Am I not using that word right? Very beautiful. Um...take my breath?” “Wow. All right.” The skin under Shane’s freckles turned very, very pink.

“I’m fucked,” he murmured in Russian. “I am so fucking in love and it’s horrible.”

Ilya shrugged, and he looked like he was possibly blushing. “I have this problem,” he mumbled. Shane waited. “I like women. I always was thinking that to get married would be nice. Kids. All of that. Someday. But...this problem will not go away.” Shane bit his lip. “Tell me about this problem.” “Is so annoying.” Ilya sighed, and Shane could see him fighting a grin. “Always I am with beautiful women. Wonderful women. Everywhere.” “Sounds rough.” “Yes. Listen. These women, they are so sexy and fun, but is no matter. I cannot stop thinking about this short fucking hockey player with these stupid freckles and a weak backhand.” “A weak backhand?” Shane couldn’t stop smiling. “Yes. And he is just so boring and he drives a terrible car and...that is my problem. All of these beautiful women and I am always wishing they were him.” Ilya bent to take his third shot. “Is terrible problem.”

“You didn’t ever...” His mom sounded suddenly horrified. “You didn’t ever let him win, did you, Shane?” “God, Mom! No!” Ilya laughed. “He does not need to let me win.”

“You would leave Boston?” Mom asked, stunned. “For Shane?” Ilya didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” She frowned, as if she couldn’t believe anything he was saying was real. “Oh my god!” Shane exclaimed. “You’re actually conflicted, aren’t you, Mom?” “What are you talking about?” “You’re bothered by his lack of loyalty to his team!” “Well!” Mom said, as if that was a perfectly reasonable way to react to the fact that Ilya was so madly in love with her son that he was willing to throw his whole life into upheaval.

“Oh, wow,” Shane said. “That is strong. I might need some cranberry juice or something.” “If you mix that with cranberry juice I will drown you in the lake.”

“Hi, Hayden,” Ilya said, grinning. “I still don’t like you, Rozanov,” Hayden said. “Oh no!” Ilya mocked him. “How can I impress Montreal’s fifteenth best player?”