Heated Rivalry (Game Changers, #2)

by Rachel Reid

Shane pretended he was only looking longingly at the way his throat worked because he had forgotten to bring a bottle for himself. It wasn’t until Rozanov’s Adam’s apple stopped bobbing and his lips were dark and glistening that Shane realized he was staring. The lips quirked up a bit,

Rozanov watched him. It was the first time that Shane felt it. It was like the air in the room had thickened. Everything inside him was buzzing and on edge, like he was about to jump out of a plane.

He didn’t know if Rozanov felt anything. But in that moment, Shane wanted...something. He couldn’t even name it.

He passed the water bottle back, and this time he could swear Rozanov let his fingers brush Shane’s wrist on purpose. It was a moment that seemed to last fo...

Shane wanted Rozanov to touch him again. Shane wanted to touch him back. Maybe Shane wanted to kiss him...

Rozanov looked up at him from the floor. “You will be seeing plenty of me.”

He waited until he was back in his room before he let himself freak out. What the fuck was that?

He had never... Jesus Christ, he had a girlfriend. He wasn’t... A girlfriend you are hopi...

You’re half hard right now. From sitting on the gym floor with another man. Okay, that one he couldn’t explain. But he could get in the shower and jerk off and try like hell to think about his girlfriend, or any girl.

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.

He would be his own man, away from his family.

He wanted a real cigarette. He wanted to fuck someone. He wanted to go down to the hotel gym and find Shane Hollander on a treadmill. But Shane Hollander wasn’t staying at this hotel.

That night in the hotel gym in Los Angeles, six months ago now, Ilya had very nearly embarrassed himself. He probably could have covered it up with his usual cocky charm, but he had been damn close to flirting with Hollander. Or possibly just pressing him against a wall and taking his mouth.

The thing was, he wasn’t so sure that Hollander would have hated it. 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.

He certainly had no reason to obsess over his fucking archrival. Or his archrival’s freckles. Or his dark eyes. Or the way his cheeks glowed red when he exerted himself. Fuck.

Ilya had more important things to think about than freckles and polite Canadian boys.

He had mostly forgotten the way it had felt when Rozanov had brushed his fingers against his hand when he’d handed him the water bottle in that hotel gym six months ago.

Keyword being mostly

He had been tired and confused and his brain had just turned all of that into something ridiculous.

You keep telling yourself that

There was one other thing that had changed: Shane had found himself noticing men. Not his teammates or his friends or anyone like that. Just...like a guy at the airport Starbucks. Or the guy who’d been in the cereal aisle of the grocery store in Kingston a few weeks ago.

He had definitely been blown by two different girls since July. And he had enjoyed it. With his head tilted back. And his eyes closed.

thinking about Ilya, obviously

And he hadn’t thought about Ilya Rozanov’s dark, wet lips or his crooked smile at all.

lol right

“I’m winning this game,” Shane growled. “There is not an ‘I’ in team, right?” “There’s an ‘I’ in ‘suck my dick.’” Rozanov raised an eyebrow as they bent for the face-off. “There is also an ‘I’ in ‘silver,’” he said.

He wanted the weight of his family, and his country, lifted. He wanted to be himself.

On the ice, in the lineup to shake hands at the end of the game, Hollander had looked into Ilya’s eyes. It had only been for a second, but it had felt like everything around them had frozen and fallen silent.

Hollander’s damp, sweaty hand had wrapped itself around Ilya’s damp, sweaty hand and, when their eyes had locked, he’d sque...

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...

“Very pretty,” Rozanov teased him. “Like a doll.” “You’re painted up too.” Rozanov leaned on the top of the boards and grinned. “Yes, but I’m not pretty.”

Shane rolled his eyes. He had been called “pretty boy” a few times before, usually during games, and he hated it. He wished he hated it this time.

Once again, Shane was astounded and irritated by how manly Rozanov was. The sharp edge of his jaw framed cheeks that didn’t have any of the baby fat that lingered on Shane’s own. And his eyes were like sparkling...somethings.

Laughing was not what Shane was worried about. He needed to relax his eyes so Rozanov’s features blurred, just to keep himself from staring at the man’s lips.

He glanced up again, and saw that Rozanov had turned his back to him. Shane was left to stare helplessly at the display of naked, rippling muscle. His eyes trailed over Rozanov’s broad shoulders and down the muscles of his back down to his tapered waist and his...

Shane blushed hard. He couldn’t...why would he want to check out another guy’s ass? That was just weird. But it was a really impressive ass. Not that he was comparing it to others. It was just...perfect.

And as Rozanov scrubbed water over his face, the muscles in his ass flexed and Shane was transfixed. And aroused. Visibly ...

He only had time to look down at his thickening cock with horror before he noticed that Rozanov had turned back around. Rozanov glanced down ...

“Fuck off,” Shane grumbled. “It’s nothing.” “Like what you see, Hollander?” “No. It’s not... I was thinking about something else.” Shane wanted to die. ...

Shane should have just left the showers then. He was clean enough. This was torture. But Rozanov was grinning at him in a way that...

Shane wished he could at least make himself look away from Rozanov, but he was spellbound. Rozanov just seemed to be considering him curiously, and maybe enjoying the effect he knew he was having on him.

Just another goddamn thing for you to hold over me, Shane thought. He was so busy being mortified that he didn’t immediately notice that Rozanov’s own dick was starting to swell.

The grin had faded from Rozanov’s face. His eyes were full of an intensity that was much more heated than what Shane had be...

Shane needed to get out of here. This was too bizarre. He absolutely could not do...whatever this was. But Rozanov let a hand trail down his stomach and wrapped it aroun...

Shane gasped. Loud enough that the running water couldn’t mask it. “What were you thinking about?” Rozanov asked, his voice low. Shane swallowed. His th...

Rozanov heard him, and smirked. He gave himself another stroke. “You want to touch me, Hollander?” Shane actually just wanted to w...

“Not here,” Shane stammered. “Someone could come in.” Rozanov nodded ...

What the hell was happening? Rozanov couldn’t possibly be suggesting that he and Shane...that they... Holy shit. Shane had to get out of here.

Rozanov stood and crossed the floor until he stood right in front of Shane. “You are a bad liar.” Shane scowled at him.

“What is your room number?” Rozanov asked. “Fourteen ten,” Shane said, far too quickly.

Rozanov’s mouth twitched up. “If I knock on door of room 1410 tonight...maybe around nine?” Shane fought to keep his voice even. “I might open th...

Shane spent the evening freaking the fuck out in...

Or...he could open the door and he could spend the evening exploring Rozanov’s body with his mouth. Shane blushed just thinking about it. He couldn’t really want that, could he?

“Thought you might have chickened out,” Rozanov said in his infuriatingly blunt manner. “No,” Shane said. “I mean, I just want to talk. About...you know.” “I do know. Yes.”