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“You’re here,” he murmured. “Yes. Now take off your clothes.”
“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.
The truth was that Shane thought about Ilya meeting his parents a lot. He was kind of obsessed with the idea.
Except Ilya was not Shane’s boyfriend. And, even if he was, if Shane introduced Ilya as his boyfriend they would be beyond confused. For one thing, he supposedly hated Ilya Rozanov. And they hated Ilya Rozanov. And everyone in the whole goddamned world of hockey knew that Shane Hollander hated Ilya Rozanov.
If Shane removed all of the complications of their relationship—the rivalry, the expectations for both of them, the fact that Ilya was kind of a dick—he could just be proud of the fact that the man was really hot. Like, Shane had definitely snagged himself a ten.
“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 love you too.” “Mm. Can you say it in Russian again?” Ilya pulled Shane’s hand to his lips and kissed his fingers. “Ya lyublyu tebya.” “Ya-loo-blue-tee-baa,” Shane murmured back.
“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.”

