Heated Rivalry (Game Changers, #2)

by Rachel Reid

Rozanov stopped talking, but he managed to find an even more effective way of getting under Hollander’s skin: he winked. And then he won the face-off.

“I have ruined you,” Rozanov said when they broke apart. “No one else will do.”

He knew making plans to end this was pointless. As long as this was being offered, Shane would never be able to say no.

Every face-off he had taken against Rozanov, the Russian had looked him dead in the eye and smirked. Shane was not easily shaken by anyone, but that goddamn smirk threw him off balance every time.

Shane had spent the past six months since the World Juniors being a little bit...obsessed...with Ilya Rozanov.

Rozanov was so...masculine. Shane was baby-faced and short, and couldn’t grow proper facial hair, and barely had any chest hair. Rozanov was almost exactly the same age as him, but he looked like he had crossed over a magical line to adulthood.

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.

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.

Shane was astounded and irritated by how manly Rozanov was.

He saw Rozanov’s lip twitch, and then the big Russian snorted and started laughing. Shane cracked too, and started giggling.

Rozanov shook his head. “Your face’s fault. Made me laugh.” Shane bumped him with his shoulder.

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 been facing during their photo shoot.

Or...he could open the door and he could spend the evening exploring Rozanov’s body with his mouth.

Ilya told himself the twisted feeling in his stomach was just jealousy, but he was terrified that it was something much, much worse.

But that’s the way it had been for over six seasons: Shane Hollander was the wholesome, heroic sweetheart, and Ilya Rozanov was the obnoxious rock star. They were polar opposites, according to any NHL analyst, and therefore destined to clash forever—neatly dividing hockey fans in the process. It’s the way it should have been. Shane and Ilya were opposites in almost every way imaginable, but it was getting harder for Ilya to deny that there was something in his core that was drawn to Hollander. Instead of getting him out of his system with their hookups, each one just made him want more. It was dangerous fucking stuff.

This thing between them needed to stop. It was bad for both of them, and Ilya knew they should end it. What scared Ilya was how desperately he wanted it to continue.

He wanted to see Rozanov this weekend. He wanted to be with him, alone, behind closed doors; he was tired of lying to himself about it.

Ilya put his hand over his mouth to hide his ridiculous smile.

Hollander could actually keep up with Ilya, and it was like they were reading each other’s minds when they passed the puck.

The heaviness of the aftermath of their encounters. The impossibility of everything. Shane felt it every time. The whole point of their hookups was to provide release, but Shane only felt more tangled up each time.

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.”

“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.

What if he had Ilya all to himself at Shane’s favorite place in the world? If there was no one to interrupt them, no one to hide from, no one to remind them of all the reasons they shouldn’t want each other...

It would be too much. Shane would never be able to hold back everything he had been trying to pretend he didn’t feel. He would blurt something out that he would never, ever be able to take back.

“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.

he was looking at him right now—like Ilya was worth all this trouble. Like he was worth loving.

“When have I ever loved something I thought I’d hate?” Shane said dryly.

“I love you,” Ilya said. “I love you too.” Ilya nodded. “Remember that when I am being a dick to you out there.”

Ilya chuckled, set an alarm on his phone, and went to meet his boyfriend.