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“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 the door.” Rozanov smiled. “I might knock.”
Hollander sat up. “I’ve played with it, all right? I’ve—I’ve got a...thing.” “A thing?” “A dildo! Okay?” Ilya grinned so hard it hurt. “What color?”
Ilya grinned. “You were hard, weren’t you? For how long? The whole game?”
“Holy shit, Hollander,” Ilya gasped when he was able to speak again. “I’m dead. You killed me.”
“Fuck you and your loon!” Ilya said. “Stupid Canadian wolf bird.”

