Heated Rivalry (Game Changers, #2)

by Rachel Reid

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. Maybe it was just that, after a life of playing at a level above everyone else, Shane had finally met his match. He was sure that was all it was.

Which Shane knew because he was obsessed with him.

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.

We were supposed to stand alone at the top, but we will always be there together. We will keep climbing until no one else can reach us, but it will always be together.

He changed his shirt to a nicer one for no reason at all. He brushed his teeth, flossed, and rinsed with mouthwash. Because if he was going to be talking to Rozanov, it would be rude to have bad breath.

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

“You will. Screw Ilya Rozanov, right? That can be your mantra tonight.” Or not.

He probably should have been focusing more on the puck and less on bothering Hollander, because he lost their first face-off. And that was something he’d never get back.

He loved slamming him into the boards. He loved skating around him. He loved shit-talking him because his eyes would get all squashed up in anger and his pink lips would curl into an adorable little attempt at a snarl. Like an angry kitten.

Plus, Ilya hated this guy. He hated his pretty boy face and his perfect goddamned English and his perfect goddamned French and his loving parents and his polite little manners and his million-dollar smile. He hated how serious he was. How earnest. He was everything the league wanted from their stars. Ilya kissed his dumb mouth and swallowed his stupid little sighs and felt his annoying fingers in his hair. He pulled back so he could look at his horrible face with its ridiculous freckles. Fuck.

“Who should I be?” he asked as he picked up Ilya’s phone from the dresser. “Shannon?” “Jane,” Ilya said. “Jesus Christ,” Hollander muttered as he typed. “No. Just Jane.”

He wrapped his foot around Rozanov’s ankle, and Rozanov growled and, without warning, grabbed Shane’s thighs and hoisted him up the wall so that Shane had no choice but to wrap his legs around the taller man’s waist. Which Shane should have been angry about, but instead he gasped and kissed Rozanov even more wildly.

Rozanov was a lot of things, but he wasn’t boring. He frustrated Shane on the ice, and flustered him off the ice. Shane wanted to crosscheck him in the mouth, and then kiss it better.

Shane kissed him back, just as angrily. Because fuck this guy for doing shit like this. Hiding away all night on a fucking rooftop, smoking a goddamned cigarette in the dark like the worst cliché of a brooding heartthrob. Making Shane feel bad for winning an award that he completely fucking deserved. And then, on a whim, pressing Shane against a wall and kissing him like he would die without Shane’s mouth on his.

Ilya nearly choked when he saw Hollander’s reply. Jane: I dunno. Twice, maybe? So fucking pure! So honest and sweet.

Hollander was damn cute when he was embarrassed. “Did you buy a building so we would have somewhere to fuck, Hollander?” Ilya assumed he was trying to look stern, but the flush of his cheeks was ruining the effect. “No. It’s an investment. I’m having it renovated and then I’ll sell the condos. And I already have a tenant lined up for the commercial space on the main floor.” “Wow. Businessman.”

He gripped Hollander’s arms and pushed him back against the closest wall and kissed him. Hollander had bought them a fucking building.

Ilya smiled against Hollander’s skin. He was such a little brat.

But he was so...eager to please. So determined to be good at this. For Ilya.

Shane had been sick with jealousy, but had also been undeniably proud when he’d watched Ilya Rozanov lift the cup over his head and roar. There had been tears streaming down Rozanov’s face as he’d hollered and hollered, and Shane had seen that this was more than the pride of being the best player on the best team in the NHL that year. Rozanov had proved something to somebody.

And Shane left. He realized, when he was back in his room, that they hadn’t even kissed. He also realized, with horror, that he regretted that.

When he laughed his nose crinkled, and Ilya’s stomach flipped.

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.

Ginger ale good? Cold enough?”

Ilya, so casual and adorable

So maybe they had picked up things about each other over the years, without really trying.

So you have other designated long term buddies?! I hate this for the story and supposed romance this will be. One offs is one thing. But he is no different to you than this woman?! I already dislike Ilya. This does not help

No one makes me feel like Ilya Rozanov does.

Shane. He called me Shane. He pulled back so he could see Rozanov’s face, and was shocked to see him staring at him with the same wide-eyed terror that Shane felt. “Ilya,” he said, barely more than a whisper. Ilya didn’t answer. Instead, he crushed their mouths together and kissed Shane in a raw, uncontrolled way that felt like an apology. Oh no. Oh fuck. Oh no.

Every fiber of him wanted to run right back up those stairs and into Ilya’s arms. To wrap himself around him and go to bed with him and wake up with him. And that was why Shane marched straight out of Ilya’s building, and didn’t stop walking until he was safely back in his hotel room.

based on photos that Shane had seen on the internet completely by accident and not because he sometimes did image searches for Ilya Rozanov.

Was it just that Ilya liked his sex with a generous helping of danger, and Shane provided both? Or was he just being childish about having to share his favorite toy with a gorgeous movie star? Somewhere, buried deep in his brain, there was a third reason that was screaming for attention. Ilya ignored it.

Ilya embraced him, and Shane wrapped both of his arms tight around him. Ilya felt a puff of Shane’s hot breath on his neck, and he could see the glisten of sweat on his skin and Ilya kissed him, hard, on the cheek. He was sure, to the crowd, that it looked like Ilya’s usual obnoxious shenanigans, that the kiss was just another way of annoying Hollander. But the truth was he simply couldn’t help himself. He had seen an opportunity, and he had taken it.

Ilya wished they could go for a walk or something—a moonlit stroll on the beach. He was tired of hotel rooms.

“I can’t keep pretending I don’t like you,” he said finally. “You don’t like me,” Ilya argued. “I do. I... I maybe like you too much.”

As soon as he had Shane in his arms, he was done for.

Shane’s hands cradled Ilya’s face as he kissed him with the force of everything they had almost said out loud.

“When will I have you for as long as I want?”

Winning the Stanley Cup the past two seasons hadn’t lessened his drive at all. There was always a bigger goal to reach for.

Wait what? So much happens off page

Shane shook his head. There was no way he was going to go over there. He could list a million reasons why he couldn’t go over there, and he ran them through his head as he grabbed his jacket and left the hotel room.

Except Ilya was breathing Shane’s name—his first name—like a prayer and gazing at him like he was just as close as Shane was to saying something truly embarrassing and stupid and definite.

“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.”

But as soon as he let himself acknowledge it, and now say it, he felt relieved. Not because he could do anything about these feelings, but at least he had allowed himself to accept them. And he had, in the most cowardly way possible, said them aloud to Shane.

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.

“You don’t love her, then?” “No,” Ilya said quietly. He sounded like he was falling asleep. “Not her. No.”

Ilya stilled his own hand. “Something wrong?” he asked. “No. But... I think I’d rather see your face.” Ilya was grateful that Shane couldn’t see his face at that exact moment, because he was pretty sure it had the world’s sappiest expression. “Sure, Hollander,” he said gently.

He reached and pulled his tablet closer to his face and smiled shyly. Ilya melted a little more,

“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?”

“You were such a dick to me.” “Mm. I did not like you. Just your freckles.”

Shane laughed, and his nose crinkled. The freckles got all bunched up under his glasses, and Ilya nearly died.

Shane opened his eyes, and rolled them. But he said, “That crooked fucking smile of yours. I can’t even tell you...that smile haunts me.”