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Instead of getting him out of his system with their hookups, each one just made him want more. It was dangerous fucking stuff.
“You didn’t ever let him win, did you, Shane?” “God, Mom! No!”
“If you mix that with cranberry juice I will drown you in the lake.”
Ilya wanted to tell Shane that it had been one of the best days of his life. It had been awkward, sure, but Ilya felt that, if he hadn’t quite been already, he would be welcomed into Shane’s family, and that was no small thing. In fact, to Ilya, who had barely been welcome in his own family, it was huge.
He wanted to tell Shane that the closest he felt to home was when he was with him. It didn’t matter if it was in a hotel room, or Ilya’s apartment, or at that weird hideout building Shane bought in Montreal, or here at Shane’s cottage; he was himself when he was with Shane.
“And I will say, ‘Shane Hollander, will you please marry me so I can become Canadian citizen faster?’”
said. “Oh no!” Ilya mocked him. “How can I impress Montreal’s fifteenth best player?”

