Heated Rivalry (Game Changers #2)(21)

“Well then...”

“So, what? You’re just gonna sneak out of your hotel? What will you tell your teammates?”

“The fucking truth! I’m going to get laid! Like every city we play in!”

Hollander’s brow furrowed. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“So...after the game you just want me to wait at home for you?” Hollander’s voice was tight, like he was angry about something.

Ilya rolled his eyes. He had no idea why they were wasting time talking right now anyway. “Yes! Wait for me. I will come to your house and fuck you.”

Hollander looked embarrassed again. “It’s an apartment,” he mumbled.

“Jesus! Fine! I will fuck you in your apartment. Can we get back to things now?”

“Yes.” Hollander frowned. “But...”

“But?”

“In the shower. The water will drown out...anything.”

Rozanov huffed, but it was actually a good idea.

“Yes,” he said, springing off the bed and onto his feet, “but hurry the fuck up.”

Hollander shoved him as he walked by, leading the way to the bathroom. He turned the water on, and as they waited for it to get hot, Ilya kissed him against the closed door until Hollander shoved him away so he could pull Ilya into the shower. He slammed Ilya against the tile and wrapped a hand around his cock as he kissed him. Ilya grinned against his mouth. This was the Shane Hollander he wanted: competitive, aggressive.

“Your hands are so soft,” Ilya said. “Like a girl’s.”

“Fuck you.”

Ilya laughed. Hollander jerked him harder, as if trying to prove how strong and masculine his hands were.

Ilya bit his own lip and gave up teasing his rival. For now. He reached for Hollander and they brought each other off frantically and roughly in the shower, letting the rush of water muffle their English and Russian profanity.

Hollander got dressed quickly when they were done. Ilya stood with a towel wrapped around his waist, waiting to hear what Hollander would say.

“Um...”

Ilya didn’t say anything back. He waited.

“I know we said...about Montreal...but...”

Ilya crossed his arms and leaned against a wall.

“We probably shouldn’t,” Hollander finished.

“No?”

“No. I mean...obviously, right?”

Ilya watched Hollander run a nervous hand through his damp hair.

“It’s stupid,” Hollander said, more to himself than to Ilya. “This is stupid. I don’t know why we did this. Again.”

Ilya walked slowly toward him. When he reached him, he put a hand on the side of his face and tilted his head until he could look directly in his eyes. “Give me your phone.”

“My phone?” Hollander asked weakly.

“Yes.”

Hollander fumbled the phone out of his pocket and handed it to Ilya. Ilya took it and entered his number into Hollander’s contacts, under the name Lily. Hollander snorted when he saw it.

“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.”

Hollander glared at him as he handed his phone back. “This isn’t a yes, just so you know,” he said.

“It will be.”

Hollander shook his head, but Ilya could tell he was fighting a smile.

“Good luck tomorrow,” Hollander said.

“Sure.”

Hollander turned to open the door, but stopped. “Hey, um...you wanna take a look out there and see if the coast is clear?”

Ilya couldn’t quite translate his words. “Sorry?”

“Just...take a look and see if the hall is empty. I don’t want anyone to see me coming out of your room!”

Ilya opened the door enough to stick his head out. “Empty.”

Hollander blew out a breath. “Okay. Well...bye.”

“Goodnight.”

Hollander nodded. And left.



Chapter Seven


February 2011—Montreal

Fifty minutes on the treadmill and Shane still couldn’t get his brain to quiet down.

He had a very nice gym in his apartment, which was close to the Voyageurs’ practice rink in Brossard. Some younger players shared apartments or houses with other young teammates, but Shane preferred to live alone. He had been under intense focus since he was sixteen, and it had made him cling to whatever private moments he could steal. Also, he walked a dangerous line with his teammates as it was; his...status...in the hockey world had a tendency to make his teammates understandably jealous. He was sure any tension would only be made worse if he lived with any of them.

Shane was supposed to be focusing on the game that night against Toronto as he pushed his body on the treadmill. Instead, he kept thinking back to a certain Russian’s promise to come to Shane’s home and...

There were too many things to process. Ilya Rozanov had gotten him off in a hotel room. Again. Ilya Rozanov wanted to sneak out of his team’s hotel the next time they were in Montreal (next week!) and meet Shane at his apartment so he could fuck him.

Ilya Rozanov wanted to fuck him.