Heated Rivalry (Game Changers #2)(27)

“I’m just gonna step out for some air,” Shane told his father. “Just for a minute. I’ll be back.”

“Sure,” Dad said. He looked exhausted. “I’m going to try to convince your mother it’s bedtime in a minute anyway.”

“Good luck.” Shane smiled.

As soon as he left the room, Shane felt the relief of the air-conditioning that flowed, unencumbered, through the mostly empty hallway. He leaned against the wall for a minute and exhaled.

He wondered what room Rozanov was in.

No, he thought. He’s a fucking baby and he doesn’t deserve...anything.

Was Rozanov really that upset, though? He was normally so cool and collected. If anything, Shane would have expected him to show up at the party just to show everyone how unbothered he was about losing.

He knew where Rozanov couldn’t be right now: the casinos. The bars. He could be in his room. Or...someone else’s room. Or in his own room with someone else.

Shane frowned. He pulled his phone from the pocket of his tuxedo jacket so he could check the time. Almost two in the morning. Not that time meant anything in Las Vegas.

Shane had never been to Las Vegas before. He had just flown in the night before, and hadn’t really done any sightseeing yet. He probably wouldn’t get a chance, because he was flying out tomorrow afternoon. He had been told, when he had checked in, that the hotel offered a spectacular rooftop view of the city. Feeling restless, and not wanting to rejoin the party, he decided he may as well check it out.

He took the elevator to the top. There was a trio of loud, drunk girls in the elevator with him. He pressed himself into the back corner and fixed his eyes on the glowing floor numbers as the elevator ascended.

“Oh my god! Is it your wedding day?” one of the girls asked him suddenly.

“Pardon?”

“The tuxedo,” she said. “Did you get married today?”

“Oh. No.”

“He doesn’t have a ring,” one of her friends hissed.

They all erupted into giggles.

Shane turned his eyes back to the numbers above the doors. They weren’t moving fast enough.

“Are you going to Strat-speeeer?” the first girl asked.

“To where?”

“Strat-o-sphere,” she said again, more slowly.

“Um.”

“Stratosphere,” one of her friends explained. “The bar on the roof.”

“There’s a bar on the roof?”

They all laughed again. “You are so cute,” the friend said. They nodded and giggled some more. “Come to the bar with us!”

“I can’t. Sorry.” Jesus, this was a long elevator ride.

By the time they finally reached the top, the girls had forgotten about him. They stumbled out of the elevator and turned right, presumably in the direction of the rooftop bar. Shane turned left.

There was a lot of noise coming from the bar. Pulsing music and loud, drunken voices. On the other side of the roof, there was a quiet corner that looked out over the city. It was a place that Shane guessed was normally used for weddings. It was empty now.

Almost empty.

Shane didn’t see him, at first. All black in his tuxedo, with his head bent down over the railing, Rozanov blended right into the darkness. Then he raised his head and let out a white cloud of smoke.

“It’s not worth jumping over,” Shane said, moving to stand just behind him.

Rozanov turned. He didn’t even seem surprised to see Shane. He took another long drag of his cigarette then said in a tight voice, “Is the party over, then?”

“No. I just needed some air.”

Rozanov exhaled. The smoke swirled around his face and then floated up into the desert sky. “Such an exciting night for you.”

“I guess.”

Rozanov rolled his eyes. “I guess.”

“It could have gone to either one of us.”

“It went to you.”

“Yeah, well, you know. Who knows how they decide these things?” Shane wasn’t sure why he was even saying this stuff. He didn’t need to apologize for anything. He’d earned that fucking trophy. “So you’re just sulking up here all night, then? It bothers you that much that I won?”

Rozanov took another drag and turned back to the view. He said something that Shane couldn’t hear.

“What was that?” Shane asked, moving to stand beside him against the rail.

“Not everything is about you, Hollander.” He didn’t look at Shane at all when he said it. His voice hadn’t been angry. He just sounded...tired. And sad.

Shane studied his profile. His own anger left him, and he found himself caring about Ilya Rozanov, which was an odd sensation. “So what is it then?”

Rozanov dropped the butt of his cigarette on the ground and stamped it out. He laughed a little, without any humor at all. “What do you want, Hollander?”

“Nothing. I just wanted some air. To see the view.”

“Well,” Rozanov said, sweeping a hand through the air in front of them, “here is view.”

Shane’s eyes turned toward the blanket of city lights that sprawled beneath them, but they quickly found their way back to Rozanov’s face. He saw the clench in Rozanov’s jaw, and the hardness of his eyes.