Heated Rivalry (Game Changers #2)(29)

Price shook his head. “Not every flight. I mean, yes, I’m always nervous, but not always this bad.” His cheeks flushed, as if he hadn’t meant to even admit that he was more terrified than usual. They were en route to Montreal from Raleigh, North Carolina, which wasn’t a particularly long flight, but it had been a turbulent takeoff. Maybe that had been the difference. Ilya didn’t really want to talk about it, and he figured Price didn’t want to either.

So he gestured toward his iPad. “Fast Five. Have you seen it?”

“Yeah. I think so. Is that the one with the bank safe chase scene?”

“Yes. Is the best one.” Ilya flipped down the table for the unoccupied seat between them, and moved his iPad onto it. He only had the one set of headphones, but he always had subtitles on. It helped to improve his English.

He handed Price the headphones, figuring he could use a fully immersive distraction.

“Oh, uh...” Price ran a hand through his bushy hair.

“Is okay. I will tell you if pilot says we are crashing.”

The joke was a risk, but it paid off. Price snorted and took the headphones. “Thanks.”

They watched the movie, Price listening and Ilya reading, and Price’s leg remained still for the rest of the flight. He even asked the flight attendant for a Coke, which had to be a good sign.

When Ilya got tired of reading movie dialogue, he stared out the window into blackness. He had, in truth, been trying to distract himself with the movie, because heading to Montreal always put him on edge. It wasn’t nerves, it was...something else. Anticipation, maybe. He didn’t want to say excitement.

They would play tomorrow night, their second game of the season. Montreal had been in Boston for their season opener in October. Boston had won in overtime, and Hollander had been in a terrible mood when he’d shown up at the room Ilya had booked in the hotel down the street from where Montreal was staying.

Ilya liked it when Hollander was angry. He liked it when Hollander took out his frustrations on Ilya’s body. He liked him cursing him as he fucked Ilya’s mouth.

These were the kinds of thoughts that Ilya had been trying to distract himself from with the Fast and the Furious movie. Because thinking about this fucked-up thing with Hollander made him feel pretty disgusted with himself. It also made him uncomfortably aroused, which only made him feel more disgusted with himself.

Yeah. Super fucking healthy.

“Roz, you awake?”

Ilya glanced up so see Cliff Marlow’s face peeking over the seat in front of him. Cliff was a year younger than him, a bit of an idiot, and probably Ilya’s best friend.

“No,” Ilya deadpanned.

“I’ve been talking to this chick in Montreal. We’ve been sending each other messages on Instagram for a couple of weeks. She’s hot as fuck. Check it out.” He thrust his phone into Ilya’s face. There was, indeed, a hot woman on the screen.

“Good job,” Ilya said.

“So she wants to meet up after the game tomorrow night. She’s hot for hockey players, and she said she could bring her friend. You want in?”

Oh, no thanks. I will be busy fucking Shane Hollander in a hotel room.

“We have a curfew tomorrow night. Early flight the next morning, yes?” Ilya reminded him.

“Yeah, I know, but...” Cliff looked wistfully at his phone. “I gotta see her. Maybe I can just...no. You know what, Ilya? I’m gonna be completely honest here: I’m probably going to break curfew. It’s not like I’ll miss the bus to the airport.”

Ilya rolled his eyes. “I am assistant captain, shithead. Do not tell me about your plan to break curfew.”

“I thought that ‘A’ was for asshole.”

“Funny.”

“So, no to going out with me tomorrow night?”

“No. But have fun.”

“I remember when you used to be fun, Roz.”

“I am fucking fun.” Gonna have a solid hour of fun before I’m back in time for curfew.

Cliff nodded at Price, who was watching the movie intently and didn’t seem to notice him at all. Cliff’s face was a question mark, and Ilya had no idea what the question was. So Cliff, being an asshole, held a hand to the side of his face to block it from Price’s view, and mouthed Weird guy, right?

Ilya shrugged. Maybe Ryan Price was weird, or maybe he just wasn’t exactly what people were expecting him to be. Ilya was certainly in no position to fault someone for that.

The following evening—Montreal

“I’m telling you right now,” J.J. said, “if fucking Rozanov starts shit with you tonight, I’m taking him out.”

Shane pulled his shoulder pads over his head and began securing them in place. “If you go for Rozanov, Ryan Price is gonna go after you.”

“Fuck Price. I’ll send that dumb motherfucker crying back to wherever the fuck he’s from.”

“Nova Scotia, I think.”

“I’m just saying—” J.J. pointed his shin guard at Shane, for emphasis “—Rozanov gives you trouble, I’m ending him. Price or no Price.”

Shane politely ignored the fear that J.J. was trying not to show. J.J. was one of the biggest players in the league and could handle himself in a fight, but Ryan Price was a fucking terror.

Price was just one of the things that made these games against Boston extra tense. Montreal was a city that buzzed with excitement about their hockey team all winter—you could feel the electricity in the air every home game day. And whenever Boston was in town, Shane felt like the city was pulled as tight as he was. Every cell in his body sparked with the need to get on the ice and face Rozanov. And when the games were over, he pulsed with a different kind of need.