Heated Rivalry (Game Changers #2)(41)

“Three. Ruby is hiding behind you.”

“Okay.” Hayden exhaled. “I can’t believe we’re having another one.”

“You sure it’s just one?”

Hayden’s eyes were pure terror. “Don’t even joke, Hollander.”

October 2016—Washington

Ilya stretched out on his hotel bed and amused himself by tapping on the various customization options for the 2017 Audi Spyder. He had a 2015 Spyder already, so it wasn’t like he needed a new one.

But he didn’t have one in Vegas Yellow...

The television was turned to ESPN, but he wasn’t paying much attention to it. At least, not until he heard the name Shane Hollander.

It was just one of these dumb fluff pieces that the twenty-four-hour sports networks relied on to fill air time, a little glimpse at Hollander’s life away from the rink for the fans.

On the television, Hollander was standing on some sort of dock surrounded by the calm blue waters of an enormous lake. Thick green forest lined the banks.

“When the demands of the season are over, this is where Shane Hollander comes to relax and recuperate: his five-thousand-square-foot lakefront cottage.”

Ilya sat up. He had never seen any place that Hollander called home.

“This is my favorite place on earth,” the Hollander on the television said. “I just finished building this one a couple of years ago. My family’s cottage, the one I spent summers at growing up, is just over there.” He pointed off-camera to his right. “I was still spending my summers there until this one was finished.”

“Awww, so fucking sweet, Hollander,” Ilya said, rolling his eyes.

There was some footage of Hollander kayaking alone on the lake, looking serene and stupid as he gazed around at nature. His voice played over the footage, talking about the place healing his soul or some dumb shit.

There were sweeping shots of some of the rooms of the cottage. A spacious, high-ceilinged living area with a leather sectional sofa and some very Canadian-looking plaid throw pillows and blankets; a modern, high-end kitchen with a large island in the middle; a pool table and a bar; a gym that had a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the lake.

Then, without warning, they cut to a shot of Hollander doing fucking yoga on the dock.

“I got into yoga last year and I think it’s really helped me focus, and it’s definitely increased my flexibility.” Hollander’s voice played over a lingering shot of him holding some ridiculous pose.

“Jesus Christ, you are so fucking boring,” Ilya muttered.

Hollander did look flexible, though.

The segment went on a little longer. Hollander talked about how important it was for him to have a place close to his parents. How he had offered to build them a new cottage too, but they’d refused. He laughed when he said that. When he laughed his nose crinkled, and Ilya’s stomach flipped.

Ilya wondered if Hollander had ever fucked anyone in that cottage. Probably. Probably some nice, wholesome girl that he had met while...canoeing. Or whatever.

Ilya had filmed one of these dumb things too. He had taken the camera crew to the garage where he stored his collection of European sports cars. The segment had had a decidedly different vibe from this Hollander one.

But that’s the way it had been for over six seasons: Shane Hollander was the wholesome, heroic sweetheart, and Ilya Rozanov was the obnoxious rock star. They were polar opposites, according to any NHL analyst, and therefore destined to clash forever—neatly dividing hockey fans in the process.

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.

It was dangerous fucking stuff.



Chapter Thirteen


November 2016—Boston

“Heading out?” Hayden asked from where he was watching television on the hotel bed.

“Yeah. Just for a bit. Meeting a friend.”

“If you say so.” Hayden grinned. Shane swallowed and tried not to let anything show on his face. His insides roiled with shame and fear and anticipation.

“Just a friend,” Shane said.

“I won’t wait up.”

“It’s not—” Shane closed his eyes and calmed himself down. “It’s not that type of friend. I’ll be back soon.”

Hayden studied him a moment. “Well, that’s too bad. You need to get laid.”

“I’m fine.” Shane tugged his jacket on and checked himself quickly in the mirror before leaving the room.

He shouldn’t be doing this.

They had arrived in Boston that morning and had a short practice that afternoon. The game was tomorrow afternoon, which meant he had the whole evening free.

Rozanov lived in a building that was a short cab ride from the hotel. They had moved their Boston hookups from hotel rooms to Rozanov’s penthouse last season. Shane had been against the idea at the time, arguing that he didn’t want to risk being spotted entering Rozanov’s building. He had legitimately been concerned about that, and still was, but his real objection—the one that he didn’t voice—was that he didn’t want to make what they were doing seem more...personal. Meeting in hotel rooms or at Shane’s investment property was one thing, but every time Shane went to Rozanov’s actual home, he felt his world tilt a bit. It was an extra layer of wrongness thrown on top of the mountain of bad ideas they had been scaling for six years.