Heated Rivalry (Game Changers #2)(44)

Rozanov considered it. “I like New York. Because it’s New York. They fucking hate me there.”

“They hate you everywhere.”

“They like me in Florida. Is all Boston fans down there. You?”

“I like Ottawa, because it’s my hometown. Toronto, because of the history between our teams. And, you know, anywhere warm, I guess.”

“L.A. is good. Beautiful women.” Shane noticed Rozanov stealing a glance at him as he said this.

“Sure. Yeah,” Shane said. “There’s beautiful women everywhere, really.”

“When you are rich and famous, yes.”

They were silent a moment. The game went to commercial.

“There was a girl,” Rozanov said. “In New York. I used to see her when I was in town.”

“Used to?”

“She is getting married.”

“Oh.” Shane looked into his ginger ale bottle. “Are you...upset about that?”

“What? No.” Rozanov seemed genuinely surprised, and maybe amused, by his question. “Was not like that. Just...convenient to have a reliable woman to sleep with in New York. With three teams to play against there, we are there a lot.”

“You think she’s the only woman in New York that would be willing to sleep with you?” Shane teased.

Rozanov smirked. “I think I will find someone.”

Another silence fell. Shane wondered if Rozanov was expecting him to share a piece of similar information. He couldn’t, really, so he said, “I find it hard, being so...high profile, you know? It’s hard to just...sleep with someone. Sometimes.”

“Yes. It is good to have reliable person.”

Shane offered him a small smile. “It is.”

Rozanov nodded and got up to go to the kitchen. “Stay,” he said. “I bring it here.”

Shane focused on the television and not on what they had just been talking about. Rozanov returned with two plates that he seemed to put some care into arranging tuna melts, potato chips, and dill pickles on.

“Another drink?” he asked.

“No. I’m good.” Shane kind of couldn’t believe that Rozanov had made them both dinner. He found it, he realized with some horror, adorable.

“Do you like them?” Rozanov asked after a minute of silent eating.

“What? The tuna melts?”

“No. Girls.”

Shane was caught off guard. “Oh. Sure. Yeah. I like them. Of course.” This bit of stammering did not match the answer that first popped into Shane’s head, which was: not really.

“Never hear about you with girls,” Rozanov said plainly.

“Well. It’s private.”

“Right. Private.”

“I keep a lot of things private!” Shane said. He waved a hand between the two of them and added, “Obviously.”

Rozanov didn’t reply for a moment. Then he turned back to the television and said, “I like girls.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“But I also like you.”

“Well, lucky me,” Shane grumbled.

“Not as a person, of course,” Rozanov teased. “But you have a good mouth.” He took a suggestive bite of his dill pickle.

At that moment, Rozanov’s phone rang. He looked at the screen and muttered something in Russian. “I have to take this. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Shane said, because of course it was.

Rozanov stood and walked out of the room, speaking to whoever was calling in Russian. Shane was left alone on the couch with his mind reeling.

The truth was that he hadn’t ever had what he would consider to be a successful relationship with a woman. He’d had a decent amount of experience with them, but he couldn’t think of any sexual encounters with women that had actually been great. He wasn’t sure how any of the girls felt about it. Maybe they had just been excited to get into bed with a hockey star, and that was enough to distract them from how halfhearted his efforts had been.

He didn’t like being the one doing the fucking all that much; he loved being fucked. Women were not properly equipped to do that, and Shane was too embarrassed to ask them to use a dildo on him, so he more or less forced himself to endure the act of fucking women. Once he was aroused enough he could kind of get into it. It was a means to an end—the same end he was seeking no matter who he was with or what they were doing with him. He was obviously very athletic, which the women seemed to appreciate, and that probably covered the fact that he wanted it to be over as quickly as possible. At least, he hoped so; he would hate for a woman to feel unappreciated. If he didn’t think they were getting something pleasurable out of being with him, he would stop altogether.

He preferred blow jobs. When a woman was sucking his dick it was easy enough to close his eyes and imagine...anyone...with their lips wrapped around him. The problem was that he wasn’t so keen on reciprocating. He would, because he wasn’t an asshole, but he had to really psych himself up for it, and he was almost certainly terrible at it. He’d heard teammates talk about eating pussy like it was the closest thing to heaven on earth. Shane had never gotten it.

But maybe he hadn’t met the right girl yet. That was what he kept telling himself. It made complete sense to him; just because he hadn’t really had his mind blown in the bedroom by a woman yet didn’t mean it was impossible. There must be a girl out there somewhere who could make him feel like he did when he was with—