Heated Rivalry (Game Changers #2)(56)

It was very dark.

“When do you fly out?”

“Early,” Ilya said.

“Me too. Columbus.”

“Toronto.” When Ilya said it, he rolled the “r” slightly and pronounced the second “t.” Shane smiled.

Without warning, Ilya moved his hand until it was right next to Shane’s, and then he hooked their thumbs together. Shane’s first instinct was to pull away, but he resisted. Instead he closed his eyes, and tried not to hope for impossible things. He also resisted the urge to rest his head on Ilya’s shoulder.

“What room are you in?” Shane whispered.

“Twelve seventeen.”

“I’d like to talk. Somewhere private.”

Ilya pulled his thumb away. Shane wanted to grab it back.

Ilya stood and said, “See you soon,” before walking back toward the hotel.



Chapter Seventeen


Ilya stood in the middle of his hotel room. Did Shane actually want to talk to him? Was “talking” code for something else, like it always had been before? Had Shane felt the shift in their relationship that Ilya had, the last time they were together? If so, was he looking to break things off and run away...or lean into it? Or maybe he didn’t know what he wanted, because Ilya sure as fuck didn’t.

He also knew that what they both wanted probably didn’t matter anyway.

Ilya wished they could go for a walk or something—a moonlit stroll on the beach. He was tired of hotel rooms.

His phone buzzed. I’m here.

He opened the door immediately.

Shane slipped in. His clothes were rumpled and a little sandy from the beach. His hair had been tousled by the ocean breeze.

He crossed the room without speaking and sat on the end of the bed. He clasped his hands together and looked at the floor.

“Whoa,” Ilya said. “This looks serious.”

“It’s not... I mean...sort of. Just...shut up a second, all right?”

Ilya sat himself on the dresser, directly across from the end of the bed, and waited.

“It’s...” Shane grimaced. “It’s not just me, right?”

“Not just you?”

“I mean...you feel it too, don’t you?”

“Feel what?”

“God, fuck you. You know what I mean! The last time we were...together...it was...different.”

Ilya shrugged and looked away. He knew it was the wrong reaction, but he felt a horrifying swell of emotion that he couldn’t let Shane see.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Shane said angrily. “This is hard enough without you being an asshole.”

Ilya turned back to him, his face carefully hiding everything he was feeling. “What do you want, Hollander?”

“I—” Shane didn’t seem to have any idea of what to say next.

“We get together, and we fuck. Is simple,” Ilya said.

“Simple,” Shane grumbled. “Right.”

Ilya shrugged again. “Is simple for me.”

“Bullshit.”

Ilya rolled his eyes. Why was Hollander saying any of this? Why now?

“I think I’m gay,” Shane blurted out.

Ilya looked at him, startled, for a moment. Then he laughed. “Oh yeah? What gives you that idea?”

Shane glared at him, which made Ilya laugh more.

“The last time my dick was in your mouth, I thought you might be a little gay,” Ilya teased.

“Fuck off. You’re not gay.”

“No,” Ilya said, serious again. “Not completely.”

“Well... I think I might be. Completely.”

Ilya studied him a moment, then said, “Okay. So you are gay. So what?”

“Well, it’s sort of a big deal! To me, at least. Sorry if I’m boring you!”

Ilya slid off the dresser and went to the mini fridge. He pulled out a can of Coke and a can of ginger ale. He handed the ginger ale to Shane as he sat beside him on the bed.

“Why are you telling me that you are gay?” Ilya asked quietly.

Shane laughed humorlessly. “Who else am I gonna tell?”

Ilya took a sip of his Coke. “You are not the only gay NHL player. Probably.”

“I know.”

“So?”

Shane sighed. “It’s not just...being gay,” he said, awkwardly, as if he was still getting used to the word. “It’s you. You and me. Being gay is one thing. Hooking up with your arch fucking rival is another.”

“That is why it is a secret.”

“I know that, but...” Shane ran a hand through his own hair in exasperation. “Last time we were together it was...nice,” he said quietly.

Ilya was silent a moment, then admitted, “It was.”

“It felt like we were...more.”

“We can’t be more, Hollander.”

Shane turned his head sharply to look at Ilya. “Would you want to be? If we could?”

“We can’t.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Ilya stood up and set his Coke can down hard on the dresser. “It doesn’t fucking matter!”

Shane flinched and fiddled with the can of ginger ale that he hadn’t even opened. “I can’t keep pretending I don’t like you,” he said finally.