Heated Rivalry (Game Changers #2)(58)

“I don’t know. Somewhere no one knows us.”

“What, like the moon?”

“No, like... Fiji.”

“Nope. All it takes is one Canadian tourist with an iPhone.”

“We’ll climb a mountain. Find a cave.”

Shane smiled sadly. They weren’t going anywhere together and they both knew it. “You’re going back to Russia this summer?”

“Yes.”

“Well then.”

“Where will you go?”

“To my cottage, mostly,” Shane said.

“Sounds nice.”

“It is. It’s my favorite place on earth.” Although this bed was providing some strong competition. He indulged in one last kiss, shifting so he covered Ilya’s body with his own as he drank him in.

“I have to go.” He brushed curls out of Ilya’s eyes and Ilya grabbed his wrist, then pulled Shane’s hand to his lips. He lightly kissed the tips of Shane’s fingers, and Shane’s breath caught.

“Do you?” Ilya asked. God, his voice was sexy when he was sleepy, all frayed and throaty. He pressed a kiss to Shane’s palm.

Shane closed his eyes, just to relieve one of his overstimulated senses. It would be so easy just to give in...

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.” With a lot of effort, he left the bed and gathered his clothing from the floor. Sand spilled out of the cuffs of his pants, on the hotel carpet, as he dressed. Ilya stayed on the bed, possibly watching him. Shane couldn’t bring himself to look at him, afraid that he’d end up back in his arms if he so much as glanced in his direction.

When he was at the door, he finally allowed himself to look back at Ilya. He was sitting up, the white bedsheet covering his bent knees. He was chewing his lip, as if considering whether or not to say something. There was a long, tense silence between them, and then Ilya said, “Goodnight. Shane.”

A jolt of pleasure zipped through Shane’s body every time Ilya called him by his first name. “Goodnight, Ilya.”

He checked to make sure the hallway was empty, then slipped out of Ilya’s room. Because the hall was empty, no one saw the smile that nearly split Shane’s face in half.



Chapter Eighteen


February 2017—Montreal

Two weeks after All-Star weekend, Shane received a text from “Lily.”

Can you believe that shit with Zullo?
Frank Zullo was a defenseman for the New York Admirals who was known to be a hot mess. He had gotten arrested the previous night for bar fighting or something, and now he was off the team.

Shane: Yeah. It’s wild. I can’t believe they put him on waivers.
Lily: I fucking hate that guy.
Shane: Always seemed like an asshole, yeah.
He could recall a few times when Zullo had called him a “cocksucker” or a “fag” or some other nice thing.

Lily: Fuck him. Scott Hunter must be happy.
Shane: Oh yeah. You could tell he always hated him.
Lily: One less homophobe in league.
Shane: Yeah, like one million to go, though.
He was in the middle of making his post-run smoothie. He turned on the blender and watched his phone for the next text.

This was new. He wondered why they hadn’t thought to do this before: talk to each other about hockey, even if it was mostly gossip. In the past they had only texted each other to discreetly arrange their hookups.

He wondered what had inspired Ilya to engage him this time.

Lily: Where are you? Home?
Shane: Yeah. Just got back from a run.
Lily: Nice. All sweaty? [:p]
Shane laughed. About to take a shower.

Lily: We should Skype while you do that. Video phone.
Shane: My phone would get wet.
Lily: Why have we never Skyped before?
Shane was surprised by this. You’d want to?

Lily: Maybe. Would you?
He assumed Ilya was talking about, like, phone sex. Or video sex. Or whatever. Shane had never done anything like that with anyone before. But it was a possibility for them. If neither of them saved the call, it would be safe, right?

Shane changed the subject. Nice goal last night.

Lily: Yeah, well. You know.
Then,

Lily: I have to tell you this story Hammersmith told us last night...
They texted back and forth for most of an hour. By the end of it, Shane was stretched out on his couch, his thumbs flying over his phone’s keyboard, and frequently laughing into the empty room. He eventually reminded Ilya that he really did need to take a shower. He was surprised at how hard it was to end their conversation.

He had the embarrassing urge to write Wish you were here or something. He resisted. Instead he wrote, Later, and punctuated it with the emoji of a smiley face wearing sunglasses. Ilya signed off with the emoji of a kissy face.

Boston

Ilya had been texting Shane one-handed.

He hadn’t told Shane that he had fucked up his elbow during the game last night. It had just got caught a weird way against the boards, and now it hurt to straighten it.

He had been ordered to rest, and he was bored. He told himself boredom was the only reason he had texted Shane.

Because of his injury, and the fact that it was, like, nine in the morning, he had been mostly kidding when he had suggested phone sex. But he wondered if Shane would actually do it someday. He couldn’t imagine...

Or, maybe he could imagine. Because suddenly he was. Quite vividly.