Heated Rivalry (Game Changers #2)(65)

He had made an impulsive decision to give his Moscow condo to his brother. Andrei could sell it, or meet his mistresses there. Ilya couldn’t care less; he just didn’t want to deal with selling it. There wasn’t even anything in it that he wanted.

He sat on his bed in that condo. It would be his last night sleeping there.

He could think of one thing he would like to do to commemorate the occasion.

Ilya: Are you home?
The reply was immediate.

Jane: Yes.
Ilya smiled and wrote, Skype?

He waited, and wondered if Shane understood what Ilya was suggesting.

OK, Shane texted back. Just a sec.

Ilya decided to make things a little clearer for Shane, just in case he didn’t get it. He pulled his T-shirt off and dropped it on the floor, then stacked some pillows in front of the headboard and settled himself on the mattress. He sent Shane a video call request.

Shane accepted, and then there he was, filling the screen of Ilya’s iPad. He was wearing a hoodie and...glasses?

“Holy shit, Hollander! Do you wear glasses?”

“Oh!” Shane reached up and touched the frames of his glasses, as if he didn’t believe Ilya. “Just when I read. It’s, um...new.” He pulled them off.

“No!” Ilya said, grinning. “I like them.”

“Well...” Shane said, and damn if he wasn’t blushing already. “I can see you a lot better if I leave them on.” He slid the thick black frames back into place. “What?” he asked, because Ilya couldn’t stop smiling.

“What were you reading? Your boring hockey book?”

Shane’s eyes narrowed behind the glasses. “Are you just calling to make fun of me?”

“No. Not only that.”

He watched Shane bite his bottom lip. God, he’s cute.

“Were you thinking we could, y’know...do stuff?” Shane asked nervously.

“Yes. But first, show me your bedroom. I am dying to see it.”

“Really? All right.” Shane tapped on the screen and flipped the camera. Suddenly, Ilya was looking at a king-size bed with a navy blue comforter.

“That’s the bed,” he heard Shane say off camera.

“Oh, is it?”

“Fuck you. You asked for this. Here’s the dresser. And the bathroom is over there. And the closet. And here’s the view...”

Ilya decided he didn’t care about the view or the bedroom anymore. It was as boring as he had been expecting. It could have been a hotel room.

“Why don’t you get on the bed?” he suggested.

“So much for small talk, I guess.”

“And take your shirt off.”

“Bossy.”

Ilya waited as Shane put his tablet or whatever down, causing the screen to go black. He heard rustling noises, and then Ilya was looking at the end of Shane’s bed.

“Better?” Shane asked.

“No. Turn the camera around.”

“Oh, shit. Here.” And now a shirtless Shane Hollander’s face and shoulders (and glasses) filled the screen.

“Better.”

“How are you? I’ve been...thinking about you.”

Ilya’s heart flipped. He hoped it didn’t show on his face. “I am okay. I might not come back here, after today.”

“Is that scary?”

Ilya shrugged. “Right now it feels...good. Like, um...”

“A weight has been lifted?”

“Yes. Maybe like that. Is there a way I can see more of you?”

“Oh. Yeah...maybe I can...just a sec.”

Ilya propped his own iPad up on his nightstand and stretched out with his hands behind his head. When Shane reappeared on the screen, it seemed he had done something similar because now Ilya could see from the top of his head to the waistband of his sweatpants.

Ilya wanted, more than anything, to be able to cover Shane’s body with his own. To kiss his way down his chest and stomach.

Shane smiled. “It’s good to see you again.”

“I’d like to see you wearing nothing but those glasses,” Ilya said.

“I don’t think my camera can show that much at once.”

“Next time we are together, then.”

“Yeah. Next time.”

Ilya let his head sink into the pillows. He kept it turned, facing the camera. “Do you remember, after the NHL Awards in...what year was it?”

“Two thousand fourteen,” Shane said quickly. “Yeah. I do. I...I think about that night a lot.”

“Do you?”

“It was memorable.”

“It was,” Ilya agreed. “You put on a show for me.”

“I can’t believe you talked me into that.”

“I think you like to be told what to do, Hollander.”

Shane sucked in a breath. “Maybe. A little.”

“And you’re a little show-off.”

“I am not.”

“You are. You love praise. You want everyone to see how good you are.”

“Yeah, well. So do you.”

“No. I know I am good. I don’t care what people say.”

Shane leaned forward and pointed an accusing finger at the camera. “Bullshit. You love the awards. The good press. The fans. You love beating me.”