Heated Rivalry (Game Changers #2)(80)

These were the thoughts that kept Shane awake at night. Total and complete madness. His deepest, most closely guarded desire was to just have his parents make contact with the man he’d been secretly fucking for seven years. Part of him felt that, if it happened, something would become clear. Something would finally make sense.

The real actual truth—the truth that Shane mentally stomped on every time it dared try to get his attention—was that he wanted Ilya to meet his parents for the same reason anyone wanted their boyfriend to meet their parents: he loved him, and he wanted them to love him too.

Except Ilya was not Shane’s boyfriend. And, even if he was, if Shane introduced Ilya as his boyfriend they would be beyond confused. For one thing, he supposedly hated Ilya Rozanov. And they hated Ilya Rozanov. And everyone in the whole goddamned world of hockey knew that Shane Hollander hated Ilya Rozanov. So even introducing them formally at the NHL Awards would be weird.

His biggest nightmare was that he and Ilya would be caught together somehow. Paparazzi or whatever. And then the world would know, but more importantly, his parents would know. They would find out that their son was gay and their son was being gay with Ilya Rozanov.

Ilya Rozanov, who, at that moment, was sitting across from Shane at the table on his patio, eating the food Shane had prepared for him. He had mustard on the corner of his lips.

If Shane removed all of the complications of their relationship—the rivalry, the expectations for both of them, the fact that Ilya was kind of a dick—he could just be proud of the fact that the man was really hot. Like, Shane had definitely snagged himself a ten.

That morning, Shane had woken up early because he hadn’t closed the blinds the night before. Sunshine had streamed into the room, reflecting off the white bedsheets, and off the beautiful man who had been wrapped up in them.

Shane had taken advantage of the moment, while Ilya had still been asleep, as an opportunity to drink his fill of him. Ilya had been on his back, his arm draped over his forehead, his long fingers curled against the pillow. Shane had traced a fingertip down that arm, over the swell of Ilya’s bicep, because he couldn’t help it. The morning light was making everything beautiful, and Shane was in love, so he had leaned in and lightly kissed Ilya’s wrist.

When Ilya’s eyes had fluttered open, Shane’s face had been inches away from them. He had seen the initial confusion in Ilya’s expression before it softened into a shy smile.

It had been a perfect morning.

A perfect day, really. They had worked out very competitively in Shane’s gym, then lounged by the pool, and eventually headed down to the boathouse. Shane had suggested they take the kayaks out, but that got dropped as soon as Ilya spotted the Jet Skis. The rest of the afternoon had been spent racing around the lake, laughing and soaking each other. Ilya was never happier than when he was in control of a high-speed vehicle.

Although, he had been pretty happy later on, when Shane had pinned him to the wall inside the boathouse and they’d stripped off their bathing suits and taken each other in hand...

It had been a really good day.

And now they were eating burgers that Shane had totally aced, and drinking beer on the deck as the sun set, and it was everything he had ever wanted. He imagined a life of spending summers together at the cottage. It was his intention to make this his permanent home after he retired. He wondered if Ilya would be into living here when—

What the hell, Hollander? Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you?

But these were the thoughts that consumed him these days: Ilya meeting his parents, Ilya spending the summers with him, Ilya making a home with him.

He’d give anything to go back to the simplicity of the early days, when all that consumed him was the confusing desire to have Ilya’s dick in his mouth.

For seven years, they’d been getting away with this thing. Their luck had to run out sometime, right?

Ilya stared at the fire because he wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to do, exactly. This seemed to be the extent of the entertainment a bonfire provided: it burned, and you looked at it.

The bonfire had been Shane’s idea, of course. Ilya could think of better things to do with their evening alone together than watch logs turn into ash, but Shane had been so damn excited about it.

But it was a beautiful night—the air was a bit chilly, and the fire was warm, and Ilya was pressed against Shane on a little bench made out of a chunk of tree.

It wasn’t terrible.

“How is your head?” Ilya asked. Shane had complained of a headache that afternoon. He’d said they had been common since his injury.

“Oh, better now. Thanks.”

That was good news, because Ilya very much wanted to do sex stuff later.

Shane’s phone suddenly lit up, the screen startlingly bright in the dark that surrounded them. When Shane glanced at the screen, his face lit up almost as brightly.

“What?” Ilya asked. He couldn’t help it.

“Oh,” Shane said absently as he typed something. “Nothing. Just a message from Rose.”

Ilya snorted. Rose. “What does Rose want?”

“She’s just checking in. She—hey. You’re not jealous, are you?”

“No.” It was the least convincing lie ever.

“Ilya. I’m gay.”

“Not too gay to fuck Rose Landry.”

Shane put the phone down and glared at him. “Oh my god. I only slept with her a couple of times, and they were both disasters. Believe me, she is not looking for a repeat performance.”