The Long Game (Game Changers #6)(113)

Ilya didn’t let him finish his sentence. He crowded Shane against the mirrored wall and kissed him ferociously. He sank his fingers into Shane’s stupid hair and just devoured him, putting everything he felt into it. Because there was choosing Ilya over hockey, and then there was looking Crowell dead in the eye and basically telling him to go fuck himself. He never would have asked that of Shane, but Shane had done it anyway. Hadn’t even hesitated.

The elevator dinged, ending their kiss. Ilya stepped back and admired how wrecked Shane looked, with his hair and coat disheveled and his lips swollen and pink. Those lips curved into a smile as the elevator doors opened.

“So,” Shane said as they walked across the lobby to the exit, “you’re not mad, then?”

“Not at you. I’m fucking furious at Crowell.”

“Yeah,” Shane said. “Well. I recorded the meeting. So.”

Ilya’s mouth dropped open. “Holy shit, Hollander. Good job.”

“It was Mom’s idea. Just in case we need it. But I think we’re both going to be playing soon.” They walked out into the chilly late-morning sunshine. It was late March, and Montreal was finally starting to thaw, but it would be a while before winter could be declared over.

They walked one block toward where they’d parked, then Shane stopped and glanced back over his shoulder.

“What?” Ilya asked.

“You know what? There’s a place nearby that makes the best chicken parmesan. I’ve always wanted to take you.”

Ilya’s heart bounced happily at how fearless Shane was being. How sure he was about him. About them. He smiled and said, “If Hayden does not mind watching Anya for a bit longer.”

Shane smiled back. “I’ll check to make sure, but he was pretty excited about doing us a favor, so we should probably take advantage of that while we can.”

They both started walking toward the restaurant. “Hayden is a good guy,” Ilya said.

Shane nudged him. “Are you gonna tell him that?”

“Maybe. Someday.” He reached for Shane’s hand and they walked, fingers tangled together, down a busy street in downtown Montreal with their heads held high.

“What about this one?” Ilya asked, and showed his phone screen to Shane.

Shane wrinkled his nose at it. “I look weird in that one.”

“Yes. But I look very good.”

Shane lightly punched his chest, which was easy to do because his head was resting on it. They were both naked, tangled up in bed together, and trying to find the perfect set of photos to pair with the statement for their mutual Instagram post. Shane was being, Ilya thought, overly fussy about it.

“This one,” Shane suggested, and showed Ilya his phone. It showed a photo Yuna had taken of them together in their coach tracksuits on the first day of their first charity camp.

“Good. Okay,” Ilya agreed. “Very respectable.”

“Maybe that’s enough,” Shane mused. “We have four.”

“One more,” Ilya said, and stretched his hand holding the phone out above them.

“No way,” Shane said, squirming away.

Ilya pulled him closer with an arm around Shane’s shoulders. “In case people still don’t believe we are together.”

“No!” Shane squawked.

“For me, then,” Ilya said, and kissed the top of Shane’s head.

Shane relaxed against him. “Fine.”

Ilya snapped a few quick photos, then lowered his phone to look at them.

“Oh,” Shane said quietly. “Look at us.”

They both looked so fucking in love it was disgusting. “I am keeping these ones,” Ilya said firmly.

“I guess we don’t have to delete those kinds of photos anymore,” Shane said. “Within reason, I mean. I don’t want anything graphic getting out there.”

“Good thing I didn’t take a photo ten minutes ago, then.”

Shane’s cheeks turned as pink as Ilya had hoped they would. “I think your hands were busy.”

Ilya rolled on top of Shane, pinning him on his back. “They could be busy again.”

Shane grinned up at him, all flushed skin and freckles and bright eyes. Ilya wanted to, like, crawl inside him somehow.

“We need to finish the post. And then you have a dog to pick up and a hockey team to get back to.”

Ilya did miss Anya, so he flopped back on the mattress and got to work assembling the Instagram post.

“You have all four photos? The ones I texted you?” Shane asked.

“Yes, yes.”

“And you’re not including the one you just took?”

Ilya only huffed in response. He copied and pasted Farah’s statement, made sure all four photos were lined up, and hovered his thumb over the post button.

“Ready?” he asked.

Shane blew out a breath. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

They posted it.

Shane got a call from his coach shortly after Ilya left, gruffly letting him know that he was to be at practice tomorrow morning. It was a relief, and Shane was definitely looking forward to getting back on the ice, but he was nervous about facing his teammates again.

He still hadn’t heard from J.J.

He tried to push it out of his mind by filling the rest of his day with exercise, meditation, and rest. He wasn’t particularly successful at any of those things, especially rest. His body hummed with energy. He felt excited and terrified and a million other things.