The Long Game (Game Changers #6)(21)

Shane got into bed, enjoying the crisp slide of clean sheets against his skin. “I’m zonked.”

Ilya hummed in agreement and got under the covers beside him. He curled against Shane, wrapping an arm around him and holding him close. Shane fell asleep in minutes.

He woke some time later, blinking at the darkness as he felt Ilya crawl back into bed beside him. He had no idea what time it was or how long Ilya had been gone, but he smelled the sharp aroma of cigarette smoke.

“You were smoking,” he complained sleepily.

“No.”

“I can smell it.”

Ilya kissed his shoulder. “Maybe your house is on fire.”

Shane huffed and fell back asleep.



Chapter Six


October

“How many men have you been with?”

Ilya glanced up with interest from the coffee mug he’d been spooning sugar into. Shane had blurted the question out and was now staring fixedly at his poached eggs. His ears were bright pink.

“This week, you mean?” Ilya asked calmly.

Shane turned his gaze up, his annoyance radiating across the breakfast table in grumpy waves. “No, asshole. I mean ever.”

Ilya took a long sip of coffee, his eyes locked on Shane’s over the rim of his Ottawa Centaurs mug. He very slowly lowered the mug back to the table, leaned back in his chair, and said, “Why?”

“Because you’ve never told me.”

“Maybe I don’t keep track.”

Shane glared at him, then turned his attention back to his eggs. “Never mind.”

Ilya’s mouth quirked up. He let a silence hang between them, just long enough for Shane to perhaps believe that Ilya was going to let this go.

He wasn’t.

“How many are you hoping it will be?”

Shane shook his head. “Forget it. I don’t care anymore.”

“Bullshit.”

It was clear from the tightness in Shane’s jaw when he looked back up at Ilya that he cared a lot. “You said there was one guy in Moscow. The, um...”

“My coach’s son. Yes. He was one.”

“The first one?”

“I said he was. Yes.”

“You never said that. I mean, it was implied, I guess, but—”

“He was the first.” Ilya bit the inside of his cheek, then added, “Possibly the best too.”

“You’re such a giant dick.”

“You know who had a giant dick?” Ilya asked wistfully.

Shane’s chair screeched across the kitchen floor as he stood up. He snatched his plate off the table and stormed off toward the sink. Ilya continued eating his breakfast.

“Was I the second?” Shane asked, after he had finished rinsing his plate.

“Biggest dick?”

“Stop it.”

Ilya made a show of picking up a point of toast, chewing thoughtfully as if he couldn’t quite recall how many men he’d bedded before Shane. “Maybe.”

Shane folded his arms. “I didn’t think this would be such a difficult question to answer.”

“Can you remember every goal you have ever scored?”

“Oh, is it a similar number?” Shane had scored over five hundred goals in the NHL alone.

“Give or take.”

Shane left the kitchen.

Ilya gave him a one-minute head start, then sauntered off after him. He found him near the front door, already wearing his jacket. “Where are you going?”

“Home.”

Ilya leaned back against the wall. “So soon?” Shane did have to drive back to Montreal that morning, but Ilya certainly wasn’t going to let him go like this.

“I told you my number,” Shane said.

As if Ilya had ever forgotten. “Yes. Two men besides me. Both terrible.”

“Not terrible. Just not...”

Ilya waggled his eyebrows.

“I’m leaving.” Shane put his hand on the doorknob. Ilya put his hand on Shane’s shoulder.

“You were the second.”

Shane didn’t turn around. “And after me?”

“Is there a wrong answer to this question?”

Shane exhaled, his shoulders slumping. “No.”

“A few. Not many. Was dangerous, right? A rare treat.”

“Yuck.”

Ilya let his hand slide off Shane’s shoulder and down his chest. Shane took a small step backward, and almost relaxed against him. Ilya dipped his head and kissed Shane’s neck, and Shane relaxed more. “None of them matter. Not anymore.”

Shane sighed. “I know.”

“Then why ask?”

Shane turned. Ilya kept his arm draped over him, his hand now resting on Shane’s back. “I don’t know.” He thunked his forehead against Ilya’s chest. “Sorry.”

Ilya wrapped his other arm around him and held him close as he nuzzled Shane’s dark, glossy hair. It smelled like expensive shampoo. “I will miss you.”

Shane exhaled loudly. “Are you ready to do another season of this?”

Ilya’s heart stuttered. What did that question mean? “Another season of what?”

Shane pulled back enough to look him in the eye. “Hiding.”