The Long Game (Game Changers #6)(28)

“That’s new,” Shane said.

Ilya’s chest was still heaving. “Like you said. I have tricks.”

They both laughed.

“That was hot,” Shane said.

“Yes. Very.”

“I really need to take a shower. Again.”

“Mm.”

“I love you.”

Ilya’s expression turned serious, and for a moment Shane’s stomach clenched as if he expected Ilya to tell him something awful.

But all Ilya said was, “I love you so much, Shane.”

Shane knew it, but hearing Ilya say it in such a raw, unguarded way cut through him like a blade. The pain of not being in the same room as Ilya felt physical.

“Ten days,” he said. God, ten. How was he supposed to endure ten more days without Ilya? And then only have him for one, maybe one and a half, before they’d be apart again.

“Ten days.” The number sounded just as enormous when Ilya said it.

They said goodbye, ended the call, and then Shane was alone again, and wishing like hell that there could be a solution to their problem.



Chapter Nine


Ilya woke from another dream about his mother. The same dream. Always the same dream.

He reached a hand out toward Shane’s side of the bed, but of course it was empty. He hadn’t shared a bed with Shane for two weeks.

He brought his hand to his chest and traced the crucifix around his neck with one fingertip, soothing himself with the familiar bumps and edges of the gold cross.

He had to go to practice. He still felt tired. He always felt tired these days. It could be because he was twenty-nine, which was hockey middle-aged. Or because his terrible team had lost five to one last night. It could be because of the frequent unsettling dreams he’d been having about his mother. It could be because he missed his boyfriend.

It could be because I’m depressed.

No. He was fine. Normal. It’s not like he ever stayed in bed all day crying.

Neither did Mom.

He hauled himself out of bed despite everything in his body and brain protesting. He’d gotten rocked into the boards last night by a New Jersey defenseman, and he was paying for it this morning. One more thing to deal with.

He missed waking up with Shane. He missed breakfast together, even though Shane only ate extremely healthy food now. He missed making Shane coffee and serving it to him in an Ottawa Centaurs mug. He missed showering together, and tumbling back into bed together after, warm and damp and unable to stop touching each other.

He sent Shane a text. How is St. Louis?

Shane began typing his reply right away. Raining. How’s Ottawa?

Ilya gazed out his kitchen window to the river behind his house. The trees were bright with autumn leaves, and the sun was shining.

Ilya: Fine.

Shane: Did you eat breakfast?

Ilya huffed. Shane worried about the weirdest things.

Ilya: Might go to McDonald’s for a McGriddle.

He’d mostly written it to annoy Shane, but now he really did want a McGriddle.

Shane: You shouldn’t be eating that shit.

Ilya: Should I be eating hay for breakfast like you?

Shane: It’s not hay. And yes, probably.

Ilya: I would rather have the sandwich that is made with pancakes as bread.

Shane: Gross.

Ilya smiled as he imagined Shane’s nose wrinkling, bunching up his freckles.

Ilya: Send me a pic.

He had time to pour himself a coffee, fix it with cream and sugar, and take a couple of sips before Shane finally sent a selfie. Ilya wondered how many he’d taken before deciding this one was good enough to send.

It wasn’t intentionally sexy. It was just Shane, standing near a window, probably in his hotel room, wearing a light blue Montreal Voyageurs T-shirt, and smiling. His hair was tucked adorably behind his ear on one side.

Ilya: I miss you. It was the only thought in his head, at that moment.

Shane: I miss you too.

Shane: Stop stalling. Where’s my pic?

Ilya was still shirtless, which was a good start for a selfie. He stretched the arm holding his phone out and raised it a bit, angling down. Then he shimmied the waistband of his sweatpants down until he was nearly exiting the safe-for-work zone. He tucked a thumb into the waistband, tugging down a bit, and snapped the pic.

Wow, Shane wrote back. That was mean.

Ilya wished he could watch the shift in Shane’s face now. The way his cheeks flushed and his eyes grew brighter when he was aroused. He was probably biting his bottom lip.

Ilya: If you are alone we could...

Shane: Team meeting in ten minutes.

Ilya: Is that a challenge?

It took Shane forever to reply, and Ilya imagined he’d deleted several responses before finally landing on: I can’t. Sorry.

Ilya: ok

Shane: It’s going to be hard to delete that photo.

Ilya: I can take more.

He knew Shane would delete the photo. They always deleted anything in their message history that could give away their secret.

Shane: You gonna watch tonight?

Ilya: Maybe. If I am very bored.

Shane: I’ll try to win for you.

Ilya huffed and wrote, Try to lose. We are in the same division, idiot.

Shane: Nah.

And then, with no warning, Shane sent a pic of his crotch, his semi-hard dick visible under the gray fabric of his boxer briefs.