The Long Game (Game Changers #6)(45)

“Fuck no! First of all, Jackie rules, and second of all, I would never marry Rozanov.”

“So you’d marry me?”

Hayden turned a little pink. “No! I’m not—no!”

Shane decided to go easy on him, because this was getting weird. “You’re my best man, Hayden. One hundred percent.”

“Fucking right.” Hayden held out his fist, and Shane bumped it. “I’ve gotta go film a FanMail.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“FanMail! It’s a website where fans pay money to have their favorite celebrities send them little video greetings. Or to send videos to other people, like their dads or whatever.”

“Seriously? You do this?”

“Uh...yeah. I get a hundred dollars a pop for wishing randos a happy birthday. Of course I do it.”

“Does it cost extra if you’re only wearing a towel?”

Hayden grinned. “I was gonna get dressed first! Jesus, dude.”

“Maybe you should be on that other site? The porn one.”

“The porn site? Like, the one and only porn site? Is that the one I should be on?”

“Shut up. You know the one I mean.”

“Sure. Is it porno site dot com?”

“OnlyFans! That’s the one I mean! Isn’t that where people, like, do sex stuff for money?”

Hayden laughed so hard Shane worried he would lose his towel. “You are so innocent. I love it.”

“I am not.” Why did everyone act like he was a total prude? Even Ilya—the man he had actual sex with on the regular—teased him about it.

“Sorry,” Hayden said, still laughing. “I’m sure you’re wild in bed.”

“You think I’m not?”

Hayden held up his hands. “Please don’t tell me.”

Fuck Hayden. Shane could be wild in bed. He wasn’t always uptight. “You sure? Because the other night—”

“Nope!” Hayden backed away. “Hard no. Super no.”

Shane shook his head. “Get dressed, dickhead.”

Hayden began rooting through his bag for clean clothes. “It’s okay if the magic is gone. That happens after you get married. Sometimes. Not to me, obviously.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Shane said, but he was fighting a smile. And he was already brainstorming ways to show a bit of his wild side to Ilya next time he had a chance.

Ilya was surrounded by beautiful women. They were all married to his teammates, but still. Beautiful.

His teammates were beautiful too. Everyone and everything was beautiful. He caught a glimpse of himself in the giant mirror that hung on one wall of his spacious living room. Swirling colorful disco lights glinted off his breastplate and wrist cuffs as he danced. Stunning.

He was maybe a little bit drunk. And a little bit high. A distant, annoying voice in the back of his brain—a voice that sounded a lot like Shane Hollander’s—suggested that he might not be setting the best example for the younger players at the moment, as team captain.

But a louder voice said this was a party, in Ilya’s own home, and he was having fun and so was everyone else. Because Ilya knew how to throw a party.

The song that was pulsing on the sound system was good. Ilya didn’t know what it was, or who had taken over the music.

Evan Dykstra was dancing next to him, dressed like a bee. He did not look stunning. His wife, Caitlin, was dancing with him, wearing a butterfly costume. She had her arm around Evan’s neck, and they were smiling at each other like they were the only ones in the room. This was a rare night out for the two of them, now that they had a baby at home.

Ilya decided to take a break from dancing. His costume was heavy and much too warm for a crowded house party, and his cape was all twisted.

“Going to get some air,” he said in the general direction of Evan and Caitlin. They didn’t even look at him. He noticed, as he walked away, that the makeshift dance floor was full of couples. He must have been the only one dancing alone.

He had to swat plastic skeletons and bats out of the way as he headed for the back of the house. He’d gone big with the Halloween decorations. He’d gone big with every element of the party because Ilya didn’t socialize with his teammates nearly enough.

Despite the brisk chill in the air, Ilya’s back deck was full of guests, talking and laughing. He found an empty seat in the corner of his outdoor sectional sofa, between Zane Boodram and Wyatt Hayes, and plunked himself down. Wyatt was dressed as a superhero that Ilya didn’t recognize. Zane was dressed like a pirate, maybe? A sleeveless one so he could show off his tattoos. He had a scarf that probably belonged to his wife tied around his head.

“Good party, Maximus,” Bood said, grinning lazily. “You should throw them more often.”

Ilya stretched his arms across the back of the sofa. “I won’t.”

“You’ve got this giant fucking house and never invite anyone over,” complained Tanner Dillon, Ilya and Bood’s linemate, from an armchair across from the sofa.

“Why would I?” Ilya asked flatly.

Wyatt laughed and handed him the joint they’d been passing around. “Have you seen the kids? They can’t believe they’re in Ilya Rozanov’s house.”

“You are making me feel old,” Ilya complained, though, if he was being honest, the youngest players on the team did seem like kids to him. There was less than a decade between himself and Luca Haas, but the gap felt far wider.