Page 10 of Heated Rivalry 1
He had never... Jesus Christ, he had agirlfriend.He wasn’t...
A girlfriend you are hoping will break up with you. She didn’t even come on this trip to see you get drafted.
Well, that was true. But she had just started a new summer job...
And you haven’t thought about her all day until right now. You haven’t even called her yet.
Yeah, all right. Maybe it wasn’t really working out with her, but it wasn’t like she was the only girl he’d ever...done stuff with.
You’re half hard right now. From sitting on the gym floor with another man.
Okay, that one he couldn’t explain.
But hecouldget in the shower and jerk off and try like hell to think about his girlfriend, oranygirl. Anything other than those red, wet lips and that dark stubble and those hazel eyes...
For the rest of his life, Shane Hollander would have to live with the fact that he had ended his NHL draft day by getting himself off to thoughts of Ilya Rozanov.
Chapter Three
December 2009—Ottawa
Ilya watched the red glowing numbers on his hotel room’s alarm clock flick from 11:56 to 11:57.
The room was completely dark. His roommate was down the hall, along with half the team, watching the American New Year’s Eve celebrations on television.
Ilya had been in that room too. He had watched the Black Eyed Peas perform and had eaten chips and made jokes with his teammates.
And then he just wanted to be alone.
11:58.
There was no mistaking that Ottawa was Shane Hollander’s hometown. It was Shane Hollander fucking mania here. His face and his freckles were everywhere: newspapers, television, buses, banners, the sides of buildings.
Of course Hollander was from Canada’s capital city. Of course the city was as inoffensive and bland as he was.
Their teams hadn’t played each other yet, and they likely wouldn’t before the gold medal game. It would be a shocking upset if it didn’t end up being Canada and Russia in the finals.
11:59.
Ilya would be moving to Boston this summer. To America. He had never been out of Russia for more than a couple of weeks at a time. He would begin his NHL career. He would be rich and famous. He would be his own man, away from his family.
Midnight.
“Happy New Year,” he muttered to himself.
He sat up on the bed and grabbed the package of nicotine gum off his nightstand. He popped a piece in his mouth and frowned as he chewed it. He could hear fireworks outside, and his teammates cheering in the rooms around him.
He wanted a real cigarette. He wanted to fuck someone.
He wanted to go down to the hotel gym and find Shane Hollander on a treadmill.
But Shane Hollander wasn’t staying at this hotel. Shane Hollander was probably ringing in the New Year with friends and family in his perfect hometown that loved him so very, very much.
That night in the hotel gym in Los Angeles, six months ago now, Ilya had very nearly embarrassed himself. He probably could have covered it up with his usual cocky charm, but he had been damn close to flirting with Hollander. Or possibly just pressing him against a wall and taking his mouth.
The thing was, he wasn’t so sure that Hollander would have hated it.
Unless Ilya was very bad at reading people—and he definitely wasn’t—Hollander probably would have kissed him right back.
