Page 12 of Heated Rivalry 1
On the ice, in the lineup to shake hands at the end of the game, Hollander had looked into Ilya’s eyes. It had only been for a second, but it had felt like everything around them had frozen and fallen silent. Hollander’s damp, sweaty hand had wrapped itself around Ilya’s damp, sweaty hand and, when their eyes had locked, he’d squeezed Ilya’s fingers, just a little.
That look, and that squeeze, had said so many things to Ilya.
I know.
We were supposed to stand alone at the top, but we will always be there together. We will keep climbing until no one else can reach us, but it will always be together.
There had been nothing apologetic in Hollander’s eyes, but there had been no gloating either. And by the time Ilya had shaken the last Canadian hand in the lineup, he was smirking to himself. Because soon the real battle between himself and Shane Hollander would begin.
And he couldn’t fucking wait.
Chapter Four
July 2010—Toronto
Shane had signed a lucrative endorsement deal with CCM, one of the biggest hockey equipment companies. He hadn’t played a single game in the NHL yet, so he was pretty stoked about it.
Then he found out that CCM had also signed Rozanov.
Andthenhe found out that they wanted to launch an ad campaign with both of them. Together.
So Shane found himself in a dark, mostly empty rink in the suburbs of Toronto on a Wednesday in July. He would be reporting to training camp in just over a month. He hadn’t seen Rozanov since the World Juniors back at the beginning of January.
Spotlights had been set up around the ice, creating some very dramatic lighting. There were going to be two parts to the day: first, they would do a photo shoot, both separately and together, and then they would skate around and do some fancy stickhandling for the television ads.
Shane was getting used to photo shoots, and to having cameras on him in general. This seemed like a bigger production than he was used to. This felt like he was starring in a movie.
Costarring.
He took a couple of laps around the ice while he waited for the crew to finish setting up. He was wearing head-to-toe CCM gear, of course, including a custom black jersey with a big CCM logo on the chest where a team logo would normally go. His name and number, 24, were on the back.
Shane was wearing makeup, and it felt weird. He wasn’t supposed to sweat at all before they did the photo shoot. He decided he’d better stop skating and sit on the bench while he was waiting. He watched the crew fiddle with the lighting.
After a few minutes, he felt the unmistakable presence of Rozanov at the end of the bench. He turned and saw him standing there, huge and handsome, and also wearing makeup.
“Very pretty,” Rozanov teased him. “Like a doll.”
“You’re painted up too.”
Rozanov leaned on the top of the boards and grinned. “Yes, but I’m not pretty.”
Shane rolled his eyes. He had been called “pretty boy” a few times before, usually during games, and he hated it. Hewishedhe hated it this time.
In his makeup, with his carefully styled hair, and in this dramatic lighting, Rozanov did not look pretty. He lookedstunning. Once again, Shane was astounded and irritated by howmanlyRozanov was. The sharp edge of his jaw framed cheeks that didn’t have any of the baby fat that lingered on Shane’s own. And his eyes were like sparkling...somethings. Shane couldn’t think of a gem that had that many shades of gold and green.
The photo shoot took a lot longer than Shane had been expecting. It was mostly just standing on the ice, holding CCM hockey sticks in various positions. They did a few photos standing together, but most of them were separate. They finished with a posed photo of the two of them hunched over in the face-off position. They held the pose for what felt like an eternity, with their faces inches apart, staring into each other’s eyes.
“Try not to laugh, fellas,” the director said. “I know it’ll be challenging.”
Laughing was not what Shane was worried about. He needed to relax his eyes so Rozanov’s features blurred, just to keep himself from staring at the man’s lips.
“A little more intensity in your eyes, if you could, Shane.”
Shane blinked and tried his best to stare Rozanov down, like it was a real game. But a real game would only require him to hold this position for a few seconds. This was awkward.
He saw Rozanov’s lip twitch, and then the big Russian snorted and started laughing. Shane cracked too, and started giggling.
“Just a few more seconds, guys. Please.”
