Page 130 of Heated Rivalry 1
Shane must have ended the call, because suddenly he was on top of Ilya, on the couch, hitting him with another pillow. “Fuck you, you asshole! That was the worst!”
Ilya pulled the pillow he was holding to his face away. “It was not.”
“God, fuck you. Why was that so hot?”
“Because you like to be bad, Shane Hollander.”
And, whoa. Saying those exact words twisted something inside of Ilya. He was just teasing Shane, but he wondered how true those words were. Was that, perhaps, all this was to Shane: rebellion? Was that allhewas to Shane?
His worry must have shown on his face, because Shane stopped hitting him with the pillow. He pulled Ilya’s hand to his mouth, and kissed his palm.
“That’s not why I do this. With you. Maybe it was when we started, I don’t know, but it isn’t now and it hasn’t been for a long time.”
Ilya moved the hand Shane was holding to brush the hair out of Shane’s eyes. “Okay.”
Why do you do it now?He wanted to ask, but he was scared of the answer. So instead he pulled Shane down for a kiss.
“So,” Ilya said casually, when they broke apart, “how’s Hayden?”
Shane collapsed against his chest, and Ilya held him as they both shook with laughter.
Ilya had been formulating a plan.
It was early stages, and probably bad, but he couldn’t stop his brain from working on it.
He couldn’t see a realistic scenario where he and Shane were anything more than what they were now. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted them to be. When his imagination was reckless enough to conjure images of the two of them together, as a couple—living together?Married?—fuck, it was ridiculous.
“You all right?”
Ilya jerked to attention to find Shane—wearing only a bathing suit—standing in front of the Adirondack chair Ilya was sitting in. He had a book in his hand and glasses on his face, and he was frowning down at Ilya like a concerned lifeguard/librarian.
“Yes,” Ilya said, waving a hand. “Is nice view. The lake.”
“You looked like you were thinking about something heavy.”
Ilya shrugged. Shane sat himself in the chair next to him and waited.
“I wish I had been drafted by a Canadian team,” Ilya said.
“What? Why?”
“It would make things easier.”
“Things? What, like—do you mean...what do you mean?”
Ilya sighed heavily. What exactly did he want to say here? “I mean... America is not so good for Russians now. And Russia is not so good for... Russians like me.”
Shane was silent a moment. “Are you in any danger?”
“No. I don’t think so. But I am very careful. I would like to...not have to be.”
Shane nodded. “I think things will get better in America, right? And maybe in Russia too?”
“Maybe.”
“Do you still want to become an American citizen?”
“I don’t know. I am thinking...maybe somewhere else.”
