Page 22 of Heated Rivalry 1
It seemed to be the right thing to say, because she smiled. “You will. Screw Ilya Rozanov, right? That can be your mantra tonight.”
Or not.
Shane forced a smile. “Sure. Screw him.”
“All right, fuck it,” Coach LeClaire said. “Rozanov, get out there and take the face-off against Hollander. Let’s give ’em what they want.”
Rozanov vaulted over the boards and headed for the face-off circle. He was on the ice with Hollander for the first time in an NHL game.
“Shane Hollander,” he said casually when he reached his opponent.
“Rozanov.”
Ilya let his lips curl up a bit into a little smile. Hollander’s face hardened and he shook his head slightly.
The crowd was so fucking loud. This city was nuts.
“Will you disappoint them, Hollander?”
“Nope.”
They bent for the face-off.
Ilya wished he didn’t have the mouth guard in because he would have loved to do something distracting and sexy with his tongue.
He probably should have been focusing more on the puck and less on bothering Hollander, because he lost their first face-off. And that was something he’d never get back.
Ilya scowled at the ceiling of his Montreal hotel room. He was furious with himself—not at his team, athimself—for losing this first match against Hollander.
He didn’t know what to do with his anger. It was not the best moment for his phone to ring.
It was his goddamned brother, Andrei.
“What is it?” Ilya said, forgoing niceties. It wasn’t like Andrei was calling just to chat.
“Did you play tonight?”
“Yes,” Ilya said tightly. He had teammates from the Czech Republic whose families back home watched every game online.
“Oh. Did you win?”
“What do you want?”
Andrei was quiet. Ilya’s heart sank. “Is Dad...?”
“Fine. Why wouldn’t he be?”
Ilya’s jaw clenched. His brother could pretend all he wanted that there was nothing wrong with their father, but it wasincreasingly obvious that it wasn’t the case. He decided to ignore Andrei’s lies for the moment.
“Do you need money, then?” Ilya asked. It was the only other possible reason for Andrei’s call.
“Just...not much. Like...twenty thousand?”
“Twenty thousand!Dollars?”
His brother laughed. “Not rubles. Of course dollars.”
“What the fuck for?”
