Page 24 of Heated Rivalry 1
Was he wondering what Ilya was doing?
Why was Shane Hollander so fucking hard to shake? They’d hooked uponce. Months ago. It had been a mistake, obviously. A giant, ridiculous mistake. Or, at the very least, something that should be forgotten about. Not a big deal.
On the ice it was easy enough to focus on the game. Ilya actuallylovedplaying against Hollander. He would neveractuallytellhim, but Hollander was really fucking good. He challenged Ilya in ways that Ilya wasn’t used to. He loved taking the puck from Hollander. He loved slamming him into the boards. He loved skating around him. He loved shit-talking him because his eyes would get all squashed up in anger and his pink lips would curl into an adorable little attempt at a snarl. Like an angry kitten.
Okay. It wasn’t entirely easy to focus on the game.
And after the games...and all the days between their games...when Ilya had to watch Hollander being interviewed with his lovely fucking manners and his adorable, boyish smile. When Ilya watched him play against other teams, and watched how he moved with flawless, calculated grace. When Ilya heard him switch effortlessly between perfect English and perfect French at press conferences. When Ilya thought about how eager his mouth had been back in that hotel room in Toronto...
He didn’t even have Hollander’s phone number.
He’d see him tomorrow night.
Shane should have been expecting the press conference.
Saturday morning, the day of the All-Star Skills Competition, he had received a phone call from someone from the NHL’s PR office telling him there was a short press conference scheduled for that afternoon. Two o’clock. It would just be him...and Ilya Rozanov.
“Why?” Shane had asked.
“It’s your first All-Star Game! You’re both having legendary rookie seasons! And besides, the press love the idea of getting you two together.”
Shane had flushed a little.
So now he found himself sitting behind a raised table, staring at a room full of reporters and cameras. That part was very familiar, and didn’t cause Shane any stress. The large Russian man next to him—who was sitting so close their forearms were almost touching where they rested on top of the table—was the one responsible for Shane’s dry mouth and (probably) noticeable stammering.
“Ilya,” one reporter said, “you announced at the beginning of the season that you would score fifty goals by the end of February. You’ve scored thirty-eight so far. Do you think you’ll keep your promise?”
Rozanov took a moment to reply. Shane wondered if he was working through all the English words.
“Yes,” Rozanov finally answered. There was scattered laughter when it became clear that he wasn’t going to elaborate.
“Shane, you’ve scored forty-one goals this year already. Do you think you’ll beat Rozanov to fifty?”
“I don’t really think about stuff like that,” Shane said carefully. “This is a team sport, and I’m happy when my team is doing well. I just try to contribute.”
Rozanov was wearing a ball cap and had his head down so the reporters couldn’t see his reaction, but Shane couldfeelhim rolling his eyes beside him.
“Ilya, how’s it feel to play with a team of Europeans for this All-Star Game?”
“Good. Perfect. Locker room makes more sense than usual.”
More laughter.
Shane watched the way Rozanov was slowly rubbing the knuckle of his forefinger with his thumb. He probably didn’t even realize he was doing it. Rozanov had nice hands...
The questions kept coming, and they were all exactly what Shane had been expecting. He did his best to answer them, and even chanced a glance over at Rozanov’s profile next to him.His curls poked out from under his All-Star Game ball cap, and his jawline was covered in stubble. He was wearing a V-neck T-shirt, and Shane could see the glint of his gold chain where it disappeared beneath the fabric.
Shane turned his head abruptly back to the reporters.
He took a sip of his water and sat back in his chair. Except now he had an even better view of Rozanov, and the way he was hunched forward over the table. Shane could see the muscles in his back and shoulders straining against the thin material of the T-shirt.
“Shane?”
“Sorry?” Shane snapped his eyes forward.
“Just a quick one from theToronto Star: Would you like to play on an All-Star teamwithIlya in the future?”
“Oh. Sure. Yeah. I mean...” He took a breath. “Ilya’s a great player.”
