Page 30 of Heated Rivalry 1
“Who should I be?” he asked as he picked up Ilya’s phone from the dresser. “Shannon?”
“Jane,” Ilya said.
“Jesus Christ,” Hollander muttered as he typed.
“No. Just Jane.”
Hollander glared at him as he handed his phone back. “This isn’t a yes, just so you know,” he said.
“It will be.”
Hollander shook his head, but Ilya could tell he was fighting a smile.
“Good luck tomorrow,” Hollander said.
“Sure.”
Hollander turned to open the door, but stopped. “Hey, um...you wanna take a look out there and see if the coast is clear?”
Ilya couldn’t quite translate his words. “Sorry?”
“Just...take a look and see if the hall is empty. I don’t want anyone to see me coming out of your room!”
Ilya opened the door enough to stick his head out. “Empty.”
Hollander blew out a breath. “Okay. Well...bye.”
“Good night.”
Hollander nodded. And left.
Chapter Seven
February 2011—Montreal
Fifty minutes on the treadmill and Shane still couldn’t get his brain to quiet down.
He had a very nice gym in his apartment, which was close to the Voyageurs’ practice rink in Brossard. Some younger players shared apartments or houses with other young teammates, but Shane preferred to live alone. He had been under intense focus since he was sixteen, and it had made him cling to whatever private moments he could steal. Also, he walked a dangerous line with his teammates as it was; his...status...in the hockey world had a tendency to make his teammates understandably jealous. He was sure any tension would only be made worse if he lived with any of them.
Shane was supposed to be focusing on the game that night against Toronto as he pushed his body on the treadmill. Instead, he kept thinking back to a certain Russian’s promise to come to Shane’shomeand...
There were too many things to process. Ilya Rozanov had gotten him off in a hotel room.Again. Ilya Rozanov wanted to sneak out of his team’s hotel the next time they were in Montreal (next week!) and meet Shane at hisapartmentso he couldfuckhim.
Ilya Rozanov wanted tofuck him.
Shane was both terrified and undeniably aroused by the idea. Undeniablyextremelyaroused by the idea.
But that didn’t change the fact that it was a really,reallybad idea.
Shane had accepted the fact that he was more than okay with having sexual encounters with a man. Fine. He had suspected that about himself for a while now, and maybe Rozanov was just the first man to see that in him, to offer him the chance to experiment a little. So maybe what Shane actually needed to do was findanotherman to fool around with.
But who the fuck wasthatgoing to be?
This wasMontreal. He wasShane Hollander. If his career went the way he was planning, that situation was only going to get more impossible. He definitely didn’t want any rumors of his sexuality—whatever it was—getting out there. The NHL liked to pretend it was inclusive now, but Shane knew what it was like on the ice, and in the dressing room. There had never been an openly queer NHL player, and homophobic slurs were thrown around enough that Shane couldn’t imagine that happening. Whoever came out first was going to have to be brave as hell. It sure as shit wasn’t going to be Shane.
One thing he was certain of about Rozanov: he wasn’t going to tell anyone. He had as much to lose as Shane did.
As far as Shane could figure, he had three choices: Forget about fucking men entirely and just stick to women; Risk finding men, or even justaman, who could be discreet and...patient; Let whatever the fuck was happening with Rozanov keep happening and try not to think too much about it.
