Page 38 of Heated Rivalry 1
The guy—a forward for Toronto—shrugged. “Thought you guys might be at the kiddie table together or something.”
“No,” Shane said. “I haven’t seen him. At all.”
“Okay, well. Congratulations, kid.” He squeezed Shane’s shoulder and walked past him.
It was hot in the room. Too many people. Quite a few of the guys had removed their jackets and ties. It was getting harder to tolerate the atmosphere of the place without the help of alcohol.
Shane scanned the room for his parents. He spotted his father slumped in a chair, drinking what Shane was sure was a Sprite. Shane’s mother seemed to be talking a star goaltender’s ear off.
“I’m just gonna step out for some air,” Shane told his father. “Just for a minute. I’ll be back.”
“Sure,” Dad said. He looked exhausted. “I’m going to try to convince your mother it’s bedtime in a minute anyway.”
“Good luck.” Shane smiled.
As soon as he left the room, Shane felt the relief of the air-conditioning that flowed, unencumbered, through the mostly empty hallway. He leaned against the wall for a minute and exhaled.
He wondered what room Rozanov was in.
No, he thought.He’s a fucking baby and he doesn’t deserve...anything.
Was Rozanov really that upset, though? He was normally so cool and collected. If anything, Shane would have expected him to show up at the party just to show everyone how unbothered he was about losing.
He knew where Rozanov couldn’t be right now: the casinos. The bars. He could be in his room. Or...someone else’s room. Or in his own room with someone else.
Shane frowned. He pulled his phone from the pocket of his tuxedo jacket so he could check the time. Almost two in the morning. Not that time meant anything in Las Vegas.
Shane had never been to Las Vegas before. He had just flown in the night before, and hadn’t really done any sightseeing yet. He probably wouldn’t get a chance, because he was flying out tomorrow afternoon. He had been told, when he had checked in, that the hotel offered a spectacular rooftop view of the city. Feeling restless, and not wanting to rejoin the party, he decided he may as well check it out.
He took the elevator to the top. There was a trio of loud, drunk girls in the elevator with him. He pressed himself into the back corner and fixed his eyes on the glowing floor numbers as the elevator ascended.
“Oh my god! Is it your wedding day?” one of the girls asked him suddenly.
“Pardon?”
“The tuxedo,” she said. “Did you get married today?”
“Oh. No.”
“He doesn’t have aring,” one of her friends hissed.
They all erupted into giggles.
Shane turned his eyes back to the numbers above the doors. They weren’t moving fast enough.
“Are you going to Strat-speeeer?” the first girl asked.
“To where?”
“Strat-o-sphere,” she said again, more slowly.
“Um.”
“Stratosphere,” one of her friends explained. “The bar on the roof.”
“There’s a bar on the roof?”
They all laughed again. “You are so cute,” the friend said. They nodded and giggled some more. “Come to the bar with us!”
