Page 40 of Heated Rivalry 1
Shane felt panicked. This was super fucking dangerous. And stupid. And confusing. And...
Shane kissed him back, just as angrily. Because fuck this guy for doing shit like this. Hiding away all night on a fucking rooftop, smoking a goddamned cigarette in the dark like the worst cliché of a brooding heartthrob. Making Shane feel bad for winning an award that he completely fucking deserved. And then, on a whim, pressing Shane against a wall and kissing him like he would die without Shane’s mouth on his. Kissing him until Shane’s senses were full of hard muscle pressed against him and the taste of cigarette and the slick heat of Rozanov’s tongue in his mouth.
What the fuck.
Shane grabbed Rozanov’s lapels and shoved him back. They couldn’t do this here. At all.
Shane looked frantically around them. There was no one. But, Jesus, therecould have been.
Rozanov leaned in to kiss Shane again, and Shane dodged him.
“No,” he said. “No way. Not here. What’swrongwith you?”
Rozanov gave him that crooked grin that did absurd things to Shane’s stomach.
“We can’t,” Shane said. He meant it, but it hurt to say. “I have to go. You should go to bed, Rozanov.”
The smile disappeared.
“See you next season,” Rozanov said. Then he turned and walked toward the elevators.
Shane waited a few minutes so they wouldn’t have to ride down together.
Next season. Next season would be different. He was going to end this stupid thing between them and focus on his game.
Part Two
Chapter Nine
December 2013—36,000 feet over Pennsylvania
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Ilya could hear Ryan Price’s foot drumming against the floor, even with an empty seat between them. Even though Ilya was wearing headphones, and watching a very loudFast and Furiousmovie.
Ilya glanced over. Price’s knee was bouncing, jostling the paperback novel he was balancing, open and upside down, on his thigh. Price was gripping both armrests and his eyes were closed. He looked bad.
And he was definitely going to drop that book on the floor. And then he would lose his place.
Ilya sighed, hit pause on the movie, and removed his headphones. He didn’t know Price very well. No one did; he had only joined the team at the start of this season. He was a gigantic defenseman, but his real position on the ice was enforcer. His job was to make sure no one interfered with the more talented players. Ilya could take care of himself, but playing with guys like Price meant he didn’t have to.
Ilya talked shit on the ice, got under other guys’ skin, and then Ryan Price had to take their punches. Pretty sweet deal for Ilya.
“Price,” he said. “Your book.”
No response.
“Price,” Ilya said again. Still nothing, so Ilya reached out and poked his arm. “You okay?”
Price’s eyes flew open and he jumped a little, causing his book to tumble to the floor. Ilya watched it fall in dismay. He had failed.
“Sorry,” Price said. “Was I tapping my foot?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry,” Price said again. “Just, um, nervous flier. Sometimes.”
“Ah.” Ilya bent and retrieved the book. He glanced at the cover before handing it back.Anne of Green Gables. Wasn’t that a children’s book for girls or something? “You lost your place.”
