Page 51 of Heated Rivalry 1
Shane tugged at his shirt collar, now, and tried to will his blush away.
“Looking for me?” a familiar voice drawled behind him.
Shane whipped around and was faced with Ilya Rozanov lookingso fucking goodin his tux. He’d grown his hair out over the past season, and that night he’d been wearing it slicked back and tied in a little bun. He looked like a European fashion model.
“Fuck, Rozanov. What the fuck? We’re on in like five seconds!”
“Fifty seconds. We are fine.”
“Does it matter to you that everyone backstage has been having a heart attack looking for you?”
“Not really.”
Shane’s hands rolled into fists at his sides. “Where were you, anyway?”
“Busy.”
“Oh yeah? With who?”
Rozanov just smirked. “We’re on.”
He strode out onto the stage, leaving Shane to stupidly scramble to catch up with him.Fuck him. Not even a text forfive months and now he’s going to be all sexy and annoying like nothing’s changed?
They went to the podium and recited their dumb banter about the importance of having respect for your fellow players. Shane did not have to pretendat allto hate Rozanov in that moment.
They got a lot of laughs. The fact that Shane was practically speaking through clenched teeth probably only enhanced the comedy.
“Hey,” Rozanov said, “before we give out the award, can I get a selfie?”
“What?” Shane asked. It was all part of the script.
“Just a quick one. I mean, when will this happen again, right?”
“Fine, but hurry up.”
Rozanov wrapped an arm around Shane’s shoulders and pulled him tight against him. Everyone laughed. Rozanov held his phone out and snapped, Shane noticed, at least six quick photos.
“Give me your number. I’ll send it to you.”
“No chance,” Shane deadpanned.
Laughter.
Rozanov was slow to move his arm from Shane’s shoulders. When he finally did, he let his fingers brush the back of Shane’s neck, making every hair stand up.
Shane felt his cock swell a bit, and silently cursed him.
They read the nominees, gave the winner his trophy, and then Shane left the stage as quickly as possible. He kept walking until he found a small bathroom backstage. He entered, and left the door unlocked.
Less than thirty seconds later, Rozanov slipped inside and locked the door. He crowded Shane up against the wall. Shane wasseething; he stared Rozanov right in the eye and waited for him to make the first move.
“Well?” Rozanov said.
“Well what?”
He gestured to the floor. “Are you not going to suck my dick?”
Shane’s eyes narrowed. “Fuck you! Why don’tyousuckmine?”
