Page 63 of Heated Rivalry 1
“You want to make me a tuna melt?”
Rozanov shrugged. “I’m making one for me. I can make two. Ginger ale is in fridge.”
He seemed to really want Shane to drink the ginger ale. As Shane took one from the fridge, he wondered if it might be poisoned.
Rozanov was setting canned tuna, a baguette, and cheese slices on the counter, so Shane leaned back against the fridge and watched his fellow NHL superstar make him a sandwich.
“You head down to Florida after this game?” Rozanov asked, as if he didn’t know the answer.
“Yeah. Couple games down there. Then over to Dallas and up to St. Louis.”
Rozanov nodded. “We are in town here for this week. Then out west for a while. Ginger ale good? Cold enough?”
“Yeah, it’s great. Thanks.”
He looked pleased. Shane watched him carefully distribute the mixture of tuna and mayonnaise and lemon juice on some baguette slices. It was weird, this domestic scene. It wasn’t anything that they had done before.
The melts went into the oven and Rozanov grabbed himself a bottle of Coke out of the fridge. Shane realized that he knew that Coke was Rozanov’s beverage of choice. So maybe theyhadpicked up things about each other over the years, without really trying.
“Ready in ten minutes,” Rozanov said. He left the kitchen and went to sit on the couch in the living room. He turned on the television, which was showing the Buffalo vs. Chicago game.
Shane sat at the opposite end of the couch. He’d first considered the leather recliner that was next to the couch. Whatever they were to each other, they weren’tboyfriends. He knew how to behave around him when they were naked and pressed against each other, and he knew how to play againsthim on the ice, but just hanging out with their clothes on was uncharted territory.
“Jesus,” Rozanov said as they watched a Buffalo player get hauled to the penalty box. “You know that guy? Ryan Price?”
“I mean, just from playing against him. And, you know, not wanting to fight him.” Price was huge, and tough as hell. “You played with him, right?”
“Yes. For one season only. He was...not what you would think.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like...quiet. Doesn’t make friends, really. But not a bad guy. Just...weird. Sort of.”
“Well, he does seem to get traded every season. It would be hard to make friends that way.”
“He is probably hoping he gets traded again. Buffalo is terrible.”
“They definitely are.”
They watched in silence for another minute and then Shane asked, “What’s your favorite city to play in? On the road?”
Rozanov considered it. “I like New York. Because it’s New York. They fucking hate me there.”
“They hate you everywhere.”
“They like me in Florida. Is all Boston fans down there. You?”
“I like Ottawa, because it’s my hometown. Toronto, because of the history between our teams. And, you know, anywhere warm, I guess.”
“L.A. is good. Beautiful women.” Shane noticed Rozanov stealing a glance at him as he said this.
“Sure. Yeah,” Shane said. “There’s beautiful women everywhere, really.”
“When you are rich and famous, yes.”
They were silent a moment. The game went to commercial.
“There was a girl,” Rozanov said. “In New York. I used to see her when I was in town.”
