Page 70 of Heated Rivalry 1
He knew this ridiculous thing between them wasn’t going to last forever. It was just...convenient. So maybe it was over now. So what?
Boston was playing in Montreal next week. The week after that was the All-Star Game. Would Hollander just...ignore him?
As Ilya was exiting the team gym, he stubbed his toe on one of the other bikes. He bellowed a string of Russian profanity and hurled his water bottle at the wall. He tried to control his breathing as he watched the water seep into the black and gold carpet.
“Jesus,” Cliff said as he stepped off his treadmill. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” Ilya growled. “Stubbed my toe.” He left the room in a hurry, not bothering to pick up the water bottle.
Hayley, he thought to himself. He would text Hayley and see if she was doing anything tonight. He liked Hayley. She was fun, and she had dark hair.
And freckles.
One week later—Montreal
When Shane’s phone buzzed, an hour after the game against Boston ended, he had expected it to be Ilya.
It was Rose.
Come out with us tonight. We’ll be at Ultraviolet.
Shane felt a confusing mixture of anxiety and relief sweep over him. He hadn’t been sure what to say to Ilya, if he had texted him. If he had wanted to...see him.
Because Shane had a girlfriend now. Sort of.
And his girlfriend wanted him to come to a club with her and her friends. Shane hated nightclubs. He never allowed himself to have more than a couple of drinks, which was not nearly enough for him to be comfortable on a dance floor.
But his girlfriend—his gorgeous, movie star girlfriend—wanted him to go out dancing with her. And that was a thing that boyfriends did. Right?
And if he had to endure his teammates teasing him about dating her—last week Shane had found a giant bouquet of about sixty roses in his locker room stall, which was a very expensive and stupid prank—then he should at least try to enjoy himself.
OK, he texted back.What time?
Ilya was absolutelynotgoing to text Hollander. Not a chance.
What he was going to do instead, apparently, was sulk around his hotel room and snap at his roommate for no reason at all.
“Hey!” Ryan Carmichael said, after the umpteenth undeserved bitchy comment from Ilya. “Fuck you! What’s your problem, anyway?”
Ilya sighed, and sat himself on the end of his bed. “Nothing. Fuck this. I need to get laid. Let’s go out.”
“Out where?”
Ilya swept his hand in the direction of the large window. “We’re in fucking Montreal! We find a club! Come on.”
Carmichael blinked at him, then smiled. “Fucking right, man! I’m gonna text Victor and Cliff.”
After six very successful NHL seasons, Shane had gained a reputation for two things:
1. Being a natural leader and an outstanding playmaker, and;
2. Being absolutely no fun at all.
Shane felt this second accusation was unfair. He was plenty fun. He could relax with a beer and joke around. He was social. He...
He hated clubs. That was something he couldn’t deny. He didn’t dance, he didn’t like crowds, and he didn’t like the pressure to pick up women. At least tonight he didn’t have to worry about that last thing.
He found Rose and her friends in a VIP area at the club. She stood up and kissed him quickly in greeting. He recognized most of the people there. Two of them were her costars from theX-Squadmovie: Miles and Jiya. Miles was a young actor with a massive fan base, due to his work as a teenager on a popular television drama. He was extremely attractive, with light brown skin, perfectly groomed stubble, and the most incredible eyes Shane had ever seen. They were gray—so pale they were almost silver. He was looking effortlessly gorgeous in a long-sleeve black top, slim-fitting dark gray pants, and a black knit hat.
