Page 81 of Heated Rivalry 1
“You and Rose Landry...”
“Yeah. Not compatible. Not in that way, anyway.”
Ilya was quiet. Shane looked around to see if anyone was close enough to hear them. They seemed to be alone.
It was very dark.
“When do you fly out?”
“Early,” Ilya said.
“Me too. Columbus.”
“Toronto.” When Ilya said it, he rolled the “r” slightly and pronounced the second “t.” Shane smiled.
Without warning, Ilya moved his hand until it was right next to Shane’s, and then he hooked their thumbs together. Shane’s first instinct was to pull away, but he resisted. Instead he closedhis eyes, and tried not to hope for impossible things. He also resisted the urge to rest his head on Ilya’s shoulder.
“What room are you in?” Shane whispered.
“Twelve seventeen.”
“I’d like to talk. Somewhere private.”
Ilya pulled his thumb away. Shane wanted to grab it back.
Ilya stood and said, “See you soon,” before walking back toward the hotel.
Chapter Seventeen
Ilya stood in the middle of his hotel room. Did Shane actually want to talk to him? Was “talking” code for something else, like it always had been before? Had Shane felt the shift in their relationship that Ilya had, the last time they were together? If so, was he looking to break things off and run away...or lean into it? Or maybe he didn’t know what he wanted, because Ilya sure as fuck didn’t.
He also knew that what they both wanted probably didn’t matter anyway.
Ilya wished they could go for a walk or something—a moonlit stroll on the beach. He was tired of hotel rooms.
His phone buzzed.I’m here.
He opened the door immediately.
Shane slipped in. His clothes were rumpled and a little sandy from the beach. His hair had been tousled by the ocean breeze.
He crossed the room without speaking and sat on the end of the bed. He clasped his hands together and looked at the floor.
“Whoa,” Ilya said. “This looks serious.”
“It’s not... I mean...sort of. Just...shut up a second, all right?”
Ilya sat himself on the dresser, directly across from the end of the bed, and waited.
“It’s...” Shane grimaced. “It’s not just me, right?”
“Not just you?”
“I mean...you feel it too, don’t you?”
“Feel what?”
“God, fuck you. You know what I mean! The last time we were...together...it was...different.”
