Page 94 of Heated Rivalry 1
Shane lowered his voice and said, “Maybe you could teach me Russian someday.”
“Only useful phrases,” Ilya said. Shane could practicallyhearhis crooked smile. Then Ilya purred something in Russian.
“What does that mean?” Shane asked.
“Get on your knees.”
“Oh.” Shane quickly scanned the stairwell again to make sure he was still alone. He was already more aroused than he should be after listening to Ilya pour his heart out. “And what other useful phrases could you teach me?”
Ilya laughed. “I can think of many, Hollander.”
Shane shifted on the stairs. “I wish you were here now.”
Shane couldn’t believe he had actually allowed himself to say that out loud. They didn’twishto be together. They reluctantly hooked up when they were in the same city because it was something to do.
He felt his mortification melt away when Ilya said, in a low voice, “Me too.”
Moscow
Something occurred to Ilya after he ended the call with Shane: maybe Shane had recorded that call and was going to run it through some sort of translating app later.
But Shane wouldn’t do that, would he?
Ilya stopped into a coffee shop and ordered a cappuccino. While he waited for it, he tried not to imagine scenarios where Shane would somehow translate every word that Ilya had just said.
Mostly he had just been ranting about his family, but he had included an admission that he wished things could have been different with his father. That he had stupidly always hoped that his father might tell him that he was proud of him.
That admission would have been embarrassing enough, but Ilya had also slipped in an“and on top of everything, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do about it.”
It was saying those words out loud, even more than venting his frustrations about his family, that had truly made Ilya feel lighter. It was a secret he had been carrying for far too long, locked away so deep inside that he had even been keeping it from himself. But as soon as he let himself acknowledge it, and now say it, he felt relieved. Not because he could do anything about these feelings, but at least he had allowed himself to accept them. And he had, in the most cowardly way possible, said them aloud to Shane.
Shane wouldn’t translate anything. That wasn’t why he had asked Ilya to unload on him in Russian. He was being a friend.
A friend?
Sure, Ilya could admit that he and Shane were friends now. He had certainly been the only person Ilya could think of when he’d decided he needed to talk to someone today.
He walked out of the shop with his cappuccino and reluctantly headed in the direction of his father’s house. The funeral was the next morning. After that, he could leave what was left of his goddamn family behind.
The next day—Montreal
Shane had barely gotten in the door of his apartment before he texted Ilya. He had been thinking about him all day.
Shane: How are you doing?
He wasn’t sure if Ilya would reply or not. He might be busy. His father’s funeral had been that morning. It was late in Moscow now, after ten o’clock at night.
Lily: Fantastic.
Shane waited.
Lily: A little bit drunk, actually.
Shane: Can I call you?
Lily: Yes.
When Shane heard Ilya’s voice, he sounded more exhausted than drunk. “Hollander.”
