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Shane is pretty sure this is a bad idea. This is made more concrete by the fact that Ilya is looking forward to it.
“Relax,” Ilya goads as they watch the car turn onto the drive, and Shane realizes it is absolutely too late to call it all off. Ilya runs a hand down his back and murmurs, “Will be fine. Fun, even.”
Shane sure hopes so.
It seemed logical, when they first had the idea. Shane wanted Ilya and Rose to meet, and Ilya wanted Shane and Svetlana to meet. It was logical to have this happen at the same time, to invite them both to a dinner at the cottage on their off season. Rose was on a break from filming and Svetlana had some time off from work she wanted to take, and she didn’t mind making Ottawa her stopover town. It fell into place before Shane could finally realize that this was actually a terrible idea and he had no idea what he was thinking in order to have suggested it in the first place.
Shane and Ilya were inviting women they had sex with to their house. Women they had sex with during the timespans that they were not having sex with each other.
Shane is pretty sure he is going to throw up. He feels suddenly overwhelmed and like he would like to hide in the laundry room. He considers climbing into the dryer at the same moment the door to the rental car opens, and an incredibly gorgeous woman steps out.
Because of course she is gorgeous. Ilya would never settle for anything else.
She has gorgeous brown skin and hair for days, and she’s wearing red lipstick and a pretty black dress. She has amazing long legs. Shane feels the first roil of jealousy in his stomach and realizes yet another idea that this is probably a bad idea—while he knows Svetlana is largely just one of Ilya’s close friends now, Ilya has had his hands on his legs. He’s had his mouth between them. Shane wants to blow her up with his mind.
Svetlana sees them through the window watching her walk up, and she smiles with beautiful white teeth. She wiggles her fingers at Ilya and picks up her pace, and Ilya opens the door at the same moment she is getting to it.
“Cold as balls out here,” are her first words in a smooth, soft Russian accent, and she gives Ilya a kiss on the cheek. “Thought I would get lost on the way and have to eat bark to survive.”
“Dramatic as always,” he replies, and turns the both of them toward Shane, who has no idea what he is doing with his face. He tries to smile. It feels wooden. “Svet, this is Shane.”
“As gorgeous as you are on TV,” Svetlana purrs, and bounds forward to kiss Shane on the cheek, too. “Yes—I would climb like a tree.”
Ilya flips her off, putting his arm around Shane to pull him closer. “Down, girl.”
“No fair,” she pouts, and laughs.
Okay, fine, so Shane kind of likes her, because she reminds him a lot of Ilya—sharp eyes, clever smile, smart mouth. He thinks he understands why they got along, and also why they would never be a good match—Shane does not think Ilya would be able to survive in a world where his partner was too much like looking into a mirror. It would take all of the attention off of him.
Shane finally cracks a smile that feels more real. “Nice to meet you.”
“So polite,” she praises, and pinches Ilya. “Unlike him.”
“My better half, as they say,” Ilya agrees, and kisses Shane on the chin.
Shane feels himself flush scarlet but Svetlana is just grinning at them like Ilya isn’t doing anything embarrassing at all, like she even manages to find it sweet. She’s opening her mouth to speak when they hear the beep of a car and, when they turn, Rose Landry is walking away from her rental, spinning her key on her finger and grinning at them through the glass of the house.
Svetlana makes a surprised noise. “I’ve never met a movie star.”
“You’re about to,” Ilya says, and Shane untangles himself from his side to open the door, and Rose is promptly launching herself full speed into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and laughing when he stumbles.
“It’s been so long!” she cries right into his ear, giving him one last squeeze before letting her limbs loosen, dropping onto heeled feet carefully. She’s never been to the cottage but she kicks off her shoes like she owns the place, knowing how Shane likes his house without shoes. “Have you gotten buffer? Did you actually start that new diet? I was half kidding, but I think it would suit you.”
“Rose,” Shane greets, used to the way she blows in like a hurricane. He takes her by the shoulders and turns her. “This is Ilya Rozanov. And Svetlana, who I told you about.”
“This is so awesome,” she says, and shakes Ilya’s hand with vigor. “I am a huge fan.” She looks at Svetlana. “And you are gorgeous. You have to tell me what foundation you use.”
Svetlana, looking a little starstruck, nods.
Shane is beginning to feel like this might become a disaster again so he loudly asks, “Should we move to the dining room?”
“Sure,” Rose says, looking around the house eagerly and following Shane as he leads the way toward the kitchen, letting out a happy hum as she takes in all the windows and the wooden beams. “Oh, this house is stunning. I can’t believe you never showed me this place.”
“Hm,” Ilya says, a little smugly.
Shane ignores him.
“My parents aren’t far,” he explains like he has to justify the house, which even Svetlana is looking at with her eyebrows up, peering at the dock outside. “Felt nice, to have a place close to them.”
“So cute,” Rose says.
“Adorable,” Svetlana agrees, and points to the dock. “Is that—”
“Oh my god, yes!” Rose says, seemingly having an epiphany. “That interview, with the yoga—”
Shane wants to crumple into the floor. He hadn’t minded filming it at the time, but he’d also kind of hated inviting people into his space like that. He is almost nauseous at the thought of people having watched it. “I didn’t think that one was very popular.”
“Ilya and I watched it,” Svetlana offers, and Ilya hisses a shush at her.
Shane stares at Ilya. “What?”
“Yup,” Svetlana says. “He turned it off when I called you hot. I thought it was a rivalry thing, but it makes more sense now.”
“Oh my god,” Rose replies, amused. “Svetlana, the secrets we could tell each other.”
Svetlana, clearly over being starstruck already, gives her a very evil grin.
Ilya points at Svetlana. “Enough. No embarrassing him in his own house.”
“You invited me here,” she replies as if that should explain it all.
Ilya knows Shane the best out of everyone in the world so he knows he is probably about two seconds from launching himself out of the window and running into the woods until everyone forgets his name forever. Ilya presses a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing, as if to ground him. Shane’s stomach flips a little less. He is pretty sure his skin is cold and clammy though.
Rose and Svetlana, sitting on the other side of his kitchen counter, don’t seem to notice a thing. They’re only looking at Ilya watching Shane, and they both open their mouths and say, at the same time, “Aww.”
“That was creepy,” Ilya tells them, amused.
“You two,” Rose announces, “are a very hot couple.”
“Cute and stunning at the same time,” Svetlana agrees, putting her chin on her hand. “I could stare at them all day.”
“Two pieces of a whole set,” Rose agrees, nodding. “Do not separate.”
“They’re messing with you,” Ilya tells Shane like he doesn’t already know, feeling like he is blushing a bright pink that his mother always says suits him but Shane suddenly just feels like a huge moron. He manages a stiff smile and turns away from Ilya to check on the oven, which is still cooking the vegetarian lasagne his mother taught him how to make, and Shane tries not to think of what is happening behind him.
“So, Svetlana,” Rose is saying, “what dirty secrets do you have about Ilya? You’ve known him forever, right?”
“You could ask me,” Ilya teases.
“Not as fun that way.”
“Know too much about you. Pretty movie star who kissed my boyfriend.”
“I didn’t know about that part at the time,” she points out, but she’s smiling. “Not that you hold a grudge or anything, of course.”
“Definitely not,” Ilya replies angelically.
And Shane turns around, looking toward him, because he didn’t think about that. Ilya does look like he’s holding a grudge, in fact—he is wearing the smile he uses on the ice to get big guys to throw a punch at him, a mischievous look in his eyes that isn’t all that honest. It is Shane’s turn to reach for him. To reassure him with a hand on the small of his back, soft and protective and displaying a kind of possessiveness that Shane has only ever felt for this man.
He loves Rose, but he does not love her like that. He knows, logically, that Ilya and Svetlana feel the same way about each other, but Shane cannot ever get it out of his head that Ilya offered to marry Svetlana for citizenship. He thinks that will always haunt him, at least for now.
Rose sees everything in Ilya’s expression because, if she would be a hockey player, she would definitely be an enforcer. Her smirk sharpens, eyes on Ilya like she is spotting prey. “I’m sure you—”
“Stop,” Shane tells them, feeling like he is stopping the swatting of two aggressive kittens all of a sudden. “Behave.”
“I behave all the time,” Ilya purrs, and licks Shane’s neck. Svetlana lets out a hoot of laughter, and even Rose is broken out of her trance, rolling her eyes. But Ilya has done what he wanted and marked his territory, so he is practically purring. Shane rubs at the spit on his neck with just a little bit of disgust, but the laughter that tumbles out of him is genuine.
He does not think he has anything to be afraid of.
He knows he was overreacting anyway. He knows it but he cannot get his own brain to stop, and he cannot so easily stop the anxiety bubbling in his chest. He runs a hand over Ilya’s back in reassurance and feels Ilya’s tension lessen. He knows they love each other and they only want each other, and he should have known that seeing Rose would elicit the same anxiousness in Ilya, the one that wonders if the affairs of their past were better than what they have built brick by brick.
But they never could be, and they never will be. There is no use in being anxious about something that is over.
So Shane takes a deep breath and only turns away because the oven is going off, calling, “Ilya, can you grab the plates?”
“On my way,” he tells him, and Shane hears the cabinet open. “The blue ones?”
“Sure.”
“The fine china,” Ilya jokes with them, setting the set of four on the counter as Shane dons his oven mitts and pulls the lasagne out of the oven, setting it on the stove to cool. “This one has blue on them, and Shane bought them himself.”
“Not even an interior designer,” Svetlana says. “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be,” Shane tells her. “They’re from a department store.”
“Department stores are great,” says the woman who has likely never been inside of one in about a decade, and whose clothes fit her with the precision of a tailor. Ilya sets a fork in front of her.
Shane realizes, sharply, that his Canadian hospitality has failed him. “Drinks,” he says suddenly, whirling away from the lasagne. “I’ll—”
“Svet, wine?” Ilya asks, already opening the fridge. “Rose?”
“Wine,” she confirms. “Thank you very much.”
“I’m sorry,” Shane starts to tell them, but both of the women wave him off, and Shane vows to never tell his mother that he forgot to offer his guests a drink the moment they walked into his home.
Ilya pours them all a glass, and Shane even thinks he is going to drink this one, even though he is trying not to drink anything at all. He is starting to think he deserves a little treat, and maybe it will loosen him up a little. He turns back to the lasagne, cutting into it and blinking through the steam.
“That smells so good,” Svetlana moans. “Handsome and he cooks?”
“Sometimes,” Ilya allows teasingly, slapping Shane’s ass with a tea towel from the counter. “He is good at following recipe. Big rule follower.”
“Opposites really do attract,” Rose teases, and Shane glances back to find her smiling kindly at Ilya. Understanding in her eyes.
Ilya hesitates, and then grins back at her. “I make him break the rules, I guess.”
“You do,” she agrees.
And that easily, it seems a truce has been found, and they both seem to relax. Shane isn’t exactly sure what happened but he is too busy doling out lasagne slices to ask, and then everyone is talking all at once about next to nothing at all—Rose about her flight and Svetlana about hers, and Ilya commenting on how they both flew first class so they should be quiet, and Rose telling him that she knows about his sports cars and should keep his opinion to himself. Shane sits next to Ilya at the table and Ilya hooks their ankles together, and Shane feels like he can take his first breath of the night.
Svetlana and Rose begin to debate the best big cities they’ve been to, Ilya’s protests meeting them with half of the hockey towns they talk about, and Shane finally finds it in him to laugh along. He weighs in on Tampa, telling them that it’s not so bad while glancing at Ilya, and Ilya leans over to press a kiss to his cheek.
The lasagne disappears, and so do two more glasses of wine from the wine fridge Shane barely uses, and he loosens up enough that the smiles are easier. He likes that he can hold Ilya’s hand in the open here. He likes that he can kiss him when their guests aren’t paying attention, and he likes being able to pretend to be annoyed when Ilya keeps trying to slip his tongue into his mouth when he does.
On one such occasion, they are promptly caught, and Svetlana laughs the loudest. “I did not take you for so much PDA,” she tells Ilya, “though I should not be surprised.”
“Good place,” he says, squeezing Shane’s hand, “with good company.”
Svetlana’s smile relaxes. “Good.”
“Adorable,” Rose sighs dreamily, looking between the two of them. “You know, I didn’t know how it would work between the two of you, at first.”
Ilya narrows his eyes. Shane knows what she means, though, because she is a hockey fan first sometimes. He squeezes Ilya’s hand to get him to close his mouth and states the obvious: “The rivalry.”
“I let myself wonder about that,” she says, “and I knew the rumors, so I knew you two weren’t very alike. But I’m starting to think some of those rumors weren’t very right at all about you, Ilya.”
“I am still asshole,” he assures her proudly.
She grins. “But you look at him like he’s the whole world, so you’re good in my books.”
Ilya gets serious. He looks at Shane when he murmurs, “He is.”
“So adorable,” Svetlana says, and Rose murmurs in agreement, and they clink their half-empty glasses together.
“What about you?” Ilya asks Svetlana. “Anything to say about my value?”
“Virtue,” she corrects, and then tells him, “Don’t mess this up.”
He throws his hands up. “I have done nothing!”
“Mhm,” she replies skeptically, and Rose laughs, hooking their arms together.
Shane runs a hand over Ilya’s shoulders and offers him a sweet smile when he pouts over at Shane, and the pout quickly melts into a fond smile. Shane holds his chin to kiss him softly. Ilya once again tries to slip in tongue.
Shane sighs and tells him, “Behave.”
“Never,” Ilya promises, and grins.
But eventually, they break out the glasses of water instead, and it is growing late enough that Rose and Svetlana start to get worried that they won’t be able to find their way back, even when Shane and Ilya both assure them that they are not as deep in the middle of nowhere as they seem to think they are. They still insist on leaving after a few glasses of water, and Shane and Ilya walk them to the door.
Rose kisses Shane on the cheek and murmurs, “He’s a good one.”
“Yeah,” he tells her, and grins.
She grins back. “I’m happy for you. Really. You never smile like that unless it’s about him.”
“He means a lot to me,” he tells her, and has to stop because Ilya and Svetlana have finished their goodbyes and she is waiting her turn to speak to him. The moment he turns to her, she darts forward and gives him a kiss on his other cheek and tells him, “Don’t break his heart.”
“Never,” Shane promises.
“Same thing I said,” Ilya says smugly, smirking at Svetlana. “Told you so.”
“Text me when you get back safe,” Shane tells them.
They both hold up a thumbs up and laugh at their continued repetitions. Shane is pretty sure they have already exchanged phone numbers, and he has a feeling this will not be the last time he will be hosting a night like this at his house. He likes the feeling that brings, now, though—pride, maybe, and excitement. He had more fun tonight than he thought he would. He is almost surprised to realize it.
Shane and Ilya wait on the porch as they climb into their cars, waving. Rose pulls out first and heads down the street, Svetlana following her. They wave until they’re certain they can’t be seen anymore, and Shane lets his hand drop lamely, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
Ilya takes his hand and squeezes it. “Good?”
“Good,” he agrees, and leans into him. “She was pretty.”
“Not as pretty as you,” Ilya says in the way he does, where he is clearly stating a fact and not feeding Shane some kind of line. “Rose is movie star pretty. Untouchable.”
Except Shane did touch her. He almost feels nauseous about it now. “I don’t think I like untouchable.”
Ilya shoots him a look. “I’m not untouchable?”
“Not anymore.” He smiles.
Ilya allows it with a huff, pulling him close. “We will have them over again sometime.”
“Okay,” Shane agrees.
“Good,” Ilya murmurs. “Am glad you liked her.”
“I’m glad you liked Rose, too.”
“A little like me sometimes,” he admits. “I see appeal.”
Shane, meanwhile, does not know how to reply to that. He has never once thought she was like Ilya. He supposes he sees the similarities, if he squints—the light hair, the confidence, the way they live and breathe hockey. Shane doesn’t know how he feels about potentially having unconsciously found a girl version of Ilya when he was supposed to be getting over the man in question.
“I love you,” Shane says instead, because it feels important.
“I love you most, Hollander,” Ilya promises him softly. “For all time.”
Shane kisses him.
This time, he lets it be with tongue.