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Shane was too gay for this.
The most beautiful, sexy man Shane had even seen had his hand in between Shane’s thighs. And Shane was just, supposed to be professional.
It shouldn’t have been that hard, difficult! It shouldn’t have been that difficult.
He’d had very attractive men grope most of his body in professional settings throughout his career. The current assistant physical trainer with the Metros, Andreas, had multiple guys on the team grumbling about how their girlfriends and wives would whisper and stare when he was around.
And he was hot, Shane had also noticed.
Andreas was very hot.
He was not Ilya Rozanov.
“How is that?”
“Good! Good that’s-”
One of the tailor’s brows rose. Shane felt himself flush.
“Not too tight? Athletes, they do not understand when a fabric is too tight, too much time in fabrics that stretch.”
Shane blinked a few times, forcing himself to really think about how the pinned fabric felt.
“Um, should I-”
Shane motioned. Rozanov nodded once and sat back on his heels, hands spread on his own thighs, fuck, looking up at Shane.
“Yes, walk to seat, then back. Do not sit, pins will stab you and you will ruin the wool.”
Shane nodded and looked away. He was fucking dying. He walked to the seat, trying not to move too fast, trying to pay attention to how the fabric fit on his legs.
He’d already been scolded before, and not just by Rozanov, for not giving enough feedback about how things fit and if he was comfortable in the clothes he was wearing.
“I think it feels good.”
Ilya was still on his knees, studying Shane as he walked. He nodded slowly as Shane walked back to him.
Shane wasn’t sure who exactly he should blame, but he knew it was one of the women in his life.
Rose suggested he get a few custom suits during one of the rare weekends when she was in New York City for promos and Shane was there for a long weekend for some sponsorships during the off-season. When Shane mentioned that it was unlikely he’d even find someone who could make him a proper suit, Rose suggested a stylist who apparently specialized in helping get people with athletic bodies or disabled bodies into designer clothes that actually fit their bodies.
And of course Rose had made the suggestion over lunch. With his mother present. His mother desperately wanted Shane to get Shane a more “diversified audience” so he’d be better insulated when he eventually publicly came out.
Svetlana Vetrova (and Shane knew he was locked in once Rose told his mother the name of the stylist. There was no way Yuna Hollander was going to give up a chance to work with a stylist who actually knew about hockey, even Shane was intrigued) agreed with Rose.
He’d thought getting a custom suit would be overkill. And would go against one of his sponsors, or something. Svetlana had not been impressed, and reminded Shane that getting a few custom suits was a very basic requirement for most jobs that paid what Shane made annually.
Svetlana did not take any mercy on Shane. Yuna loved her.
The cruelest thing Svetlana had done, by far, was send Shane to this gorgeous tailor in this tiny shop in Boston.
Shane swallowed.
Ilya Rozanov was studying Shane’s thighs and crotch. Still on his knees.
“The suit Svetlana wants, it will not work.”
Shane blinked a few times.
“Umm..”
Bright blue eyes flicked up to Shane’s face. Rozanov smirked.
“Yes, Svetlana is scary. Right to be nervous. I will tell her won’t work, she will listen.”
Shane just, nodded.
Rozanov smoothly rose to his feet. He was taller than Shane. He’d been taller than Shane when he came into Ilya’s shop, but the difference seemed greater now with Shane stripped down to his pair of dress pants and thin tshirt, with Ilya Rozanov dressed like….that. He’d been wearing a full suit when Shane entered the shop, but now Ilya had removed the jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.
Fuck, Shane wanted to -.
Nope.
No, no, no!
Professional, Shane would be professional. Rozanov motioned toward the little screened area where Shane had gotten undressed. Shane took the queue and went back in to get dressed in his own clothes.
He needed the distance from his very hot Russian tailor.
“I have your measurements. You will be back in Boston in three weeks, yes?”
Shane nodded, even though Rozanov couldn’t see him.
“Probably, sometimes they don’t have me travel for every preseason game.”
“But you have rookie on left wing this year. Need practice.”
How did-?
Shane opened the curtain, now dressed, and looked at Rozanov. The tailor had his huge arms crossed over his chest and he was leaning against the doorway between the front of the shop and the fitting area.
“You like hockey?”
“Played in Russia, when I was young.”
Shane knew he was being rude, but he let himself study Rozanov’s frame. Shane could easily picture Rozanov in condition for pro hockey, and he could see the same former-skater silhouette Shane saw on many of the younger team staff who’d started as players before transitioning to another role within the sport.
Shane imagined the other man with slightly thicker thighs, maybe slightly thinner arms and shoulders. He’d still be the most attractive person Shane had ever seen.
“Is this revenge, Hollander? For how I studied you?”
Oh god, Shane felt his face go hot.
“No, no, god, sorry, just-. I guess, I can see it.”
Rozanov studied Shane. He felt pinned down, more than he had when Rozanov was literally pinning things in place.
Maybe, maybe Shane could, try something. He licked his lips, gathered his courage.
“Do you, um, would you, would you want to go, to the game? If I got you a ticket?”
Rozanov’s head tilted to one side.
“Um, it’s only a preseason game but, everyone likes free tickets, right?”
“Will you give me two?”
Oh Shane did not like how felt. Fuck, of course Rozanov had someone he wanted to take with him. A guy that hot, no way he was single.
“Sure, I, I can get tickets for you and your, your girlfriend.”
“No girlfriend.”
Rozanov’s chest rose with a deep breath. Shane tried not to stare. He probably failed.
“No boyfriend either. But maybe I take Svetlana, if tickets are gratitude for work on suites.”
Rozanov pushed himself off the doorway and took a step closer to Shane. Shane could feel his heartbeat speed up.
“If tickets are….something else, maybe I go to game alone, maybe I see you after game, if you want.”
Oh fuck, this was really happening.
“I want.”
Rozanov grinned. He grabbed the same pen and pad of paper he’d used before to take notes while measuring Shane’s pants. He wrote something down, ripped it off the pad, and handed it to Shane.
“Here, to text me about ticket.”
“Shane looked down at the scrap of paper now in his hands. That was a phone number. Rozanov’s cell phone number.
Okay, everything had gone well so far, he could be a little more brave.
“Just about the ticket?”
He looked up at Rozanov. The other man was staring at Shane like he’d eat him. Shane was pretty sure he would enjoy that very, very much.
“No. Leave. Now, Mr. Hollander. I must not be too unprofessional in shop, yes?”
Shane nodded and practically floated out of the shop, Rozanov’s phone number still in his hand.
He looked down at his watch 2:56 p.m. Svetlana had told him to get to Rozanov’s shop at least a half hour before it closed at 5:30 p.m. Shane wasn’t leaving Boston until the next morning.
He looked back at the shop. Rozanov was still watching Shane from the front window.
What were the odds Shane could get Rozanov to agree to meet tonight? Probably pretty good, right?