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Award banquets were never as exciting as Ilya wanted them to be. Full of hockey players and their wives, there was never anyone interesting to look at.
Only the very, very boring.
The very boring happened to be standing across the room in a suit that hugged his body in a way that made Ilya want to tear it off of him.
Shane Hollander had won an award. Ilya couldn't remember what it was for, most boring player probably. He held it in his elbow as he spoke to Carter Vaughan, the crystal catching the light and throwing it up to shine across his face.
Shifting back to lean against the wall, Ilya glanced casually around, taking his gaze off Shane and pretending to be interested in the rest of the room. So if anyone was watching, they wouldn't notice.
How could they not notice?
Ilya slowly dragged his eyes up Shane's body. His pants emphasizing the curve of his ass which Ilya thought was unfair. He had to have planned it that way, knowing what it would do to Ilya all night. With the cut of his jacket brushing just below his waistband, Ilya had a hard time tearing his gaze way.
Shane's hand lifted a glass to his lips, and Ilya suppressed his smile. He had asked for ginger ale in the same glass everyone else was using for champagne.
Very, very boring.
Eyes cut across the room, and suddenly Ilya was holding his gaze. Shane's beautiful dark eyes surprised, his perfect, plush lips parting against the rim of his glass.
Ilya let his smile tug the corner of his mouth up just so he could see Shane's face flush beneath his freckles.
Those fucking freckles.
They covered his cheeks, scattering across his nose, crooked from one hit too many. Ilya had been obsessed with Shane's freckles from the moment he met him. No matter how hard he tried to remove him from his memory, the freckles remained.
Now Ilya knew it was hopeless. He was never going to forget about Shane Hollander. It had been impossible from the start, but he had tried.
Tried to forget how his hand felt against his stomach, forget the taste of his fingers in Ilya's mouth. The scent of him on his skin.
Ilya's phone buzzed in his pocket.
2107.
He glanced up as Shane met his eye again.
Ilya grinned.
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