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    Summary

    Ilya’s phone buzzed, and the screen lit up with a notification. He sighed and shifted his bags to one hand to grab and see who the fuck was texting him so soon before a game. The screen said “Jane,” and the annoyance faded.

    Jane: Attachment: 1 image

    Ilya’s bags fell to his feet.

    He gripped the phone in both hands, holding it to his chest as his head tipped back. Fuck.

    There, on his screen, was a mirror selfie. Hollander. In a fucking Boston Raiders shirt. Hours before Montreal was supposed to play against Boston.

     

    OR

     

    Ilya Rozanov loses his mind over Shane Hollander in a Boston Raiders shirt. It's just a casual hookup though. No big deal.

    Language:
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