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December 2009 – Ottawa
“Too pretty to hate.”
Shane blinked. He couldn’t have heard that right. “Are you drunk?”
“No, would be fun,” Rozanov muttered, the hotel pool casting him in a lovely blue glow. “I kept staring at your mouth, at gym after draft. Is a cute mouth.”
“It’s a normal mouth.”
“Nope.” Rozanov accented the p. “Is adorable little mouth. Would look great around my – ”
“Okay,” Shane huffed and rubbed his hands down his basketball shorts. “Is there someone I can call? A teammate? A coach?”
Ilya shook his head. “Will be fine. Stay. Two minutes. Then you can go.”
Shane could give Rozanov two minutes.
It was New Year’s Eve, after all, and Shane had wandered away from his teammates who were enjoying the beer they had managed to smuggle into the hotel. He didn’t want to be guilted or teased for not partaking, so he decided to go down to the Hyatt Place gym for a run.
Rozanov must have had a similar thought, though Shane found him lying on one of the loungers in the pool next door. Shane – for some crazy reason – decided to check on him, and now he sat on the lounger next to Rozanov’s, making sure the other center didn’t…well, Shane didn’t know what. Shane just thought Rozanov shouldn’t be alone.
But Rozanov’s words nagged him.
“You hate me?”
Shane didn’t really know Rozanov enough to hate him, though he wasn’t a big fan of the guy’s bravado.
Rozanov shook his head. “No, but my father told me to beat you. Not Canada. You.”
“That’s not going to happen twice,” Shane said with a dry laugh.
“Already beat you twice.” Rozanov put up a finger for each point. “Last year’s Juniors. Draft.”
“Fuck off.”
“And you never even congratulated me.”
Shane huffed. “I shook your hand.”
“Not at the draft. Good Canadian boy lost his manners?”
Shane rolled his eyes. “You’re not going to beat me again.”
“We will see,” Rozanov said with a tiny smile; it faded quickly. “He sees you as enemy. My father. Our teams are rivals. Is only matter of time before we hate each other.”
He sounded so morose.
“And you don’t want to hate me?” Shane failed to keep the hope from his voice.
“No.” Rozanov gave a helpless shrug. “I told you. Too pretty to hate.”
Shane rubbed his hands together, his stomach flipping. He wasn’t sure what game Rozanov was playing, but he was a great hockey player, not a great actor.
“Then let’s not hate each other,” Shane offered. “Let’s be friends.”
“You want to be friends?” Rozanov echoed, skeptical.
“Yeah? We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other. It’ll be more fun if we’re not at each other’s throats.”
“Should we braid hair?” Rozanov laughed. “Eat junk food? Have sleep over?”
“That’s…not a bad idea?” Shane offered. When Rozanov’s eyes snapped toward him – clear and questioning – Shane quickly added, “I mean, not the braiding hair and maybe not even the junk food, but do you want to come back to my hotel room? We can watch a movie. Maybe order out. Poulet Rouge has great grilled chicken bowls.”
Rozanov studied Shane, eyes raking over his features, and Shane endured the inspection in silence. Rozanov must have seen something in Shane’s gaze because he threw his feet over the edge of the lounger and sat up.
“Okay but I pick movie. You would pick boring one. Like boring food.”
Shane followed Rozanov to his feet. “Poulet Rough is really good.”
Rozanov led him toward the exit. “Mall has Shake Shack, and you want grilled chicken.”
“Shake Shack is full of empty carbs – ”
Rozanov blew him a raspberry. “Live little, Shane.”
Let’s see how he liked it. “Live healthier, Ilya.”
Ilya’s eyes blazed, and Shane had to avert his when heat burned his cheeks.
They entered the elevator and stood with their backs against the far wall, facing the door. Perhaps that was the only reason Shane could mutter, “You’re pretty, too.”
Ilya’s shocked face whirled toward him, but Shane kept staring ahead, only checking Rozanov with a quick side glance. Ilya flashed him a tamed, practiced smile, and Shane wondered how a true, carefree expression would look upon Ilya’s handsome features.
He wanted to see it.
Ilya leaned over, giving Shane enough time to avoid his advances. Shane gulped but didn’t pull away – until the elevator dinged and the doors opened. Ilya jerked away, too, putting at least three feet between them.
Luckily, no one was in the hallway.
“Fast and Furious,” Ilya declared as he stepped out of the elevator.
Shane gave chase. “What?”
“We will watch Fast and Furious and eat terrible chicken bowls.”
“They’re good. You’ll see,” Shane insisted. “Why Fast and Furious? Is it your favorite movie or something?”
Ilya shrugged. “I like cars.”
Shane filed that away for later.
Right before he opened the door, he looked back at Ilya, who stared at him with a questioning but anticipatory expression.
“Congratulations. For going first overall. I think you’ll like the Boston system, and Montreal is a better fit for me.”
Ilya nodded and said nothing else, and Shane briefly wondered if it was “too little, too late.” But the moment the door closed, Ilya pounced. He pushed Shane against the door and whispered, lips hovering just before Shane’s “This okay?”
Shane nodded but when Ilya hesitated, forced the words from his mouth, “Y-Yes. Uh, please.”
Ilya laughed at that, like he couldn’t believe someone would say “please” before kissing him, but it gave Shane a glimpse of Ilya’s true, wonderful smile.
It was breathtaking.
Ilya pressed his dry, rough lips to Shane’s. It felt like a test kiss, gentle and tender and brief.
Shane had wanted that since the gym in Los Angeles. It had taken all his willpower to not straddle Rozanov that night, right there on the floor and kiss him senseless.
He wanted more than just a teaser. Even this brief kiss was the best one Shane ever experienced, and he wanted to make out with Ilya and maybe do more than just kiss.
Ilya stepped back then and looked away, cheeks dusted pink. “We will practice. You will get better.”
Shane spluttered, taking back. “Fuck off.”
“Nope. Today, dinner and movie. Maybe more making out. In October, maybe we do more. We see.”
Shane nodded. He wasn’t sure what the future held – their rookie seasons, the rivalry, Ilya’s asshole family – but he knew he couldn’t wait to see what October – and the rest of their lives – would bring.
Toronto - June 2010
Shane guessed that if anyone could rent out the Air Canada Centre for a photo shoot, it would be CCM. He wasn't sure why it was in Toronto, though. He was from Ottawa and would be playing for a Montreal team, but maybe CCM wanted he and all the brand ambassadors on neutral ground. His mom had said there would be at least one other player taking part, but she hadn't been able to find out who that one player was.
Shane quickly changed and stepped out onto the ice in his non-descript CCM gear.
"Hey, Hollander!" Ilya leaned causally against the boards, a wild and sexy grin growing upon his handsome face. "Let's have some fun, yes?"
Shane smiled and nodded. “Yes. Let’s.”
Maybe he wouldn’t have to wait until October to enjoy “more.”
Fin