Chapter Text
January 3st, 03.06 am
Some people say the start of a new year is a great way to reinvent yourself. ‘New year, new me’, I think the saying is? I always thought those people were fucking stupid. Every year, they come up with new year resolutions, which they will commit to for about three weeks before abandoning them. Because fuck resolutions. Everyone knows they’re bullshit.
Take Sveta, for example. Every year she tells me she’s done fucking around (with me, mostly. Boooo.) and that she will settle down with a nice guy. Ha, as if. She will usually text me at the beginning of February, asking to either go out or hook up. Or both.
So no, I don’t believe in that resolution crap. But then I went to the annual New Year’s party at my office and I realized I need to make some dire changes, if I don’t want to end up alone in my tiny 15th floor apartment, very sad and alone.
It’s currently three in the morning and I can’t sleep, so that is why I’m starting this diary. I am going to do better this year. Believe me. 2023 will be Ilya Rozanov’s fucking year.
—
It all started when I attended the annual New Year’s party at my office.
It took all of fifteen minutes for me to want to crawl up the walls. The small talk I had to make was boring as fuck. The food sucked. The champagne was cheap, the beer warm and there wasn’t even a karaoke machine.
However, on second thought, maybe it was a good thing there was no karaoke machine. I had made an absolute ass of myself at the Christmas office party, giving a truly amazing (awful) rendition of I Want To Know What Love Is. Troy took a video of me wailing drunkenly into a microphone, while standing on my desk and wearing reindeer antlers.
Oh well, it isn’t even the worst video Troy has of me.
I was lounging against a wall with a glass of bubbly in my hand, looking around for someone fun to talk to. Where the fuck was Troy?
At that moment, my colleague Hayden fucking Pike came over. Pike acted as though he was better than me, because he was my ‘superior’ and had like a million kids. He also wouldn’t shut up about his wife. I mostly just wanted to staple things to Pike’s head.
“Rozanov,” Pike said with a nod. “Happy New Year and all that.”
“You too, Pike,” I grunted.
“Had a good break?”
I shrugged with one shoulder. “Was fine.” I didn’t have any family in Montreal and I was planning on celebrating Russian Christmas with Svetlana later that week. So I just spent my few days off sleeping, playing video games and cuddling my sweetest little dog girl Anya.
“What about you?” I asked to be polite, but I really couldn’t care less.
“Yeah, it was great, y’know? Spent the holidays with Jackie - that’s my wife - and the kids. We took the twins to–”
“Great,” I interrupted, already trying to find ways to escape from the hell that was small talk with Pike. My boss was supposed to be around here somewhere…
I scanned the room and my eyes fell on a guy I hadn’t seen before. He was standing with his back towards us. He had short, jet-black hair and was wearing a forest green sweater. Under the hem of the blazer, a perfectly round ass was visible.
Well, hello there, I thought, as I stared at that ass. I wanted to bet at least a hundred dollars that the guy was fucking hot. “Excuse me, Pike,” I said, as I downed my champagne and shoved the glass towards Pike. “Here, hold this.”
As I sauntered over, I undid another button of my, as Svetlana had dubbed it, ‘fuckboy’ shirt. The slinky, burgundy material clung to my chest. I normally don't wear these kind of clothes to the office, but it was a party, right? I could dress up a little.
Then the guy turned around. Whoa. I was wrong. This guy wasn’t just hot. He was fucking beautiful.
He was also wearing the ugliest Christmas sweater known to men.
“Mr. Rozanov!” Yuna Hollander, my boss’ boss, was standing next to the man. “Great timing! Have you met my son Shane already?” She gave Hollander a gentle push in my direction.
I looked from Yuna to the guy - Hollander - and saw the resemblance. The same eyes, the same jet-black hair, the same intense gaze.
I had heard his name mentioned before. Hollander was a physical therapist and worked for the Montreal Metros. Apparently he sometimes came in to give free head massages, but I had never gotten one before. I deeply regret that now.
I could tell that, under that atrocious sweater, Hollander was extremely muscled. That explained the excellent ass.
“I think you two should have a chat!” Yuna said. “I will leave you two alone to talk.” She slipped away, a satisfied smile on her face.
“Hi,” Hollander said awkwardly, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. “Nice to meet you. I’m Shane. Hollander.” His eyes flicked to my chest for a second, before landing back on my face.
“Hello. It's very nice to meet you, Shane Hollander,” I purred, letting the r in Hollander roll. I flashed him my most dazzling smile; my smile and accent combined usually worked like a charm on - well, everyone. I was basically irresistible to women and men. “I’m Ilya.”
“Yes, I know,” Hollander replied without a single reaction to my smile.
Okay. This never happened to me.
I decided to give him another chance. Because damn, this guy was pretty. Hollander’s eyes were like molten dark chocolate and his nose and cheekbones were covered in freckles. I wondered if he had freckles in other places as well...
“Did you also go out for New Year’s Eve?” I asked.
“No, I just had a quiet night at my parents’ place. I don’t really care for parties.” Boriiiiing. “You?”
“Oh yes. Partied all night,” I replied with a smirk. “Got dinner, got drunk. I had a great time.” I grabbed another glass of champagne from a nearby table and took a gulp.
“Good for you.”
Hollander was still standing stock-still, looking more uncomfortable with the minute. I decided to have a little fun with him, try to get him out of my shell. “Does your mom always tell you who to talk to?” I smirked.
“Oh, no. But she wants me to make more friends,” Hollander explained earnestly. “She thinks I work too much, or something.”
This… was not the reaction I had expected. But it made Hollander all the more endearing to me. “She also buys your clothes?” I said, nodding at that awful sweater. It had HAPPY HOCKEY DAYS written in large, white letters. Under it, there were two crossed hockey sticks, a large puck and a bunch of snow flakes.
Hollander flushed a delicious shade of pink. “No, shut u– I mean, no. It was a gift from my dad. He thought it was funny. Since I like hockey.” He then muttered under his breath something along the lines of “Mom made me wear it.”
“You work for the Metros, yes?” I asked.
“Yeah. I’m one of the physical therapists.”
“Cool. I’m also a hockey fan.”
Hollander’s beautiful deer eyes lit up. “Really? Which team do you support? Do you also play?” He smiled for the first time that evening, a bright, toothy grin that lit up his entire gorgeous face.
And that was it. Right there, at that very moment. I felt my heart swell up and suddenly I couldn’t breathe anymore.
Gospodi, I was in love.
—
So, there you have it. The reason I’m changing my life. And his name is Shane Hollander.
After I pulled myself together, we talked hockey all night over champagne and later warm, disgusting beers. It was like the rest of the world - or at least the office - didn’t exist anymore. All I could see was that beautiful smile and those stunning freckles. And that ass.
I don’t even know if Hollander is into men, though I am very perceptive and he’s definitely giving me bottom vibes. I need to have this man in my bed, ASAP.
He didn’t react to any of my advances, though. That made me realize that Hollander is probably never going to give me a chance the way I am now.
If I don’t want to die, sad and alone in my shitty apartment, I am going to have to change.
I am thirty-one, a little too heavy, working a dead-end job without any promotion prospects, chain-smoking (Hollander’s nose crinkled up in disgust when he saw me pull out my ciggies at the end of the evening) and fucking around all the time.
Also, I did not get through all that shit last year just to waste away my life in Canada.
Thus, I have made the following list. In 2023, I will:
- Go to gym more often to get rid of belly fat;
- Get my beautiful curls tamed (I kinda like my man bun, but Sveta says it is ‘so 2015’);
- Get promotion and/or find new job? (I did not learn a second language, get a degree in said language, just to end up as an assistant editor);
- Not drink as much;
- Quit smoking;
- Stop fucking around;
- Delete Grindr.
Will start right away, after I finish my glass of vodka and this cigarette. I swear, this was the last one!
January 4st, 7.18 am
Fuck, forgot about my boss.
8. Stop fantasizing about very hot boss.
This is very tricky, you see. My boss is a fucking snack and a half. I would definitely like to bend him over that desk of his and fuck him senseless. But no, Blake Smith is off-limits if I ever want to get promoted, so must be professional and not flirt with him whenever I see him. Very sad for me. And for him, obviously.
Or would fucking him get me promoted?
Maybe not.
For now, am stuck with fantasies and my right hand.
January 5th, 10.20 pm
Am back home from after work drinks.
Blake looked, as usual, delicious. Tried all day really hard not to fantasize, but he makes it so hard. He looks so good in a suit, especially when he has the sleeves of his shirt rolled up.
He passed my desk a few times today, staring me down, which meant I had to look very busy and important. But he looked so snackable, I promptly forgot my resolution not to hit on him and gave him my flirtiest wink. He mostly looked confused. If I didn’t know better, I’d actually think he wanted me to fuck him.
So anyway. Blake looked fuckable and I looked like a total fuckwit. Pike glanced at me from the desk opposite of me, staring daggers at me. “I still expect that report on my desk by noon, Rozanov,” he said in that annoyingly authoritative tone of his. Ugh, he thinks he’s better than me, because he’s slightly more superior than me. I rolled my eyes at him, but did return to my computer.
The blinking cursor on my blank Word document taunted me. I was supposed to write a report on last year’s book sales or something. Boring as fuck. But Pike kept leering over his cubby at me to make sure I was working and not fucking around, so I dutifully started typing.
After work, which consisted of hours of pretending to work and fantasizing about the hot boss, I left the office with Troy to meet up with our other friends for emergency drinks.
While we ordered beer and snacks, I told them about my encounter with Shane Hollander.
“But what about that boss of yours? Blake?” Sveta asked me.
“Still very hot,” I said. “But you should see Hollander, Sveta. Even you would think he’s hot.”
Sveta hummed. “You still want to fuck your boss, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
Troy just rolled his eyes.
“So, this Shane Hollander guy,” Harris said, between two sips of beer. “Did you at least get his number?”
I was silent for a minute, replaying the evening in my head. “Fuck,” I whispered in shock. I had, in fact, not.
Sveta raised a single eyebrow at me. “Really, Rozanov? You are this stupid? You drool over this dude all night and then forget to ask his number?”
“No, no, is not true,” I said. “Is just part of my plan to win over Hollander’s heart.”
It wasn’t.
“You totally forgot.”
Yes, these very nice people are my friends. Let me introduce them.
First is Svetlana Vetrova, best friend and daughter of ice hockey goalie Sergei Vitrov. We met in Moscow when we were kids and she helped me move to Canada after things went to shit in Russia. She knows everything about hockey and has a business selling fancy cars. Sometimes, we fuck, but we mostly just hang out together. She would be the perfect girlfriend, if we loved each other like that. I mean, I do love her. I just don’t want to marry her.
Next is Harris Drover. He does something with social media? Or apples? Maybe he works at Apple? I don’t know, I don’t really listen when he yaps on about Instagram and Facebook posts. I like him, because he shows me pictures of dogs on his family’s farm. I mostly hang out with him, because Troy does. I also happen to know Harris has the biggest crush on Troy, but Troy seems to be unaware of this fact.
And last, but not least: my work bestie Troy Barrett. If you don’t know him that well, he can be kind of intimidating, but he’s a good guy. He joined the office last year and we instantly bonded over shared traumas and mutual annoyance for Pike. He used to be a hockey player back in the day for Toronto, but quit for some mysterious reason. He’s also an assistant editor.
“I’ll get it,” I said, sounding more confident than I actually felt. I was already trying to figure out how I was going to get in touch with Shane Hollander… He sometimes comes into the office for massages, so there must be someone that has his number, right?
“So this guy is so amazing that he makes you want to change your entire life?” Troy asked sceptically, as he popped an olive into his mouth.
“Yes,” I said. “I will be going to the gym, quit smoking and stop taking hot people home with me. I’m going to be the best version of Ilya Rozanov I can be.”
“You shouldn’t have to change yourself just for a guy,” Harris pointed out.
Harris is big on ‘loving the way you are’ and stuff. And yes, I am great, I know this. But I can always improve myself, no?
“Mm, I thought of that,” I said, sipping from my vodka. “But I have a feeling he is worth it.” Hollander’s ass is definitely worth it.
“Is that why you finally got a haircut?” Troy asked with a frown.
I ran a hair through my freshly cut curls, showing them off. “I look good, yes?”
“Better than the fucking man bun,” Sveta said approvingly. “You look hot.”
Harris and Troy nodded in agreement. “Very hot,” Harris said.
“Ilyushka?” Sveta said then.
“Yes, Svetochka?”
“You are aware that you’re smoking right now, yes?”
I looked at my hand in shock. “I have no idea how that got there!” I exclaimed, as I brought the cigarette to my mouth. It was already lit, it would be bad to waste a perfectly good ciggie.
“Last one, I swear.” I downed the rest of my vodka.
Troy rolled with his eyes. “You’re never going to pull this off.”
Like I said, my friends are so nice. I still love them, though. Sometimes. “Of course I am,” I said. “You just watch me.”
They didn’t watch me. Sveta pulled out her phone to swipe on Tinder, while Harris tried to persuade a very oblivious Troy to come home with him after drinks.
But really, I am going to improve my life. And I will start after this cigarette.
January 6th, 1.30 pm
9. Get Shane Hollander’s number
January 10th, 4.30 pm
My life has turned into a hell.
Why? Well, dearest diary, here’s why. I went to the gym yesterday after work for the first time in a very long time and now I can’t walk. Maybe I overdid leg day.
Just tried to move. Definitely overdid leg day.
Also, I’m on my fifth day without smoking and I’m fucking dying. I’m craving cigarettes so bad, I want to eat my couch. Okay, not really, because I need my couch right now, because of the no walking thing.
But I have to be strong. I’m doing this to not end up shitfaced and alone. Anya is trying to cheer me up by wagging her fluffy tail at me and licking my face. I think she wants to go on a walk, to distract me from my nicotine cravings. Which is a big problem right now. But I will persevere. For my dear little Anya.
Once I get past today, this is going to be a piece of cake.
5.04 pm
I’m dead. Leg day has killed me.
January 19th, 11.24 pm
Wow, another thing I am shit at. Keeping this diary. Mostly because I keep losing the damn thing and don’t remember where I’ve left it, until I find it stuffed between the cushions on the couch. Or under my bed. Or in Anya’s doggie bed. She chewed on the corner a bit.
Anyway, everything is going great. Seriously, since I’ve made that list, a whole new world has opened to me.
Okay, I lied. Liar told you this.
I am currently on my second vodka of the night, ciggie in hand (that’s the burn mark on this page) and some dude sucked my dick in a club yesterday. Oh, and don’t even get me fucking started on Blake.
And I still don’t have Hollander’s number.
January 21st, 7.45 pm
Just now, I was lazily scrolling on my phone, giving Anya ear scratches and browsing my new favourite subreddit r/freckles, when a notification popped up.
@Shollander24 started following you!
I immediately sat up, staring at the screen. Anya gave a little yelp at my sudden movement. But I could only stare at the screen. Hollander followed me!
I navigated to his profile and clicked follow back, before looking at his posts. They were… well, boring. His feed mostly consisted of pictures of his workplace, food at restaurants and food trucks, and an idyllic cottage at a lake. There was a disappointing lack of (gym) selfies. But he did have a few photos of himself on the ice.
His most recent post was a particularly cute shot of a grinning Hollander in full hockey gear, face flushed and hair plastered to his forehead under his helmet. Behind him, a few kids were visible, zooming around in their gear on the ice. Of course he coaches little kids, because he is perfect and so boring.
Had so much fun with the kids today! :) the caption said.
@KidsOnTheIceMontreal had commented, Thanks for a great practice, Shane! The kids are already looking forward to your next visit!
Smiling at the picture, I zoomed in on Hollander’s elated face, on the many freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose. God, he really is stunning.
I wondered if I should slide into his DMs… Or would that be too much? I didn’t want to give him the ick. Maybe I could leave a comment under the cute hockey pic? This was something a nice, respectful man did, right?
God, this guy was getting me all nervous, which was a whole new experience for me. I don’t get nervous. Russians do not do that. Except, well, my hands were suddenly very clammy. I tucked a loose curl behind my ear, took a deep breath and wrote under the post:
@IlyaaaRozy Cute pic ;)
Then, I promptly stuck my phone in the couch cushions and pretended to watch whatever was playing on the TV. A few moments later, my phone chimed. I had another notification.
@Shollander24 liked your comment.
January 20th, 6.30 pm
Today at work, Pike approached me with that typical little smirk on his face that always makes me want to punch him.
“Rozanov,” he began, standing next to my desk and looking down on me. “You know about the book launch in two weeks?”
Yes, Hayden fucking Pike, I know about the fucking launch next month, since you won’t shut up about it.
“Yes,” I said.
“Good,” Pike said. “I am introducing the author, but I thought it would be fun if you introduce before I do the announcement.”
I stared at him. That made no fucking sense. No one knows who Pike is, why would I have to introduce him? But then Blake walked past my desk, and he gave me an approving (and I must say, very sexy) nod, so I had no choice but to agree to Pike’s insane plan.
“Okey.”
Pike gave me a condescending smile. “Great. That’s settled, then.”
Fuck, there goes my plan to hang around in the back, fuck around with Troy and get drunk on the free booze. Now I’ll actually have to look representable. But then again, if I’ll wear my good suit, maybe Blake will finally–
Nope, don’t go there, Rozanov. Gotta stay professional.
January 23th, 00.45 am
I just had the most brilliant idea to get closer to Hollander.
Hollander really loves hockey, yes? I mean, he literally works for the Metros. He mentioned at the New Year’s party that he plays for some local team. After some digging on his Instagram and LinkedIn (no, I am not internet-stalking him, shut up), I discovered he is part of a beer league team called the Centaurs.
What if I also started playing hockey again? I played in Russia as a kid, so it will be easy to get back into it. They say skating is like riding a bike: you don’t forget how to do it.
I have conjured up a plan: I will join Hollander’s team, show him how awesome I am at hockey, he falls in love with me and bam, we’ll live happily ever after.
So, nr. 10 on my list is now:
10. Join team and seduce Hollander with hockey skills.
Yes, yes, I am a genius.
January 27th
I thought my plan was foolproof, but maybe not.
Today I showed up for my first practice at the rink. I’d arrived a little bit earlier to get back into skating. There were already a few guys on the ice, laughing and passing a puck around. I skated over to them to introduce myself.
“Ah, you must be Ilya!” a large guy with dark skin and a broad smile said. He introduced himself as Zane Boodram, ‘but call me Bood’. “Welcome to the Centaurs beer league!”
“Thanks, you can call me Roz,” I said. People used to call me Roz in university.
“Good to have you, man!” one of the other guys said happily. “I’m Wyatt Hayes and this little rabbit here is Luca Haas.”
“Shut up, Hazy,” said Luca, but he pulled off a glove to shake my hand. “You come at a great time, Ilya. We just lost our best defenseman. Ryan moved away to Toronto to live with his boyfriend.”
I glanced around the rink. “So um, I heard Hollander also plays here?”
“Hollzy?” Wyatt asked, laughing. “Oh no, he’s way too good to be on our team. He plays with the other, better guys.”
Hollzy. They call him Hollzy. That’s cute.
“Hey, we’re great!” Bood protested. “But yeah, he’s too good for us, dude.”
Fuck my life.
I must’ve looked disappointed, because Luca said, “Don’t worry, Roz. We’re fun, too! And I’m sure you’ll see Hollzy at our tournament.”
And honestly? It was fun, even though I kind of sucked. I had forgotten how nice it is to be on the ice. I hadn’t skated since mama - well, since I was very young. It felt really good to skate again.
But it turns out, you don’t really forget how to skate, you do forget how to pass around a puck. Maybe it was a good thing Hollander wasn’t there to see me flail around with my hockey stick. I really wanted to see him, though.
Another good thing about the beer league: I think I made some new friends? The other guys on the team were all really nice and patient with me being like fucking Bambi on skates. And Wyatt has already invited me over to his place to watch the game on Sunday. Maybe it will be nice to hang out with them.
January 28th, 6.53 pm
Something exciting happened at work today. Something very exciting.
From my desk at the office, I can see right into Blake’s office, which mostly consists of windows. He was on the phone with someone, but kept throwing looks my way. I pretended not to notice, but I felt a small grin appear on my face. Was he actually flirting with me?
Around lunch time, I received an email from one [email protected], which confirmed my suspicions:
To: Ilya Rozanov
From: Blake Smith
Subject: too much fun last night?
i noticed ur limping. what did u do last nite? ;)
I raised my eyebrows. I wasn’t limping. Well, not that badly. I was just a little sore from hockey practice last night. Also, this man’s writing is terrible. Why is he my boss at a fucking publishing company?
I quickly checked if Pike wasn’t watching me like a hawk again, but thankfully he was staring intently at his own screen. So I thought for a bit and wrote back:
To: Blake Smith
From: Ilya Rozanov
Subject: Re: too much fun last night?
Not limping. And that’s none of your business, sir.
There. That wasn’t too flirty. I think. His reply came instantly:
To: Ilya Rozanov
From: Blake Smith
Subject: Re: re: too much fun last night?
if u need help with that limp, u know where to find me.
and u can call me sir anytime, rozanov.
Well, well, he was definitely flirting with me. I know I shouldn’t engage, because of the whole no dating your superior-rule they have around here. But that doesn’t count if he started it, right?
We messaged to each other for the rest of the day. I won’t repeat all of it here, because it was downright filthy, but let’s just say I won’t be surprised if I get to suck his cock real soon.
February 4th, 11.00 am
Hung-over, shitfaced and sore, but I don’t give a fuck, because I have a snack of a man in my bed. He’s so hot, especially from up close.
And now you want to know who this snack is. Well, let me tell you, dear diary.
The book launch Pike has been pestering me about for months was yesterday evening. It was - as you expect from these kinds of things - fucking boring. All these people trying to be important and no one actually being interesting.
I tried to be polite, like the Canadians do, while trying to pace myself with the free champagne. I did not want to make an ass out of myself when I had to introduce Hayden fucking Pike.
Just when I was rehearsing the introduction I was forced to do under my breath, (“And here to introduce you to the author, is Hayden fucking - no, not fucking - Hayden Pike…”), when he walked in.
Yes, Shane Hollander.
Thank fuck this time he wasn’t wearing that ugly Christmas sweater. Instead, he was dressed in a nice grey-blue suit that clung to his sculpted body in all the right places. I hadn’t seen him since the New Year’s party, but he still looked as gorgeous as I remembered. I was already hyping myself up to go talk to him, maybe finally ask for his number.
But that hope soon all disappeared when I saw who was with him. A gorgeous woman with red hair and a kind smile. Hollander had his hand on her waist as he led her into the room. And my heart fucking sunk. He had a girlfriend?
Like the gentleman he is, Hollander got his date a glass of wine and then picked up a soft drink for himself.
“Rozanov!” he said, when his eyes landed on me. “Good to see you again!”
I downed my champagne for some liquid courage and walked over to him and the woman. “Good evening, Hollander,” I said.
Hollander made a movement as if he wanted to go in for a hug, but changed his mind halfway through. He ended up giving me an awkward, bro-ish pat on the shoulder. The skin under my jacket burned at the contact.
“What brings you to the most boring launch party of all time?” I asked him, gesturing at the crowd.
“I don’t think that’s the tag line,” Hollander grinned at me, giving a nod to the cardboard cut-out of the book right by the entrance. The most exciting book you’ll ever read, it said.
To be honest, I had no fucking idea what the book was about. I may work at a publishing company, I'm just an editorial assistant and mostly write reports and press releases. The boring stuff.
“I’m here with Rose. She did the cover art,” Hollander continued, nodding at the woman next to him. He still had his huge hand rested lightly on her tiny waist. God, his hands are nice.
“Hi there,” the woman - Rose - said with a smile. She was honestly very beautiful, with a Hollywood smile and sparkling eyes. “I’m Rose Landry, nice to meet you.” She offered me her hand to shake.
“Ilya Rozanov,” I said, taking her hand. “You are very talented.” And I hated that I actually meant it. The cover was probably the only thing about the book that didn’t suck. It was a stunning graphic of a lake, the sun glistening off the surface, two black-and-white birds in the distance.
“Thank you, that’s so kind of you,” she said, beaming at me.
Just then, a colleague of mine joined the conversation. Connor Connors, one of the in-company type setters, enthusiastically greeted Rose with a hug. Apparently all graphic designers know each other. Luckily, he peeled Rose away from Hollander, so I had him to myself.
“You look different,” Hollander said, giving me a once-over, before landing back on my face. “I like the hair. It suits you.”
For the occasion, I had done a close shave and slicked back my curls, giving my face a more angular look. I was also wearing my best suit, not one of my boring office ones, but an actual designer suit. Sveta got it for me through one of her business deals. It’s a very nice suit, with a double-breasted jacket and long, fitted slacks. I knew for a fact my ass looked fucking incredible in these pants.
“Thanks, you also look nice,” I said, returning the compliment. “A bit disappointed to see you’re not wearing my favourite sweater, though.” I couldn’t help but grin at him.
“Oh, sorry,” Hollander said, the tops of his ears getting a little pink, but his eyes twinkled. “I didn’t know you had a thing for Christmas sweaters.”
“Oh yes, the uglier, the better.”
“I’ll remember that,” Hollander said and he actually fucking winked at me. My legs felt a little bit like pudding then, kind of like the day after leg days.
I was just about to muster up the courage to ask if he and Rose Landry were dating, when someone popped up from behind me. No, I did not make an embarrassing sound as I started.
“Rozanov, it’s time for your introduction,” Pike said to me.
“Alright, I’m coming,” I grumbled. “See you later?” I asked Hollander, who nodded and watched me trod to the stage at the front of the room.
Normally, talking to a crowd didn’t really make me nervous. But seeing Hollander standing there with Rose Landry, who had joined him again, did something to me. I really couldn’t figure him out. He was sort of flirting with me, but he also was Landry’s date for the evening. How did that even work?
Pike cleared his throat and gave me a pointed look from the side of the stage. Right, introductions.
“Good evening,” I began, but no one listened. “Good evening!” I repeated. Then I realized that the fucking mic wasn’t fucking working.
“EVERYONE, LISTEN UP,” I bellowed and finally people turned around to stare at me. Great.
“You can do this, Rozanov,” I muttered to myself, before addressing the crowd in a loud voice. “Okey, seems like the mic isn’t working, so I will do like this.” My accent was getting thicker with the minute and I started dropping articles and I fucking hated it.
“Everyone, I am here to introduce you to Hayden…” - fucking - “Hayden…” - fucking! - “Ffff…ike. No - fuck, not Fike. Pike. Hayden Pike,” I finished weakly.
Blyat.
I was pretty sure I was straight-up blushing by now. And Russians do not even fucking blush. I quickly stepped aside to let Pike take the stage.
“Thank you, Rozanov,” Pike said. “Let me just turn this on…” A high-pitched sound sounded as he turned on the microphone. I cringed visibly, and the entire crowd with me.
I really fucked up royally there. And right in front of Hollander, too.
My eyes fell on Hollander standing in the back. He had covered his mouth with a hand, obviously trying very hard not to laugh. When he met my eyes, he gave me the biggest shit-eating grin. I couldn't even be mad at him for laughing at me.
I quickly left the stage, not paying attention to Pike’s babbling or the presentation that followed and went to find the booze table in the corner. I got myself another champagne, as there wasn’t anything stronger available. I had to wait until I got home before I could drown my sorrows with good Russian vodka.
Fuck, I really wanted a cigarette.
“Great job, Rozy.”
I started, nearly choking on my champagne. I turned around to see my boss Blake standing in front of me. God, he looked really good, too. Blake always looked hot, with that three-day stubble and his long limbs. But for some reason, he looked extra good tonight.
Blake smirked and laid a hand on my shoulder. “Relax, It’s only me.”
“Yes, I know that,” I said, still spluttering a little.
“Stop worrying, I bet no one noticed you fucked up,” Blake said with a low chuckle. He laid a hand on my shoulder. For some reason, it didn’t have the same effect as Hollander’s touch earlier. “You look very hot tonight, Rozy,” he murmured in my ear. “You cleaned up nice.”
Jesus Christ, that voice did things to me. I already felt my dick stir in my slacks, when I saw Hollander coming our way.
“Blake,” he said, when he had reached us. His voice was so cold it almost made me shiver. His voice also did things to me.
“Hollander,” Blake said dryly. “What an absolute pleasure. What are you doing here?”
Hollander brow furrowed. “I came with Rose Landry.” He looked like a very angry cat and I’m not going to lie, it was kind of hot.
“Oh right,” Blake answered, as if he couldn’t care less. “You need anything?” He pulled up an eyebrow.
“I wanted to talk to Rozanov, but let me not take up any of your time,” he said, giving me a look. “See you later, Roz.” He gave me a curt nod and I wanted to shout, No, don’t go!, except well… Blake was right there and hadn’t I been fantasizing about this moment since the moment I laid my eyes on him?
And Hollander was obviously involved with Rose Landry. So I watched him walk away.
“Anyway. Rozy, do you want to go somewhere else?” Blake asked, when Hollander had gone. “You still need help with that limp of yours?”
“I wasn’t limping,” I said, but I still followed Blake out of the room and into an empty office.
Blake halted and pushed me against the closed door. “Don’t you agree this party is deadly boring?” he muttered, letting his hands wander over my chest, before cupping my dick through my pants.
I let out a surprised gasp, pushing back against his hand. Then I flipped us around with Blake against the wall and pushed my thigh between his legs. “So boring.” I agreed, trying really hard not to think about Hollander and his particular brand of boring.
Blake groaned, but wasn’t fazed in the slightest. “Let’s go somewhere, Rozanov,” he drawled. “Just you and me… Get some dinner, go over to your place, have sex. Just casual, y’know?” He started kissing my neck.
“Fuck dinner,” I said and I dropped to my knees instead.
After I sucked him off, we went to my place to fuck. It wasn’t as good as I made it out to be in my fantasies. Maybe because my thoughts kept wandering to Hollander…
Oh, I think Blake is waking up.
Yep, definitely waking up, because he’s now telling me to ‘stop writing in that stupid diary and come suck his dick’. Be right back.
March 2nd, 8.43 pm
I am a man-whore no more!
Am currently in situationship with very hot, very tall man. This is a big step up from all the one-night-stands I usually have.
I still don’t know what we are, exactly. When I brought it up the other day, Blake said he doesn’t believe in labels. I’m completely fine with that. I don’t believe in labels either.
Except lately I’m starting to think maybe it would be nice to have a boyfriend? Someone who actually spends the night, instead of slipping out when I’m sleeping. Someone who will have breakfast with me the next morning. Someone who wants to - I don’t know - commit?
I bet Hollander is in a very committed relationship with Rose Landry. They probably do all sorts of couple-y things, like going out on dates to the cinema and visiting the farmer’s market on Sundays. Maybe they spend weekday nights on the couch, cuddling under a blanket and watching shitty Hallmark movies. Maybe they go to bed in matching pajamas and give each other a boring, domestic good night kiss before going to sleep.
Not that I care about Hollander.
Maybe I should tell Blake that I want more than hooking up? I kind of really like him. Well, we did go out for dinner a few days ago. This must count as a date.
But whatever. I’m happy. Or something that looks like that, anyway.