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Summary
“Shane,” he says, dread filling his stomach, “is this Boston Lily’s house?”
“Maybe,” Shane says, dropping down another cooler with a loud bang. “But shhhhh,” he says, putting a finger to his lips, “you can’t tell, okay?”
“Shane,” Hayden says, a little desperately. “Shane, we have to go.”
“No,” Shane says, drunk and stubborn and pushing the doorbell about fifty thousand times in quick succession until Hayden pulls his arm away.
“Shane,” Hayden says, nearly a plea, “listen, I know she broke your heart, but dropping off two hundred pounds of tuna isn’t-”
Before he can finish telling Shane that a drive-by tuna fishing isn’t a cure for a broken heart, the door opens. When it does, though, it’s not some buxom Boston beauty in a silky negligee.
It’s Ilya fucking Rozanov.
Hayden’s one consolation in this mindfuck is that at least Rozanov looks equally surprised at finding himself in this situation.
(while drowning his sorrows post tuna meltdown, shane ends up in possession of approximately two hundred pounds of raw tuna) (naturally, there's only one person he wants to gift with such a bounty)