Page 122 of The Long Game
“Thirteen hours.” Shane smiled sheepishly. “I looked it up. Right after I looked up available rental cars in Washington.”
Ilya chuckled fondly, which made Shane laugh too.
“Maybe you could play for us against Tampa,” Ilya joked. “Give us a chance of winning.”
“I doubt I’d play very well, to be honest.” He exhaled. “God. I just keep thinking—”
“I know,” Ilya cut him off before he could say it. “But I didn’t. I’m here. I’m fine.”
Shane nodded. “I wish you were here with me right now. I want to hold you. I want to, fuck, feel your heart beating.”
“Now who is the poet?”
“Shut up.”
They both laughed again, then smiled at each other for a few silent moments.
“You look way too good,” Shane said, “for someone who just went through a harrowing ordeal.”
Ilya was too tired to translate those last two words, so he replied with, “I love you.” In Russian.
Shane repeated it back. Then said, in English, “You should go be with your team.”
Ilya sighed. “Probably. Yes.”
“Call me tomorrow. Or later tonight if you want. I’ll just be, y’know, freaking out in my hotel room.”
“Don’t. Jerk off or something instead. Send me pictures.”
“While you’re hanging out with your teammates? Absolutely not.”
“I won’tshowthem.”
“Good night, Ilya.”
“I almost died!”
“I’m really not ready to joke about that yet.”
“Sorry. Good night, moy pomidor.”
“Tomato, right?”
“Yes.”
“Weird. I love you.”
“I love you. Send pictures.”
They ended the call, and Ilya went back inside the hotel. He considered joining a table, and he considered going up to his room, then he spotted Troy sitting alone at the bar. Why Troy was sitting there and not upstairs making out with Harris was beyond Ilya.
He left Troy alone, and joined one of the tables. He picked the one that had the most pitchers of beer on it, and immediately poured himself a glass. Time to get fucking drunk.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The next morning, as Shane was putting the few things he’d unpacked back into his suitcase, there was a firm knock on his hotel room door. When he opened the door, he found J.J. there, holding two coffees.
“That for me?” Shane asked, stepping backward to let him in.
