Page 140 of The Long Game
Shane opened his eyes and found him standing outside the bathroom, also still naked.
“Well,” Shane said, gesturing to the hallway where they could still hear loud male voices. “I’m not going outthere.”
“They will not assume we were having sex,” Ilya said reasonably.
“Iknow.”
“Maybe we watched a movie,” Ilya said as he sauntered toward the bed. No one should look that elegant naked.
“Who?” Shane asked dryly. “Me and the two or three women you were having an orgy with?”
Ilya gave him a crooked smile and slid under the covers beside him. “Two or three people is not an orgy, Shane.” He tilted Shane’s chin up with a finger and held him there while he kissed his lips. “I am glad you are staying.”
“I’m not saying I’m not nervous about it.”
“I know. But I hate when you are so close but not in my arms.”
Shane’s heart wobbled. “I suppose we’re almost married. So.”
“Yes,” Ilya agreed. “Next year we will be the first married NHL All-Stars.”
Shane’s whole body tensed. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“I hadn’t even thought of that.”
Ilya kissed him again, but it didn’t stop Shane’s brain from spinning out of control.
“Oh mygod,” Shane said again when Ilya finished kissing him. “I’m so focused on marrying you and being a couple and stuff and dealing with the blowback from the hockey world that I never even thought about, like, being marriedandplaying hockey.”
“Scary?”
It was fucking terrifying, but Shane didn’t want to say that. “We’ll deal with it,” he said with not nearly enough confidence.
“Deal with it?” Ilya said with a smile. “I can’t fucking wait.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ilya and Shane had just finished a boring press conference together the morning of the All-Star game. When they were finally able to exit the room, Ilya was surprised to see Commissioner Crowell in the hallway. He was alone and looking at his phone, and Ilya, without even thinking, took a purposeful stride toward him.
Shane stopped him with a hand on his arm. “What are you doing?”
“I am going to talk to Crowell.”
“The hell you are! Don’t be stupid.”
Ilya grunted, shook Shane’s hand away, and continued walking toward Crowell.
“Commissioner,” Ilya said when he was a few feet away.
Crowell glanced at him, and furrowed his brow. “Mr. Rozanov. How are you enjoying the weekend?”
“Fine. But I was talking to my friend Troy Barrett, and he said you called him.”
“I did.”
“As his captain,” Ilya said, trying to force some importance into his title, “I am...concerned.”
