Page 36 of The Long Game
“Because I bring hand pies.” Ilya had learned from Harris about a bakery outside the city that sold the best hand pies Ilya had ever eaten. He especially liked the cherry ones.
“He has a point there,” David said.
Ilya’s phone rang then. When he saw who was calling, he grinned and stood up from the Hollanders’ kitchen table.
“Let me guess whothatis,” Yuna teased.
Ilya winked at her as he walked into the living room and answered the call. “Hi.”
“Hey,” said Shane. “How’s it going?”
“Good. I am at your parents’ house.”
“Oh yeah? What are you doing there?”
“Destroying them at Yahtzee.”
Shane laughed. “Mom won’t like that.”
“She loves me.” Ilya strolled over to the mantel, which was covered in framed photos of Shane at various ages, mostly inhockey gear. He’d been a truly adorable kid. “Ready for the game?”
“Sure. It’s just Boston.”
Ilya huffed. His own team hadn’t won against Boston in ages. “Cocky.”
“Usually. But you like it.”
Ilya’s lips curved up. “Yes.”
“You’re gonna watch, right?”
“Maybe.” Ilya traced a finger over a photo of Shane in his junior hockey uniform. He looked about seventeen—the age he’d been when Ilya had first met him. “Maybe we will watch a movie instead.”
“Dick,” Shane said affectionately.
“But you like it.”
“I do. But I also like the rest of you.” His voice dipped into a more seductive tone. “I’ve been fucking dying to have you inside me, though.”
Ilya grinned. “You are on speaker phone by the way.”
“What?”
“I am kidding.”
“Jesus.” Shane exhaled. “Not funny.”
“If you say so.”
“I should probably go. We’re leaving for the arena soon.”
“Okay.”
There was a long pause—the same long pause that made an appearance at the end of most of their phone conversations. Both men needing to end the call, neither one wanting to.
“Good luck tonight,” Ilya said finally. “Try not to embarrass yourself too much.”
Shane snorted. “Sure.”
