Page 84 of The Long Game
Shane didn’t think about being fucked at center ice or anywhere else while Ilya took him apart with his mouth. He reached for Ilya’s hand and held it tight, fingers woven together. There was absolutely nowhere else Shane wanted to be.
Shane was determined not to say anything as he watched Ilya slather about a pound of cream cheese on a sesame seed bagel. If Ilya wanted to eat nothing but empty carbs and saturated fats, that wasn’t any of Shane’s business. Instead, Shane bit the inside of his cheek, and continued to measure out protein powder for his breakfast smoothie.
“Oh comeon,” he cried, about thirty seconds later when Ilya started adding a layer of Nutella to the mountain of cream cheese.
“What?” Ilya asked.
Shane waved a hand at Ilya’s breakfast. “That’s how you’re going to start your day?”
“No,” Ilya said, dipping his knife back into the Nutella jar. “I started my day by blowing you. Remember?”
Yes, Shane remembered. But he wasn’t going to let that stop his outrage. “Are you seriously going to eat that?”
“Are you seriously going to drinkthat?” Ilya said, pointing his knife with its glob of Nutella at Shane’s blender.
“This is balanced and contains a ton of nutrients and protein.Thatcontains nothing but sugar and fuck knows what else.”
“Chocolate,” Ilya said helpfully. He finished smearing the Nutella on, then grabbed a banana and waved it in Shane’s face. “Look. Healthy.”
Shane watched as Ilya peeled the banana and began slicing it over the bagel. “Whatever,” Shane sighed, and went back to making his smoothie. He didn’t want to see what Ilya added next. Probably sprinkles. Or onion rings.
While they were eating at Ilya’s breakfast bar, Shane checked his email and was shocked to find one from the NHL’s league commissioner, Roger Crowell. He was even more surprised when he read that Crowell wanted to meet with him when Shane traveled to New York later that week.
“Holy shit,” he said aloud.
“What?” Ilya asked through a mouthful of bagel and chocolate.
“Crowell wants to meet with me.”
“Why?”
“I have no idea.” Shane wrote back right away, confirming that of course he would. Then he immediately spiraled into a panic about what the meeting could possibly be about.
“He doesn’t say why?” Ilya asked.
“No.”
“That is weird.”
“Iknowit’s fucking weird! Why me?”
“Is it just you?”
“I—” Okay, Shane didn’t actually know. “Maybe? It sounded like it. He didn’t mention anyone else.”
The commissioner was the single most powerful person in the NHL, overseeing basically everything. He wasn’t a particularly popular man among players. Shane had always regarded him with an appropriate amount of respect, mixed with a bit of wariness.
“What if he knows about us?” Shane asked, jumping to the worst-case scenario.
“Why would he?”
Shane chewed his lip. It was true that there was no way Crowell would know about his relationship with Ilya. It probably wasn’t that.
“Maybe he wants to give you a special award,” Ilya said. “Second-best hockey player.”
Shane ignored him. “I’ve met him, but never actually, y’know,methim. Like, I’ve never had a real conversation with him. Is this something he does?”
Ilya shrugged.
