Page 30 of The Long Game
“I can smell it.”
Ilya kissed his shoulder. “Maybe your house is on fire.”
Shane huffed and fell back asleep.
Chapter Six
October
“How many men have you been with?”
Ilya glanced up with interest from the coffee mug he’d been spooning sugar into. Shane had blurted the question out and was now staring fixedly at his poached eggs. His ears were bright pink.
“This week, you mean?” Ilya asked calmly.
Shane turned his gaze up, his annoyance radiating across the breakfast table in grumpy waves. “No, asshole. I mean ever.”
Ilya took a long sip of coffee, his eyes locked on Shane’s over the rim of his Ottawa Centaurs mug. He very slowly lowered the mug back to the table, leaned back in his chair, and said, “Why?”
“Because you’ve never told me.”
“Maybe I don’t keep track.”
Shane glared at him, then turned his attention back to his eggs. “Never mind.”
Ilya’s mouth quirked up. He let a silence hang between them, just long enough for Shane to perhaps believe that Ilya was going to let this go.
He wasn’t.
“How many are you hoping it will be?”
Shane shook his head. “Forget it. I don’t care anymore.”
“Bullshit.”
It was clear from the tightness in Shane’s jaw when he looked back up at Ilya that he cared a lot. “You said there was one guy in Moscow. The, um...”
“My coach’s son. Yes. He was one.”
“The first one?”
“I said he was. Yes.”
“You never said that. I mean, it was implied, I guess, but—”
“He was the first.” Ilya bit the inside of his cheek, then added, “Possibly the best too.”
“You’re such a giant dick.”
“You know who had a giant dick?” Ilya asked wistfully.
Shane’s chair screeched across the kitchen floor as he stood up. He snatched his plate off the table and stormed off toward the sink. Ilya continued eating his breakfast.
“Was I the second?” Shane asked, after he had finished rinsing his plate.
“Biggest dick?”
“Stop it.”
