Ilya: Send me a pic.
He had time to pour himself a coffee, fix it with cream and sugar, and take a couple of sips before Shane finally sent a selfie. Ilya wondered how many he’d taken before deciding this one was good enough to send.
It wasn’t intentionally sexy. It was just Shane, standing near a window, probably in his hotel room, wearing a light blue Montreal Voyageurs T-shirt, and smiling. His hair was tucked adorably behind his ear on one side.
Ilya: I miss you. It was the only thought in his head, at that moment.
Shane: I miss you too.
Shane: Stop stalling. Where’s my pic?
Ilya was still shirtless, which was a good start for a selfie. He stretched the arm holding his phone out and raised it a bit, angling down. Then he shimmied the waistband of his sweatpants down until he was nearly exiting the safe-for-work zone. He tucked a thumb into the waistband, tugging down a bit, and snapped the pic.
Wow, Shane wrote back. That was mean.
Ilya wished he could watch the shift in Shane’s face now. The way his cheeks flushed and his eyes grew brighter when he was aroused. He was probably biting his bottom lip.
Ilya: If you are alone we could...
Shane: Team meeting in ten minutes.
Ilya: Is that a challenge?
It took Shane forever to reply, and Ilya imagined he’d deleted several responses before finally landing on: I can’t. Sorry.
Ilya: ok
Shane: It’s going to be hard to delete that photo.
Ilya: I can take more.
He knew Shane would delete the photo. They always deleted anything in their message history that could give away their secret.
Shane: You gonna watch tonight?
Ilya: Maybe. If I am very bored.
Shane: I’ll try to win for you.
Ilya huffed and wrote, Try to lose. We are in the same division, idiot.
Shane: Nah.
And then, with no warning, Shane sent a pic of his crotch, his semi-hard dick visible under the gray fabric of his boxer briefs.
Shane: Talk to you later.
Ilya exhaled shakily and wrote, Fucker.
* * *
Shane hated West Coast road trips because they messed up his sleep schedule. They had flown directly from St. Louis to L.A. earlier that day, and had a game at eight tomorrow night, which would feel like eleven at night. Yuck.
Now it was nine thirty Pacific Time and Shane was in bed in his hotel room, trying to ignore the fact that it was only nine thirty. If he were home, it would be past his bedtime, especially before a game day.
But he couldn’t sleep.
He could hear Hayden moving around in the room next door. Earlier it had sounded like he’d been watching a movie. Now Shane could only hear footsteps.
He closed his eyes. Sleep, he told himself.
He was in the middle of some slow breathing exercises when there was a knock at his door.
“Just a sec,” he called out as he hauled himself out of bed and began rummaging through his suitcase for some sweatpants and a T-shirt. Once he was decent, he opened the door.
“Hey,” said Hayden. He was pawing the back of his own neck, and his blond hair was thoroughly rumpled. “Can I hang out for a bit?”
“Did you watch a scary movie again?” Shane asked, already stepping back to let him in.
Hayden smiled sheepishly. “It was fucking terrifying.”
Shane closed the door behind him. “You need to stop watching those.”
“I know.” He threw himself onto Shane’s bed, making himself at home. “What were you up to?”
“Trying to sleep.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“It’s cool,” Shane said, sitting on the bed beside him. “I wasn’t too successful.”
“Fucking time zones.”
“Yep.”
“Wanna watch something?” Hayden asked.
“What? Like, one of the Saw movies?”
“No! The opposite of that.” Hayden grabbed the remote off the nightstand. “I’ll find something.”
He landed on a competition reality show about strangers hooking up in some tropical location, which basically was a horror movie as far as Shane was concerned. He kept his thoughts to himself, though, and let his friend be comforted by toned young women in bikinis.
“It would be weird to go on one of these shows,” Hayden said.
“Mm,” Shane agreed.
“I’d probably be good at it, though. I’ve got a good body, I’m a nice guy. I know I’m not, like, smart, but compared to these dudes I’m a road scholar.”
“Rhodes,” Shane said.
“Yeah. And I’m rich, so. That would be an edge.”
Shane sat up from where he’d been lying back against the pillows. “Sorry. In this scenario, you would be a contestant on this trashy reality show, but also you would still be an NHL player?”
Hayden shrugged. “I guess.”
“You would spend a month of your life, or however long it takes to film this show, living in this gross beach house and trying to win ten thousand dollars when you have an NHL salary and, like, barely any vacation time?”
Hayden frowned at him. “You’re overthinking this, buddy. Obviously I’m not going on a show like this because I’m married to the best woman in the world and we have...four beautiful children.”
Shane grinned. “Did you hesitate before you said four?”
“No!”
“Did you actually lose track of how many kids you have?”
Hayden lightly punched Shane’s thigh. “Just wait until you’re a dad. You’ll see.”
They watched in silence until the next commercial break, then Shane said, “You think I’ll be a dad someday?”
Hayden’s eyebrows pinched together. “Sure. You want to be, right?”
“I think so, yeah.”
“Well, then.”
“It won’t be easy. And probably won’t be for a long time.”
“Parenting is never easy.”
“Yeah but, like, obtaining a baby sometimes is. For some people.”
Hayden laughed. “It’s never been an issue for Jackie and me, that’s for sure. Although, she’s fixed now, so.”
Shane wrinkled his nose. “Fixed?”