Wyatt glanced at the ice. “That’s cool. The ice crew’s hard work isn’t appreciated enough. Except the Zamboni drivers. Talk about all-stars.” He slapped the boards. “There should be a Zamboni competition. With obstacles and stuff.”
Ilya blinked at his goalie. “Yes. Great idea, Hazy.”
“Congrats on winning the skating thing, Shane.”
“Thanks.”
“It was a tie, basically,” Ilya said.
“That’s not what the clock said,” Shane argued.
“If we did it again right now, I would probably win.”
“Well, you should have won the first time, dickhead.”
Wyatt furrowed his brow at them. “You know, you two don’t have to sit together.”
* * *
“Hello, Hunter,” Ilya said cheerfully as he sat in the chair next to Scott Hunter. A bunch of the players were gathered in the hotel bar, most of them sitting at large tables.
“Rozanov,” Scott said with a wary nod.
Ilya plunked his pint of beer on the table and leaned back in his chair. “Too bad about the thing you lost.”
Scott huffed. “The stickhandling event is stupid anyway. It’s designed to make us look bad.”
“Mm. Someone still won, though.”
Scott narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t win your event either. Hollander smoked you.”
“Was basically a tie.”
Scott took a sip of his own beer and seemed to glance around for someone else to talk to. Finally he sighed and said, “Your team’s been playing well lately.”
It was an understatement. Ottawa had been on fire since returning from their nearly ill-fated trip to Florida, and was enjoying a franchise-record winning streak. “We’re making the playoffs this year,” Ilya said.
“Might be a bit early to be stating that as fact.”
“I don’t think so. We are very good. Remember when we beat you? We haven’t lost since then. Since that time we beat you.”
Scott snorted. “Man, you’re annoying.”
Ilya grinned. “Hollander told me you want to coach our camps.”
“One of them, maybe. Yeah.”
“What are your qualifications? We have a boring guy already: Hollander.”
“You know what? I might be busy this summer after all.”
Ilya nudged him. “We are happy to have you. Really. The kids will be very excited.”
Scott eyed him suspiciously. “Okay?”
“Yes. And bring Kip. We go out at night sometimes and have fun. Ryan Price brings his boyfriend.”
Scott’s face relaxed a bit. “Kip said he’d like to see Montreal.”
Ilya gasped. “Ottawa is also good!”
“Yeah, but Montreal is Montreal.”
Ilya couldn’t argue that. He glanced across the room and spotted Shane, talking to Colorado’s team captain, Matheson. Shane was wearing that sexy silk T-shirt that Rose bought him—the one that was practically transparent—and Ilya had been stealing glances at him all night.
Ilya briefly rubbed his own chest, searching for and finding the round outline of the ring hidden under his shirt.
“How is married life?” he asked.
Scott’s expression shifted back to suspicious. “Good...”
“You are happy? Kip is happy?”
“Last I heard.”
Ilya raised his eyebrows.
“This morning!” Scott clarified. “I was talking to him this morning! He was going to come with me, actually, but he’s doing some volunteer work in Brooklyn this weekend instead.”
“Nice of him.”
“Yeah,” Scott said defensively. “He’s nice.”
“Good.” Ilya took a drink of beer. Shane was laughing at something Matheson said. His eyes were all crinkled. “Is Kip happy you are retiring this year?”
“Fuck off. I’m not retiring this year.”
Ilya widened his eyes in mock surprise. “No? But your body is so old!”
“Okay,” Scott said, and began to stand. “Good night, Rozanov.”
“Do you remember where your room is?”
“Shut up.”
“Do you need help?”
Scott kept walking and didn’t reply. Ilya couldn’t help but admire his hulking body as Scott walked away. In all honesty, he looked like he could play hockey for many years to come.
Ilya finished his beer, then stood. He caught Shane’s eye right away, and nodded in the direction of the elevators. Shane gave the barest suggestion of a nod in reply, which was enough.
* * *
Shane rode the elevator with a Finnish rookie from Vancouver—the same one who’d been in the fastest skater competition—who Shane didn’t know at all. He seemed to be more interested in his phone than in Shane, though. Shane gave him a brief, friendly smile, then stared straight ahead at the elevator doors.
The All-Star Weekend was always fun, but also a little exhausting between the interviews and the events and the socializing with other players. The weekends also involved a lot of high-risk sneaking around, which was stressful. Well, stressful and a bit sexually thrilling, if Shane was being honest. It had been hard to focus on anything Matheson had been saying to him because Ilya had been sitting across the room, drinking a beer and looking so fucking hot that Shane had been internally struggling to tamp down an erection for the past half hour.
Shane went to his own room first. Partially because the rookie was still walking behind him, and partially because he wanted to freshen up a bit.
When he pulled his phone out of his pocket he saw a text from Ilya: Where are you?
Shane smiled to himself and decided not to reply. He liked an impatient Ilya.
Once Shane had changed, brushed his teeth, fixed his hair, and had gotten himself clean everywhere he wanted to be clean, he made his way to Ilya’s room down the hall.
He knocked as gently as possible on the door, and Ilya opened it immediately.
“Finally,” Ilya said. He stepped back so Shane could enter and quickly shut the door behind them.
“Did I keep you?”
Ilya stepped into his space. “You are too slow.”
“Not according to the skills competition.”