“Is a beautiful evening, so basically no one.”
Wyatt laughed. “Yeah. Our numbers will go up when it gets cold.”
“A little.”
“Maybe they should offer fans a free hot chocolate or something. That would be an enticement.”
“Sure,” Ilya said dryly. “Or a month’s rent.”
Wyatt laughed again. “That might get a few people in the seats. Maybe.”
As much as the lousy attendance was a running joke amongst his teammates, Ilya honestly fucking hated it. In Boston the arena had been full every game, cheering for their team. In Montreal the arena was sold out well in advance for basically the entire season. Shane didn’t know what it felt like to play for a half-empty arena because even when he played in Ottawa the arena was reliably full. Of Montreal fans. With Shane Hollander jerseys.
But tonight they were playing Columbus, so no one was going to be there.
“Maybe we should play shirtless,” Wyatt joked. “That could bring in a new audience.”
“Would be cold,” Ilya said.
“Yeah. And also I would probably die.”
“Shirtless goaltending. Bad idea,” Ilya agreed.
“I guess we could start winning,” Wyatt mused. “That might work.”
“I will suggest it at the next meeting.”
“Who’s the extra coffee for?”
“Haas.”
Wyatt snorted. “He’s gonna frame it.”
“Fuckin’ A!” Bood yelled as he slammed into Ilya in the corner, wrapping him in a hug. Ilya had scored early in the first period, making it 1–0 for Ottawa. The goal siren blared, the fans who’d bothered to show up cheered, and the team’s goal song started playing （DJ Khaled’s “All I Do Is Win,” which seemed like an ironic choice to Ilya）。
“Your turn next, baby,” Ilya said, trying to match Bood’s energy. He bumped gloves with their other winger, Tanner Dillon, who frankly wasn’t good enough to be on a line with either of them. Ilya dreamed of a day where his right wing linemate was as strong as his left. Maybe it would be Haas someday. He had potential.
But Ilya was tired of waiting. Tired of losing. He wanted a star right wing player on his line now.
He wanted a lot of things now.
“Great start, fellas,” Coach Wiebe said cheerfully when they reached the bench. “Keep it up.”
They didn’t keep it up. By the end of the second period it was 3–1 Columbus.
“We played against Boston last week,” said Jake Pierce, Columbus’s star center, as he and Ilya waited for a face-off. “They were really good.”
“Cool.”
Pierce huffed and shook his head. “I have no fucking idea why you signed with this team.”
“Maybe I like the quiet.”
“You know we’ve got rookies who had posters of you on their bedroom walls?”
“Nice. Good taste.”
“You shouldn’t be here, is all I’m saying.”
Ilya’s lips curved up. “Next time I sign with a shit team in a boring city, I will choose Columbus.”
He could tell Pierce was trying not to smile. “You’re a fucking weirdo, Rozanov.”
The game ended 4–2 for Columbus. Most of the crowd had left by the middle of the third period.
“Rough one tonight,” Harris said to Ilya in the locker room after the press had finally left.
“Rough one every night,” Ilya sighed. He remembered when hockey had been fun.
“If it makes you feel better, I regrammed this photo of a pumpkin a fan carved your portrait into. It’s pretty impressive.” He held out his phone so Ilya could see.
“Wow.” As far as pumpkin portraits went, it was impressive. Ilya loved how weird North American Halloween was.
Then he got an idea. He took a few seconds to weigh the pros and cons, then stood up and announced, “Halloween party this year is at my house, okay?”
Everyone cheered and clapped, which made Ilya smile. He never hosted parties, and rarely went to them. Because he was a terrible captain and teammate.
He would host this party, and it would be talked about for years. The best party ever. Epic. In Boston he’d been the one who organized impromptu outings. He’d been the guy his teammates called when they wanted to go out and get drunk and dance and get laid. He could be that guy again. He could try.
Chapter Ten
“Holy! What’s up, sexy?”
Shane ducked his head so Rose wouldn’t see how embarrassed he was. “As if.”
“I’m serious! Look in the mirror.” Rose grabbed his arm and hauled him in front of a full-length mirror. “Look!”
Shane looked. Rose had convinced him to come shopping with her during his day off in L.A., and shopping with one of the biggest movie stars in the world did not mean, as Shane had expected, going to a mall. It meant private shopping sessions at tiny designer-owned boutiques. He’d also quickly realized that Rose wasn’t even looking for clothes for herself, and was mostly interested in dressing Shane up like a doll.
So now he was wearing an ivory-colored silk T-shirt that was basically transparent and cost more than most people earned in a month. It looked more like something Ilya would wear.
“Your body is ridiculous,” Rose said. “Look at that ass!”
The dark brown slacks had some stretch in them, and were hugging his thighs and ass in a way that, Shane could admit, looked pretty nice. “The pants are good,” he allowed.
“It’s all good. Trust me. And here. Try this with it.” She held out a reddish-brown leather bomber jacket. “It’s short so you won’t be hiding that juicy butt.”
“Stop it,” Shane said as he slipped the jacket on. He’d never really been a leather jacket guy, but maybe…
“I love this look with your longer hair,” Rose said. “You look like trouble.”
Shane turned from side to side in front of the mirror, examining himself. He did look different, but still himself. Just…cooler.
“I like it,” he admitted. “Do these pants come in other colors?”
An hour later, he and Rose left the boutique with several bags, all containing clothes for Shane. Rose had insisted on paying for everything, which was completely unnecessary, but Shane allowed it because it seemed to make her very happy.
Shane was vaguely aware that there were people—paparazzi, most likely—taking photos of them as they walked the short distance from the store to Rose’s chauffeured car, but Rose didn’t mention them so he didn’t either. Shane didn’t know how she dealt with that level of public scrutiny. It made his own life as a superstar hockey player in Canada seem downright private.
“I’m starving,” Rose announced when they got into the car. “You wanna get tacos?”
Shane did want to get tacos, but… “I’m on a pretty strict diet,” he said. “For, like, performance.”
Rose laughed. “Aw geez. I thought I finally had a lunch date I could eat real food with. Okay, what can you eat, then?”
After Shane rattled off an embarrassingly long list of forbidden foods, Rose asked her driver—who she seemed to have a very friendly relationship with—to take them to a place that had, according to her, the best poke in town.