“It’s not the owner.”
She smiled over the rim of her martini glass. “This is a fun game. I like this.” Suddenly her eyes went wide. She leaned forward and whispered, “Is it a man?”
Well. That hadn’t taken long. Ilya answered with the slightest tip of his head as he brought his glass to his lips.
Svetlana covered her mouth with one hand, eyes still wide. He could tell she was smiling, though.
“Ilya,” she finally said. “Holy shit.”
“Yes.”
She grinned wickedly at him. “Did you fuck every woman in Canada and had to move on to men?”
Ilya rolled his eyes. “That’s not how it works.”
“So who is he?”
Ilya’s cheeks heated, which he hoped wasn’t noticeable in the dim lighting of the restaurant.
“You’re blushing,” Svetlana said, delighted. “Ilya Rozanov, are you in love?”
Ilya couldn’t stop the smile that crept across his face. “Extremely.”
The server came back then, so Ilya and Svetlana both hastily looked at the menu and ordered. Ilya wasn’t entirely sure what he’d chosen, but it had scallops, so it couldn’t be terrible.
“Anyway,” Ilya said casually, after the server had left, “how’s your father doing?”
“Fuck you, Rozanov,” Svetlana said. “As if we’re not still talking about you falling in love with a man.”
“Is it that interesting?”
“Who is he?”
Ilya glanced sideways. “You don’t know him.”
“Of course not. I’ve never been to Ottawa. What’s his name?”
Okay. There was no dodging this question. Not unless Ilya wanted to lie, which he didn’t. What was the point, really? They were going to tell everyone soon enough, and Svetlana was a friend. She may be shocked by what he was about to tell her, but Ilya didn’t think she’d go to the tabloids or anything.
“His name,” Ilya said calmly, “is Shane.”
“Not Russian, then. Too bad. What does Shane do?”
Ilya somehow managed to keep himself from laughing. “He’s an athlete.”
Svetlana narrowed her eyes. “Which sport?”
Ilya rolled the stem of his martini glass between his thumb and forefinger. “Hockey.”
Svetlana huffed. “I don’t understand. Unless you’re in love with Shane Hollander, I can’t think of any—” She stopped, and then she lunged forward, practically resting her whole torso on the table. “Is it Shane Hollander?” she hissed.
“I’m afraid so. Yes.”
“Can I bring you another drink?” asked the server, who’d suddenly reappeared.
Svetlana seemed to realize she was basically lying on the table, and slid back into her chair with as much grace as possible. “We’ll need several bottles of wine, I think.”
Ilya grinned. “Let’s start with one.”
Three hours later, Ilya and Svetlana were waiting arm in arm outside the restaurant for their separate cabs to arrive.
“I really am disappointed we aren’t going to have sex,” Svetlana sighed. She was slumped against him, head resting on his shoulder. They’d both had a lot to drink.
Ilya chuckled. “You can’t convince me that you’re hard up for sex.”
“I’m not,” she agreed. “But men are so boring. Why are you all so boring?”
“I thought I was exciting.”
“You were. Now you’re going to marry a Canadian. Boring.”
“I don’t know how many people would describe my secret relationship with my rival boring.”
She laughed. “I don’t suppose you have a cigarette.”
“I quit.”
“Of course you did. Boring.”
A car pulled up. “This one is yours,” Ilya said, and stepped forward to open the door for her.
She placed a hand on his shoulder, and stood face-to-face with him. “I’m glad we got to catch up. I’ve really missed you, and I want to be friends, even without fucking.”
“I would love that. Come to Ottawa sometime. Meet Shane.”
She smiled. “I will. Until then, text me. Keep in touch.”
“I promise.”
She kissed his cheek, and got into the car. Ilya smiled to himself, feeling like he’d gained back a piece of himself, as he waited for his own car.
Chapter Thirty
Shane hadn’t been expecting to see Ilya the night of Ottawa’s Pride game, but he wasn’t surprised to find him on his doorstep after midnight.
“Come here,” Shane said, arms open. Ilya collapsed into them.
Shane pulled him inside and closed the door. For a long while, he just held him in the dark, rubbing his back while Ilya breathed against him.
Shane had watched the game. It had been amazing, seeing the support from the fans for Troy Barrett. All the banners celebrating his decision to come out. Shane had watched the coming out video Troy had posted to his Instagram too. He’d even teared up a bit, watching it.
He knew Ilya was happy for Troy too. He’d seen how emotional Ilya had been during the long standing ovation Troy had gotten before the game had started. It had been a huge day for hockey.
But Shane also understood why Ilya needed to be held right now.
“Are you okay?” Shane asked quietly.
“No,” Ilya said, his voice muffled by Shane’s shoulder. “I am crashing, I think.”
“I get it.”
“It was a wonderful night. I should be happy.”
“It’s okay to feel weird about it. I do.”
“Yes?”
“Yeah. Like when Scott Hunter kissed Kip on TV. It was amazing, but also…fuck, right?”
Ilya laughed. “Yes. Exactly that.”
All Shane wanted to do was take care of Ilya, however he could. Ilya always knew exactly what to do when Shane was a mess. “What do you need?”
“Need you,” Ilya said simply. “Just…need to stop thinking.”
Shane stepped back, but squeezed Ilya’s hand. “Come upstairs. I’ve got some ideas for how to distract you.”
Ilya smiled and removed his coat, stuffing his toque into one of the pockets, and hung it up. He was still wearing the suit he’d left the arena in, including the dress shoes he was now sliding his feet out of.
“Did you drive here straight from the arena?” Shane asked as they walked upstairs together.
“Yes.”
Shane reached a hand behind him, and Ilya took it.
“You know I showered after the game, yes?” Ilya said with a gentle, teasing smile when Shane led him to the bathroom and its giant rainfall shower.
“This shower will be better.”
Shane turned on the water and let the room fill with steam as they both undressed in the bedroom. It took longer than it needed to because they kept pausing to make out a bit.
“Come on,” Shane said softly. “Shower.”
Ilya always looked spectacular when he was naked and wet. Shane had no idea how his teammates were able to shower with him without losing their shit. Shane certainly hadn’t been able to, all those years ago.
“Is this shampoo new?” Ilya asked as Shane washed his hair. Ilya had to bend forward slightly so Shane could reach.