The Long Game: A Gay Sports Romance (Game Changers Book 6)
The Long Game: Chapter 13

“What are you doing tonight?” J.J. asked.

“Nothing,” Shane said, then immediately regretted it. Ilya had left yesterday and Shane was feeling the loss. He didn’t want to do anything social tonight.

J.J. placed one hand on the wall of Shane’s locker room stall, above where Shane was sitting, boxing him in. “Sweet. You should come out with me. I’m meeting some friends at this amazing cocktail bar that my buddy Benoit opened.”

“I don’t drink,” Shane reminded him.

“Still?”

“Yes. Still.” Shane resumed untying his skates, hopefully indicating that the conversation was over.

“Okay, well, they have other stuff to drink. I’ll bet they make, like, bomb mocktails.”

Shane almost reminded him that he didn’t consume most of the probable ingredients in a mocktail either, but decided to just shut the whole thing down instead. “I’m gonna stay in. But thanks.”

J.J. sighed and sat in the stall next to Shane. Hayden’s stall, but Hayden was in the shower. “It’s not healthy,” he said, in French. When J.J. switched to French with Shane, it usually meant he was about to get real. Or that he was drunk. “What do you do besides come to practice—” he waved a hand around the locker room, indicating the activity they’d just finished “—play games, work out, and sleep?”

“Lots of stuff,” Shane argued, hoping he wouldn’t be asked for specific examples.

“Like what?”

“I…see friends.”

“Friends,” J.J. said flatly. And skeptically. “Like who? Your parents?”

“No,” Shane said quickly, then scrambled for examples. “Hayden?”

J.J. frowned at him, then said, “Come out tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because…”

Oh god. “Because why?”

“There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Shane bent and yanked his skate off. “Nope. No way.”

“He’s super nice, and, y’know, handsome. He’s a personal trainer, and I figured you’d probably be into that.”

“And let me guess: he’s gay and single.”

“Well, yeah.”

Shane wanted to snap at him that just because a man was gay and single and handsome and a personal trainer didn’t mean that Shane would—okay, well, under different circumstances Shane probably would be into all of that, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that Shane had a perfectly good secret boyfriend, so obviously it was rude of J.J. to try to set Shane up with other men. Even if J.J. didn’t know Shane was with anyone, and probably assumed Shane hadn’t had sex in years. Or ever.

The truth was, it was kind of sweet that Shane’s NHL teammate was trying to find him a man to date.

After a slow exhale, Shane said, “I appreciate it, and I’m sure he’s very nice.”

“And handsome,” J.J. reminded him. “Even I can see that.”

“Sure. But I’m really not looking for a date right now.” There. That was straightforward. And honest.

J.J.’s eyes were full of concern, which made Shane doubt that he was going to let this go. “Why don’t you want to date anyone? It doesn’t have to be serious. You could just get laid, y’know?”

Shane glanced around the room nervously, but no one seemed to be paying attention. “I’m fine,” he said tersely.

J.J. laughed. “If being wound so tight you seem like you are going to fly apart at any second is fine, then sure.”

“I’m not!” Shane said in the tone of someone who was about to fly apart. “Do the other guys think so? Do I seem distracted or something? Is it affecting my game? Is that what this is about?”

J.J. switched to English. “No! Buddy, no. This is me, as a friend. You’re a great guy and I want you to be happy. That’s all. I promise.”

Shane leaned back in his stall until his head bumped against the wall. “Okay.”

“Okay, you’ll meet David, or…”

“David?” Shane decided to play this up as an end to the conversation. “My dad’s name is David. I can’t date a David!”

J.J. took Shane’s objection seriously. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t even think of that. You’re right.” He stood, looking dejected.

“Hey,” Shane said, “I do appreciate it. Really.”

J.J. brightened at that. “So if I meet any nice single gay guys who aren’t named David…”

“Introduce them to David,” Shane said. “Really. I’ll let you know if I’m ever looking, okay?” Which would hopefully be never.

J.J. nodded. “I’ll mind my own business. Got it.”

He left just as Hayden returned from the shower, wearing only a towel wrapped snugly around his waist. Hayden watched J.J. leave, then turned to Shane. “Did he try to set you up with that guy?”

“He told you?” Shane did not like the idea of his love life being a team concern.

“Yeah, he told me.”

“Why didn’t you, like, discourage him?”

“Because the dude sounded perfect for you.” Hayden held his arms out when Shane’s mouth dropped open. “What? I think you can do better!”

“For fuck’s sake. Thanks, Hayden.”

Hayden sat next to him, and nudged his arm with his elbow. “I’m kidding. Mostly. Besides.” He leaned in. “I know you and Ilya are married now, so…”

Shane closed his eyes. “Oh my god.”

“Jade told me it was a beautiful ceremony. I’m a little hurt that I wasn’t invited but, y’know. I’m happy for you kids.”

“Shut up.”

Hayden laughed, and eventually Shane joined him.

“You know,” Hayden said seriously, “even though I give you shit about him, I do hope that I’d be invited. If you ever did get married for real.”

Shane stared at him, simultaneously touched by Hayden’s support and baffled that he thought Shane wouldn’t invite him to this hypothetical wedding. “Of course you would be. Don’t be fucking stupid.”

Hayden grinned. “Good. Just making sure.”

“I kind of doubt we’d ever have, like, a traditional wedding with all the stuff, but if we have anything at all, you’re on the list, all right?”

“Cool. Is Rozanov on the list, or…”

“Fuck off,” Shane laughed. “You’re off the list now.”

“No way.”

“Yup. All the way off.”

“Nuh-uh. I’m your best man. And the MC.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Shit, I’ll get, like, annulled, or whatever. Marry you guys myself.”

“Do you mean ordained?”

“Sure. Okay.”

“Annulled means ending a marriage, dumbass. Do you want to end your marriage and marry both of us? Because that’s how that sounded.”

“Fuck no! First of all, Jackie rules, and second of all, I would never marry Rozanov.”

“So you’d marry me?”

Hayden turned a little pink. “No! I’m not—no!”

Shane decided to go easy on him, because this was getting weird. “You’re my best man, Hayden. One hundred percent.”

“Fucking right.” Hayden held out his fist, and Shane bumped it. “I’ve gotta go film a FanMail.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“FanMail! It’s a website where fans pay money to have their favorite celebrities send them little video greetings. Or to send videos to other people, like their dads or whatever.”

“Seriously? You do this?”

“Uh…yeah. I get a hundred dollars a pop for wishing randos a happy birthday. Of course I do it.”

“Does it cost extra if you’re only wearing a towel?”

Hayden grinned. “I was gonna get dressed first! Jesus, dude.”

“Maybe you should be on that other site? The porn one.”

“The porn site? Like, the one and only porn site? Is that the one I should be on?”

“Shut up. You know the one I mean.”

“Sure. Is it porno site dot com?”

“OnlyFans! That’s the one I mean! Isn’t that where people, like, do sex stuff for money?”

Hayden laughed so hard Shane worried he would lose his towel. “You are so innocent. I love it.”

“I am not.” Why did everyone act like he was a total prude? Even Ilya—the man he had actual sex with on the regular—teased him about it.

“Sorry,” Hayden said, still laughing. “I’m sure you’re wild in bed.”

“You think I’m not?”

Hayden held up his hands. “Please don’t tell me.”

Fuck Hayden. Shane could be wild in bed. He wasn’t always uptight. “You sure? Because the other night—”

“Nope!” Hayden backed away. “Hard no. Super no.”

Shane shook his head. “Get dressed, dickhead.”

Hayden began rooting through his bag for clean clothes. “It’s okay if the magic is gone. That happens after you get married. Sometimes. Not to me, obviously.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Shane said, but he was fighting a smile. And he was already brainstorming ways to show a bit of his wild side to Ilya next time he had a chance.

Ilya was surrounded by beautiful women. They were all married to his teammates, but still. Beautiful.

His teammates were beautiful too. Everyone and everything was beautiful. He caught a glimpse of himself in the giant mirror that hung on one wall of his spacious living room. Swirling colorful disco lights glinted off his breastplate and wrist cuffs as he danced. Stunning.

He was maybe a little bit drunk. And a little bit high. A distant, annoying voice in the back of his brain—a voice that sounded a lot like Shane Hollander’s—suggested that he might not be setting the best example for the younger players at the moment, as team captain.

But a louder voice said this was a party, in Ilya’s own home, and he was having fun and so was everyone else. Because Ilya knew how to throw a party.

The song that was pulsing on the sound system was good. Ilya didn’t know what it was, or who had taken over the music.

Evan Dykstra was dancing next to him, dressed like a bee. He did not look stunning. His wife, Caitlin, was dancing with him, wearing a butterfly costume. She had her arm around Evan’s neck, and they were smiling at each other like they were the only ones in the room. This was a rare night out for the two of them, now that they had a baby at home.

Ilya decided to take a break from dancing. His costume was heavy and much too warm for a crowded house party, and his cape was all twisted.

“Going to get some air,” he said in the general direction of Evan and Caitlin. They didn’t even look at him. He noticed, as he walked away, that the makeshift dance floor was full of couples. He must have been the only one dancing alone.

He had to swat plastic skeletons and bats out of the way as he headed for the back of the house. He’d gone big with the Halloween decorations. He’d gone big with every element of the party because Ilya didn’t socialize with his teammates nearly enough.

Despite the brisk chill in the air, Ilya’s back deck was full of guests, talking and laughing. He found an empty seat in the corner of his outdoor sectional sofa, between Zane Boodram and Wyatt Hayes, and plunked himself down. Wyatt was dressed as a superhero that Ilya didn’t recognize. Zane was dressed like a pirate, maybe? A sleeveless one so he could show off his tattoos. He had a scarf that probably belonged to his wife tied around his head.

“Good party, Maximus,” Bood said, grinning lazily. “You should throw them more often.”

Ilya stretched his arms across the back of the sofa. “I won’t.”

“You’ve got this giant fucking house and never invite anyone over,” complained Tanner Dillon, Ilya and Bood’s linemate, from an armchair across from the sofa.

“Why would I?” Ilya asked flatly.

Wyatt laughed and handed him the joint they’d been passing around. “Have you seen the kids? They can’t believe they’re in Ilya Rozanov’s house.”

“You are making me feel old,” Ilya complained, though, if he was being honest, the youngest players on the team did seem like kids to him. There was less than a decade between himself and Luca Haas, but the gap felt far wider.

Ilya shifted and brought his legs up to rest on Wyatt’s lap. The knee-high sandals he was wearing looked fantastic, but were very uncomfortable. Wyatt didn’t even protest, just kept smiling at him as Ilya took a pull off the joint. Ilya tilted his head back so he could gaze up at the stars for a moment as he savored the sharp sensation of smoke filling his lungs.

“Where’s your shield?” Wyatt asked.

“I don’t know. Somewhere,” Ilya said, exhaling as he tilted his head back down. “What are you supposed to be?”

“I’m Adam Strange,” Wyatt said excitedly. “He was an archaeologist who got teleported by a Zeta-Beam to the planet Rann and then—”

“No,” Ilya said, holding up a hand. “Is fine. Enough.” He took another long drag off the joint, then passed it to Tanner, who’d already had his arm outstretched, waiting for it.

“Oh, this pass you can take?” Ilya quipped as he handed the joint over. Wyatt and Bood cracked up.

“Dick,” Tanner said.

Wyatt’s wife, Lisa, walked over to the couch, and tapped Ilya’s shins where they were resting on her husband’s lap. “You’re in my spot,” she said.

Ilya moved his legs, and Lisa perched herself on Wyatt’s knee. She was dressed like Wonder Woman, a superhero Ilya actually recognized. She frowned at the joint Wyatt had just been handed by Tanner.

“You don’t approve, Doctor?” Ilya guessed.

Lisa, a doctor at the local children’s hospital, said, “It’s the sharing germs that bothers me, not the weed. But you guys are full-time disgusting, so I guess it doesn’t really matter.”

“We’re not disgusting,” Bood argued.

“Dude,” said Lisa, “I watched you pick up your mouth guard with your gross hockey glove, carry it around for a minute, and then put it back in your mouth. Last night.”

Bood shrugged. “It was on the ice. The ice is clean. My gloves just have my own sweat on them. It’s all part of this beautiful body.”

Everyone laughed. Zane Boodram did have a beautiful body, with light brown skin, a six-pack that he was very proud of, and muscular arms that were sleeved in tattoos celebrating his Trini heritage.

“I can’t believe you’re going to be a father,” Lisa teased.

“Look, I still can’t believe I’m married,” Bood said with a grin. He glanced across the patio to where his visibly pregnant wife, Cassie, was talking to Nick Chouinard’s wife, Selena. “But everyone else was doing it, so I figured what the hell.” He nudged Ilya. “Except this guy.”

“Roz is never settling down,” Tanner said cheerfully. “He’s a fucking legend.”

“Nah. He’ll meet the right one someday,” Bood said. “Boom! Head over heels. Won’t even know what hit him.”

There was more laughter, then the conversation shifted to something else. Ilya found, after several minutes, that he was no longer paying attention, and was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to be alone. He stood and said, “I am going to…” as he waved a hand in the general direction of the house. He left without waiting for their reaction.

He walked straight through the party and upstairs to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. Again he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the large mirror that stood in the corner, but he didn’t still think he looked stunning. He thought he looked ridiculous. And sad.

He removed the cape and tossed it on his bed before picking up his phone from where it was charging on his nightstand. There was a message from Shane from over an hour ago. Don’t take that costume off.

Okay. Whatever that meant.

Ilya: How is your night?

He waited several minutes for a reply, then gave up. Sighing, he fell backward onto his bed, wincing as he landed weird on his fake sword. He removed it and tossed it across the room as if it were the source of all his problems. He just needed a few minutes alone, then he could return to the party.

He’d already met the love of his life, and he was head over heels, and he couldn’t tell anyone and it fucking sucked.

He let himself sulk for twenty minutes, then forced himself to stand up, adjusted his expression so he looked less miserable, and headed back downstairs. He left the cape and sword behind. The costume looked sexier this way anyway, with only the straps from the breastplate crisscrossing across his bare back.

By midnight, most of the guests had left. Babysitters needed to be relieved, and morning fitness schedules needed to be kept to. The stragglers—mostly kids—made after-party plans and called cabs when they noticed Ilya glaring at them. He may have tarnished his reputation as a fun party guy, but he didn’t care.

At twelve thirty, Ilya received a text from Shane. Party still going?

Ilya: No. Everyone is gone.

Ten minutes later, his doorbell rang.

Shane was standing on the doorstep in a puffy jacket, looking a little embarrassed.

“I didn’t want to use my key and scare the shit out of you,” he said. “Oh wow. That costume is even better in person.”

Ilya blinked, unable to find words.

Shane let out a shaky breath. “This is probably so stupid. I have to be back in Montreal for a practice tomorrow morning and—”

He didn’t get to finish that sentence, because Ilya was hauling him into the house and kissing him at the same time. He pressed Shane against a wall inside the door and devoured him while Shane ran his hands over Ilya’s mostly bare back. He couldn’t believe he was here. All night he’d been dying inside, wishing he could have the man he loved at his side. Wishing Shane was in his arms, in his lap, in a ridiculous costume, in front of everyone.

“You smell like weed,” Shane said when Ilya finally let him breathe.

“You’d know.”

“I know what weed smells like,” Shane said testily.

Ilya grinned at him. “You’re here.”

“Yeah.” Shane smiled shyly. “Is that okay? You sent that photo and I’ve just been—fuck, I missed you so much.”

Ilya kissed him again, then said, “You want to get fucked by a gladiator, Hollander?”

Shane gazed up at him through his dark lashes. “I put a plug in before I left.”

Holy shit.

With a growl, Ilya began stripping Shane of his puffy jacket, and then all of the rest of his clothes. “Fucking help me,” Ilya snarled as he tugged at Shane’s track pants.

Shane laughed and pressed his smile into Ilya’s neck as he toed off his sneakers, then stepped out of his pants and underwear. Once Shane was naked, Ilya grabbed his thighs and hitched him up until Shane’s strong legs wrapped around Ilya’s waist. Ilya carried him to the living room like that, kissing him the entire way. He slid a hand down to Shane’s ass, found the base of the plug, and pressed on it.

“Oh fuck,” Shane gasped.

“You drove the whole way here with this in?”

“Uh-huh.”

“That,” Ilya said as he carefully tugged at the toy, “is very slutty.”

“Not as slutty as that costume.” Shane relaxed his legs from around Ilya’s body and stood back. He ran his gaze appreciatively over Ilya. “Jesus.”

Ilya smiled. Maybe the costume wasn’t so ridiculous after all. “Worth the drive?”

“Fuck yeah.” Then Shane was back in Ilya’s arms, kissing him with a hand gripping the back of Ilya’s neck.

Ilya played with the toy some more, tapping the base, then pulling it nearly out before slowly pushing it back in. Shane shuddered, then whimpered, then bit Ilya’s shoulder.

“Is it safe even,” Ilya asked, “to wear a plug for so long?”

“Yeah,” Shane said breathlessly. “I Googled it.”

Ilya grinned, imagining it. He was going to tease him some more about it, but Shane cut him off by dropping to his knees.

“Been thinking about this all night,” Shane said, gazing up at him with dark, lust-drunk eyes. Then he flipped the front of Ilya’s skirt up and hauled Ilya’s underwear down. Ilya hadn’t even finished stepping out of them before Shane wrapped his lips around his hard cock.

“Shane,” Ilya breathed. Shane didn’t need any costume pieces to look like a fantasy. He was absolutely beautiful, on his knees for Ilya. He was always so beautiful.

Ilya’s eyes prickled with tears as he watched him, which was weird and alarming. He closed his eyes, hoping Shane hadn’t noticed. Ilya had felt oddly fragile all night, and the wonderful surprise of having Shane here combined with the fervent way his dick was being worshipped was too much.

Enough. Time to take control of himself and this situation. He took a step back, enjoying the way Shane fell forward a bit, chasing his dick, and said, “Did you come here for this, or did you come here to get fucked?”

Shane blinked up at him. “Shit,” he said quietly.

Ilya smiled. “Stand up. Turn around.”

Shane obediently got himself in position, gripping the arm of the sofa, and Ilya grabbed a packet of lube from a discreet little box on the mantel behind him. He’d learned to keep lube in most rooms of the house.

He slicked himself up, then played with the toy in Shane’s ass a bit more, pressing on it, and turning it slowly. Shane moaned and wriggled his hips, then gasped when the toy bumped up against his prostate.

“How did you drive all this way,” Ilya asked, “without coming?”

“It was close,” Shane gritted out. “I had to pull over once and—fuck—readjust.”

Ilya chuckled, and twisted the toy again. “So dangerous. Driving in that condition. Irresponsible.”

“Fucking hurry up,” Shane complained.

Ilya complied by sliding the toy out of him in one steady pull while Shane gasped and arched his back. Ilya tossed the toy on the floor and lined himself up. “Is this what you came here for?”

“Yes. Come on.”

Ilya pushed into him, gripping Shane’s hips tightly to hold him steady. Shane’s body welcomed him, already loose and open. It felt like heaven.

Shane cried out, and Ilya started a steady rhythm, thrusting into Shane so hard the couch slid a few inches across the floor. The room that had so recently been full of people and music and drunken laughter was now filled only with the slap of Ilya pounding into Shane, his own rough breathing, and Shane’s moans of pleasure.

“Fucking love you so much,” Shane panted. “Needed this.”

Ilya grunted, and planted a hand between Shane’s shoulder blades, pushing him down until his arms buckled and his chest rested on the arm of the couch.

“Holy—” Shane gasped. “That’s perfect. Oh my god. Don’t stop.”

Ilya didn’t want to stop, but he could feel his orgasm building already. He reached for Shane’s cock, wrapping his hand around it, and started stroking.

“Wait,” Shane gritted out. “Wanna see you.”

Ilya didn’t argue. He pulled out and flipped Shane over, then tilted him back until he fell onto the couch cushions with his ass resting on the arm. Ilya grabbed his thighs, pulled him up and toward him, and sank back into him.

“Harder,” Shane demanded. “Want to feel this for days.”

Ilya grunted, and began snapping his hips so vigorously that he was almost worried he was hurting Shane. Except Shane was smiling like he’d never felt anything so wonderful.

“Ilya,” he panted. “So perfect. Love this.”

“Make yourself come,” Ilya ordered, somewhat frantically. “Now.”

Shane stoked himself furiously, his gaze fixed on Ilya’s face. His eyes were huge and shiny and Ilya wanted to dive into them. He wanted to stay buried in Shane forever, making him come again and again and again.

“I’m coming. Holy fuck. Ilya, I’m—” Shane’s words dissolved into a groan as he spurted all over his own stomach.

“Yes,” Ilya said quietly. “So beautiful.”

It only took a few more thrusts before he was emptying himself into Shane, bracing himself with one hand on the back corner of the couch.

“Wow,” Shane rasped.

A weird giggle erupted out of Ilya. He covered his mouth quickly.

Shane grinned. “Oh my god. What was that?”

“Nothing. I don’t know.” Ilya distracted himself by carefully pulling out of Shane.

Shane slowly got to his feet, placing a hand on Ilya’s shoulder for balance. “Gotta say, that was totally worth the drive.”

“With a plug in your butt,” Ilya reminded him. His insides felt like they were vibrating, and he realized his hand was shaking.

“I just really needed to see you,” Shane said seriously.

Ilya nodded, then wrapped him in a tight hug. His eyes were burning with tears again, which was embarrassing and inappropriate after amazing sex.

“Thank you,” he said into Shane’s hair. It was so unlike Shane to be impulsive like this. To drive to Ottawa in the middle of the night for some quick sex.

But it was also unlike Ilya to cry after sex, so everyone was experiencing new things tonight.

“I like the decorations,” Shane said after a minute of Ilya breathing in the scent of him.

“Yes. They are good.”

“Very spooky.”

“Mm.”

“We should probably get cleaned up. There was come on my belly. Now it’s on your costume.”

Ilya sniffled, and hoped Shane didn’t notice. “We will take a shower. Then bed. Then morning sex.”

“I have to leave before seven.”

Ilya squeezed him tighter. “No. Skip practice.”

“I can’t.”

“I know.” Ilya sighed, and let Shane go. “Very early morning sex, then.”

Shane grinned. “‘What we do in life echoes in eternity.’”

“What?”

“It’s a quote from Gladiator!” Shane gestured at what was left of Ilya’s costume. “Come on!”

“Okay, nerd.”

“I only know it because Comeau has it tattooed on his arm.”

“Of course he does.”

Shane flicked Ilya’s left pec, over the breastplate. “You’re in no position to be making fun of other people’s tattoos.” He smiled up at Ilya, and Ilya smiled back, overwhelmed by how much he loved this man.

“Go,” Ilya said gently. “Upstairs.”

Shane kissed him quickly, then turned and headed for the stairs. Ilya watched him go, giving himself a moment to take some deep breaths and try to settle whatever was happening inside him.

The next morning, when the sun had just begun to rise, Ilya watched Shane drive away. He stood on his front step for several minutes after, staring in the direction the car had gone, and shivering in his gym shorts and T-shirt. Then, he went inside, closed the door, and burst into tears.

When he’d finished crying, some uncertain amount of time later, he felt more exhausted than he had after any hockey game. He was crumpled on the floor, slumped against his front door, and standing up seemed like an insurmountable feat.

He decided that, yes. He should probably get some professional help.

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