Heated Rivalry (Game Changers Book 2)

July 2017—Ottawa

Shane drummed his fingers anxiously on the steering wheel.

He wished he could have gone into the airport to greet Ilya properly, but one of them alone in the airport would turn enough heads; the two of them together would be pandemonium.

He pulled his ball cap down lower and watched the rearview mirror.

He was still in shock that Ilya had accepted his invitation, though he supposed he had Scott Hunter to thank for that. Hunter had come out, very publicly, the night he had won the Stanley Cup. He had also spoken about it openly in interviews that night, and even more openly in his speech at the NHL Awards last week. Shane had watched that speech…a few times. He wished he could have been at the awards to see it in person, but it seemed like an unnecessary burden on his freshly healed body to fly to Las Vegas.

But still, he would have liked to have shaken Hunter’s hand.

Instead, he had sent him an email. He had written several drafts of the email before sending one that simply acknowledged Hunter’s bravery. He had chosen his words carefully, because he didn’t have Hunter’s courage. Not yet, anyway.

But maybe Hunter would figure out what Shane was actually trying to say anyway.

Having an NHL player come out as gay for the first time was exciting, but a player on every team in the league could come out and it still wouldn’t help Shane’s situation. Being gay—or whatever—was not really the thing that would create a scandal. Fucking your biggest rival over the course of your entire NHL career was something that no one would understand. Not one person. Shane felt that even Scott Hunter, the NHL’s new poster boy for acceptance and tolerance, would be alarmed if he knew what he’d been up to with Ilya.

They would be a joke. If the world found out about them, that was all they would be: the depraved hockey players who secretly fucked each other. And Shane didn’t want to be that. At all. He wanted to be the best hockey player in the world, and he wanted to be in a relationship with the man he could finally admit he was in love with, without shame or fear.

But he couldn’t. All he could have were these two weeks alone with Ilya, hiding where no one would find them.

He heard the wheels of the rolling duffel bag before he saw Ilya in the mirror, crossing the parking garage.

Shane considered getting out of the car, but decided to stay where he was. Once they were at the cottage they would be safe, but there was no point in blowing it now. He just needed to make it out of Ottawa without anyone noticing that Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov were hanging out together in July.

As Ilya got closer, Shane saw that he too had his ball cap pulled low, and was wearing large aviator sunglasses. Shane wondered if anyone had recognized him inside the airport.

He popped the back of the SUV so Ilya could load his bag in. They didn’t say a word to each other until Ilya slid into the passenger seat. “What the fuck are you driving, Hollander?”

“A Jeep Cherokee.”

Ilya snorted.

“What? It’s practical!”

“You’re a millionaire.”

“What’s wrong with a Cherokee?” Shane asked, starting the engine. “It’s good in the snow. It holds lots of stuff. It’s a good car.”

“Is good if you are a dad in the suburbs.”

“Better than a stupid sports car where my knees are over my damn head.”

“Hm.”

They didn’t talk again until Shane had exited the parking garage. “Good flight?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“It takes about two hours to get to the cottage.”

“Okay.”

“Are you hungry or anything? We could stop and one of us could…”

Ilya shrugged.

“I think you’ll like the cottage,” Shane said. “It’s really relaxing.”

“Is that what we are going to do?” Ilya asked. “Relax?”

Shane swallowed. He turned onto the on-ramp for the highway.

“I hope so,” he said finally. “I would like to relax with you. For once.”

He glanced over for a second. Ilya was looking out the passenger-side window.

“I stocked up on groceries yesterday,” Shane said. “We shouldn’t need to…leave. Very often.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes. Shane wondered if Ilya was as panicked as he suddenly was. Two weeks. Alone together. Possibly constantly alone together.

What the hell had he been thinking when he’d suggested this?

“Thank you,” Ilya said suddenly. “For inviting me.”

Shane felt his panic subside. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I am also glad. But…terrified, right?”

Shane laughed, relieved. “Yeah. Me too.”

They both knew this was a point of no return. More so even than the first time they had kissed, or fucked. This was a new frontier, a new level of intimacy.

“Did anyone recognize you in the airport?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Shane nodded. “The cottage is way down a private road. We’ll be totally alone there.”

“No family coming to visit?”

“No, I, uh, I told them I need a couple of weeks of solitude. I told them it was a, I don’t know, psychological thing. Like a mental training meditation thing.”

“So sneaky.”

“We won’t be bothered.”

He noticed Ilya chewing on his thumbnail.

“I’ve, uh, I’ve been looking forward to this,” Shane said.

“Yes. Me too.”

Shane smiled and took one hand off the steering wheel. He reached over and Ilya quickly tangled their fingers together and squeezed.

Two weeks. For two weeks they could pretend that their situation wasn’t impossible.

Ilya was hit with a sudden wave of “holy shit, this is really happening” when Shane parked the car in front of the large lake house that Ilya had seen profiled on television.

Ilya was pretty sure a cottage was usually a lot smaller than this giant, stone-front house, but it was certainly, as Shane had promised, remote. He didn’t think he had ever been anywhere quite like this before; somewhere that he could truly let his guard down and not worry about being recognized.

No wonder Hollander loved it.

Hollander, he realized, had removed Ilya’s bag from the trunk and was carrying it toward the house, as if Ilya was his visiting aunt or something.

“I can carry my own bag.”

Shane just kept walking. “How are your ribs?” he asked.

“My ribs are fine. I can carry the bag.”

“I can’t believe you played with those bruised ribs.”

“You can’t?”

Shane shot him a grin over his shoulder. “I guess I can.”

He opened the door and they stepped inside. It truly was a spectacular house. It was all wide open and spacious, with high ceilings and exposed beams. The opposite wall was floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake. Ilya could see an enormous deck with a pool and a hot tub. Beyond that there was a dock and a boathouse.

“Make yourself at home,” Shane said.

Ilya sauntered into the living room. He removed his sunglasses and hooked them on the front of his T-shirt. And here was everything he had seen on that television show: the leather sectional sofa, the spectacular view, and the ridiculously Canadian-looking plaid throw pillows and blankets.

Jesus Christ. He was in Shane Hollander’s home.

“So, I could give you a tour, if you like,” Shane said. “Or, if you’re hungry…like I said, I stocked up on groceries. There’s a beer fridge in the games room next to the pool table…”

Shane was standing a good six feet behind Ilya. Ilya turned away from the view of the lake to face him.

“The tap water here is actually excellent,” Shane continued. He was so obviously nervous. “There’s a natural spring nearby and…”

Ilya closed the distance between them in slow, deliberate steps. Shane tilted his head up to face him, and Ilya could see him swallow.

They stood for a moment, silently staring at each other, waiting for whatever was going to happen next. Finally, Ilya reached a hand up and brushed the backs of his fingers against Shane’s cheek. Shane unconsciously licked his lip and Ilya moved in to kiss him.

The moment Shane’s mouth opened under his, everything made sense. All of Ilya’s nerves left him, and he grabbed at Shane’s T-shirt and pulled him closer. Shane made a little moaning sound and plunged his fingers under Ilya’s ball cap, knocking it to the floor. He tangled his fingers in Ilya’s hair and began walking him backward to the leather sofa.

They hadn’t been together for months. The ridiculous thing was, Ilya hadn’t been with anyone in all that time. For the first time in his life, he hadn’t wanted to be with anyone else.

But now he felt like he was going to burst if Shane didn’t touch him the way he’d not been able to stop thinking about.

He went willingly down to the sofa when Shane shoved him. He kept a firm grip on Shane’s T-shirt so the other man immediately tumbled on top of him. Ilya winced as his sunglasses were pressed into his chest, then he pulled them off and threw them, clattering, to the floor.

Ilya kissed Shane wildly, jerking his hips up to get more friction on his cock, and was delighted to feel that Shane was as hard as he was.

He pulled Shane’s shirt off over his head and slid his hands down to open Shane’s fly.

“Fuck,” Shane panted. “I’m…it’s been kind of a while… I might not last long.”

“Yes. Same. But we have two weeks, right?”

Shane laughed. “Right.” Then, “Wait…same?”

“Hm?”

“You said ‘same.’ You haven’t…been with anyone? Lately?”

Ilya grimaced. He probably shouldn’t have admitted that. But…

“No.”

“Like, not since—?”

“No. Not since. Can we please get back to—?”

“Really?” Shane pulled back so he could look Ilya directly in the eyes. He looked stunned and way, way too happy.

“Is not a big deal, Hollander. Relax.”

“It’s been, like—”

“Months. Yes. Which is why I would really like to—”

“I haven’t either,” Shane said quickly. “Not since the last time we were together. In Boston.”

“Well then…” Ilya said, moving his hand to continue to work his way into Shane’s pants. But Shane didn’t go back to grinding his hips or attacking Ilya’s mouth with filthy desperate kisses. Instead, he reached up and gently brushed a lock of hair out of Ilya’s face. Ilya could only stare, mesmerized, at Shane’s face as he looked down at him with so much…tenderness.

“I have an idea,” Shane said. He was brushing his thumb over Ilya’s bottom lip as he said it.

“What?” Ilya asked, with more bravery than he felt.

“Let’s be honest with each other. For these two weeks, let’s just…say what we’re actually thinking. Maybe…say how we really feel.”

I can’t, Ilya wanted to say. I can’t because if I do you’ll think I’m pathetic, or, worse, you’ll say it back and then what the fuck are we supposed to do?

“I will try,” he said instead.

“Will you?” Shane asked skeptically.

“Yes! I will do anything if it will make you touch my dick right now!”

Shane laughed and rolled his eyes. But then he slid down Ilya’s body and hauled down Ilya’s shorts, and thank Christ.

Shane took him into his mouth and everything was simple again. Ilya felt a wave of pleasure mingle with a wave of relief, and he was able to relax and enjoy the determined way Shane always approached sucking him off.

Ilya cheated and murmured, “I would stay here forever if I could” in Russian. He felt Shane sigh around him, but it sounded more dreamy than exasperated. Maybe he understood what he meant. Maybe some feelings couldn’t be hidden behind foreign words.

As expected, Ilya didn’t last long. Neither did Shane, when Ilya immediately returned the favor. But the surprising thing was that the blow jobs were not the best part of the afternoon. Afterward, now that they had taken the edge off, they just relaxed against each other on the sofa. The clothing that had stayed on their bodies was rumpled and unfastened; their hair was messy. They talked quietly to each other as they—there was no other word for it—cuddled for over an hour. Shane was twisting strands of Ilya’s hair around his fingers and gently releasing them; Ilya was tracing his fingertips over Shane’s freckles. Every now and again, Ilya would kiss Shane’s jaw, or his throat, or, one time, the tip of his nose.

Ilya couldn’t believe what he had been reduced to. He was…infatuated. It was disgusting.

But it was hard to care when Shane was lying on top of him, his smooth chest and stomach touching every inch of Ilya’s own. His bangs hanging down to brush Ilya’s nose. His dark eyes, and his freckles, and his smile. Shane looked so happy. Somehow, Ilya made him happy.

Ilya wanted to always make him happy.

Ilya wasn’t at all surprised to learn that Shane had a complete indoor hockey training facility at his cottage.

Shane had excitedly led him to the one-story building beside the main cottage and opened the door to reveal a large synthetic plastic rink, a net with shooting targets, passing targets, and a whole bunch of exercise equipment. The wall facing the lake was all windows.

So now they were on the “ice” in sneakers, passing a puck back and forth.

“I didn’t tell you,” Ilya said, “about after the NHL Awards.”

“After?”

“Yes. I went out. With Scott Hunter.”

Shane missed the next pass. “What do you mean?”

“There was a club having a Scott Hunter night, whatever the fuck that means.”

“A club? Like…”

“A gay club. Yes. So I thought I would go.”

“I’m sorry. You went to a gay club in Las Vegas with Scott Hunter?”

“And his boyfriend. Yes. Nice guy.”

Shane’s brow pinched. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

Ilya shrugged. “I forgot.” Which wasn’t true at all. He just wanted to see this exact expression on Shane’s face. Ilya privately thought of it as his “scrunched confusion” face.

“Was it…what was it like?”

“Was fine. A little boring but, you know, Scott Hunter. What can you expect?” Ilya snatched a new puck from the pile beside him with his stick blade and sent it over to Shane. This time Shane caught it on his stick easily.

“So, does Hunter know you’re—?”

“I did not say anything. He may have guessed something.” He grinned. “There were some very hot men there.”

And now Shane’s face changed to the expression Ilya called “clenched disapproval.”

“I’m glad you had a nice time,” Shane said tersely.

“Point is, I went to a gay bar with NHL players and it was…exciting, you know?”

Shane nodded, and returned the puck to Ilya. “I’ll bet.”

“I give Hunter shit, but what he did was brave. Kissing his boyfriend on TV like that. And the speech at the awards.”

“It was. It really…made me hopeful. That things might be changing.”

Ilya shot the puck back to Shane. “It made me jealous,” he admitted.

Shane laughed. “You wanna kiss me on television?”

“Yes. After I win the Stanley Cup.”

Shane spread his arms out. “Oh, so in this romantic scenario, you’ve just defeated me?”

“Yes. Sorry.”

“I’m not going to be in the mood to kiss you if I’ve just lost the Stanley Cup, Rozanov.”

“But you would be so proud of me!”

Shane rolled his eyes. “You are the most obnoxious person on earth. I have no idea why I—” He stopped himself just in time. “—why I put up with you.”

Ilya pushed against the ice with his sneakers and slid over to Shane. When he reached him, he kissed him loudly on the cheek.

“I’m hungry,” Shane grumbled. “Come on. Let’s see what’s in the fridge.”

“Are you going to show me to my room, or…?”

Ilya was leaning against a pillar in the middle of the living room, wearing that fucking crooked smile that always made Shane lose his mind.

“Well, I have four guest rooms,” Shane said, playing along. “Would you like one with a view?”

“I need one with a king-size bed.”

Shane walked toward Ilya and grinned. “They all have king-size beds.”

“And an en suite bathroom.”

“Oh,” Shane said, with mock concern. “I’m afraid there’s only one room with an en suite bathroom.”

“I have very specific needs.”

“I’ll try to be accommodating.”

He breathed the last words against Ilya’s lips and then kissed him. It was slow and wonderful.

“I want to sleep in your bed, Shane Hollander,” Ilya murmured.

“I want to do lots of things in my bed.”

“Show me. Take me to bed.”

Shane led him to the room that took up half of the second floor. The sun had set, but in the morning they would see the view of the lake through the windows that wrapped around two of the walls.

He watched Ilya take the room in; he watched him examine the pictures on the walls and the items on his dresser.

“This is your room,” Ilya said, more to himself maybe than to Shane.

“Yeah. Probably even more so than my room back in Montreal. This place is…home.”

“This is your parents,” Ilya said, pointing to a framed photo sitting on the dresser.

“Yep.”

With a playful little grin, Ilya flipped the photo so it lay facedown. “Do not want to shock them,” he said. Shane laughed.

Ilya moved to the bed and sat on the end of it. Shane sat beside him. “It’s kind of surreal. Having you here.”

“Yes. Bad or good?”

“Good,” Shane said quickly. He took Ilya’s hand and squeezed. “Really good.”

“Good.” Then, without warning, Ilya turned and pounced on him, pushing him down on his back on the mattress. Shane didn’t have time to be surprised before Ilya’s mouth was on his.

Shane moaned helplessly and arched his body against Ilya’s. He wrapped a leg around Ilya’s thighs and pulled him closer.

The kiss felt weird, and Shane realized it was because neither of them could stop smiling.

“You’re here,” he murmured.

“Yes. Now take off your clothes.”

Shane laughed and quickly removed his clothing. He fired each garment in the general direction of his laundry hamper, then sprawled out on his back and watched Ilya peel his own shirt off.

Ilya slid a hand down his own bare chest, like a stripper. He paused at the button on his shorts, and raised an eyebrow at Shane.

“What’s this Magic Mike shit?” Shane asked, grinning.

Ilya responded by pushing both hands into his own hair and tilting his head back dramatically. He thrust his crotch out, and Shane cracked up.

“Here, let me help you.” He crawled on his knees on the bed until he could press his mouth against Ilya’s stomach. He licked along the lines of Ilya’s muscles, and he heard Ilya let out a shaky breath.

“Don’t tease me,” Ilya said. “I have waited too long for this.”

“Mm.” Shane opened the front of Ilya’s shorts and playfully nipped at his chest. “Months.”

“Years,” Ilya sighed. “Years I have wanted to have you in your real bed.”

Shane froze. “Years?”

Ilya wrapped long fingers around Shane’s jaw, and tilted his head up to meet his gaze.

“Yes.”

Shane swallowed. “Get those shorts off,” he managed to scrape out.

Ilya had barely slipped the last of his clothing off before Shane reached for him. He needed to feel his weight on him. He needed to kiss him and touch him and feel him grow hard against him (although it looked like he was a little late for that).

Ilya was here, and Shane would finally know what it was like to be with him when they had all the time they wanted. Ilya had promised him two weeks, and Shane was giddy with the vastness of time that was spread before him.

Ilya kissed him, slowly and greedily. His erection brushed against Shane’s belly, and Shane wriggled against it to give Ilya as much friction as possible. Ilya responded by gripping both of Shane’s wrists and pinning them to the mattress.

“Oh,” Shane gasped. He shamelessly tipped his head back to give Ilya better access to his throat. Ilya took advantage of his generous offer by sucking the sensitive spot just under the hinge of Shane’s jaw.

Ilya was going to leave a mark—a hickey—if he kept sucking at Shane’s neck, but Shane realized that it didn’t matter. For the first time ever, they didn’t have to worry about evidence. About anything. No one would ever know what happened here.

“Harder,” Shane said. “I want to see it later.”

Ilya growled and pressed his mouth harder to Shane’s skin. He sucked hard enough that, for a hysterical second, Shane wondered if he might actually be a vampire.

Are there Russian vampires?

No, dummy. Vampires aren’t real.

Just as the pain was crossing over to uncomfortable, Ilya pulled away. Shane was flooded with relief and the delicious burn that pulsed from the spot where Ilya had marked him.

Ilya gently licked the spot, and Shane squirmed happily.

“Mine.” Ilya’s breath tickled Shane’s skin when he spoke the single word.

“Yours,” Shane said dreamily.

“All of this. For two weeks. Is mine.”

Forever, Shane wanted to say. Forever if you ask.

He knew it was impossible, but in that moment he would do anything to make it work. There had to be a solution to their problem.

But, for now, he just said, “Fuck me. Please.”

Ilya sat up, and then flipped Shane to his stomach. He laid a light kiss between Shane’s shoulder blades.

Oh god, Shane wanted this. He wanted to thrust his ass into the air and to command Ilya to hurry the fuck up, but Ilya was making a slow journey down Shane’s body, placing a soft kiss on each notch of his spine. He was in no hurry at all.

“Gorgeous,” Ilya sighed between kisses. The word, in his accent, was dark and lush. It slid over Shane’s skin, and in that moment he felt gorgeous.

Ilya reached the base of Shane’s spine, and Shane expected him to pull away, maybe grab the lube. But instead, Ilya did something he had never done before: he kept going.

His tongue slipped into the crease of Shane’s ass as his big hands pulled his cheeks apart. Shane held his breath. He couldn’t believe Ilya was actually going to—

“Oh, god. Ilya.”

Shane felt the wet heat of Ilya’s tongue lapping at his hole and he had never experienced anything like it. It was impossibly intimate. It was so bold and fearless and so…Ilya.

His tongue paused a moment, and Ilya said, “Good?”

“Fucking great.”

He heard Ilya chuckle behind him, and then the lapping continued. Shane’s eyes rolled back and he groaned. How could something be so relaxing and so exciting at the same time? He was almost angry that Ilya had been holding out on him all this time. But that wouldn’t be fair; Shane appreciated this for the gift it was.

He was wild with need. His cock was rigid against the mattress, and it took all of his willpower not to start humping the bed. He didn’t want to move at all because that might make Ilya stop. And Shane wasn’t sure how much longer Ilya could keep doing this but…

Oh.

Ilya’s tongue was inside him.

Warm and slippery and intrusive. It was somewhere it definitely was not supposed to be. But it felt so, so, so, so good.

“Fuck. Fuck. Ilya…holy god. That’s amazing. Thank you. Fuck.”

The thank you was embarrassing, but Shane didn’t dwell on it. Just like he refused to be embarrassed by the desperate noises Ilya was drawing out of him by fucking his ass with his tongue.

Shane was going to come. The realization hit him suddenly, and, in a panic, he jerked his hips off the bed to remove any friction against his aching cock. Unfortunately, the move also caused him to smash Ilya in the face with his ass.

“Aah! What the fuck, Hollander?”

“Sorry!”

He turned to look over his shoulder, and Ilya was rubbing his jaw and scowling.

“I’m sorry!” Shane said again. “I was just… I didn’t want to come yet.”

Ilya rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched. “I guess that is a compliment.”

“It is,” Shane agreed quickly. He flipped over to his back. “That felt incredible.”

“Good.”

“Did, um…did you like doing that?”

Ilya nodded. “I did. Yes. Until you bashed me in the face.”

Shane bit his lip to keep from grinning, but Ilya noticed. With a snort that didn’t really sound angry, Ilya bent down until their faces were inches apart.

Shane tilted his chin up for a kiss before he remembered where Ilya’s mouth had just been. Did he care?

No.

He leaned up and kissed him, and he didn’t really taste much of anything. It was just the familiar heat of Ilya’s mouth on his. He felt the press of Ilya’s hard cock against his hip, and the need to have it inside of him flared right back up in Shane.

“Please.”

Ilya looked around and Shane pointed to the nightstand to the right of the bed. Ilya opened the drawer and pulled out a bottle of lube and a condom, but he didn’t close the drawer right away.

“What?” Shane asked.

“I was hoping there would be toys.”

“I don’t keep any here.”

“You have a big stash in Montreal?”

Shane blushed. “No!”

“No? Still just one lonely dildo?”

Yes.

Shane slammed his head back on the pillow. He was not above whining at this point. “Please shut up and fuck me.”

Ilya wasted no time positioning himself between Shane’s legs and driving into him. Shane wasn’t sure if he was trying to say be careful what you wish for, but Shane wasn’t feeling sorry at all.

Shane cried out into the room. He let himself be as loud as he’d always wanted to be, because he could.

“Oh, Shane. Yes. I want to hear it.”

Ilya slammed into him over and over, making the headboard bang against the wall. Shane reached a hand up to steady it, but Ilya just covered his hand with his own, bracing himself against the wall and fucking him even harder.

Shane lifted his legs and rested his ankles on Ilya’s shoulders. Ilya growled and lunged forward, folding Shane in half and sinking deeper inside him.

Ilya’s face was slick with sweat, and his eyes were wild. “Shane. Fuck—I—holy shit. You’re amazing, Shane. So fucking good.”

Shane could only make high, whimpery noises in response. He was going to come. There was nothing touching his dick, but it was going to happen. Any second now.

“You look like—are you going to come, Hollander?”

“Yeah,” Shane gasped.

“Oh fuck. Yes. Come on.”

Ilya thrust faster, keeping his eyes on Shane’s dick, and then Shane erupted. He screamed and arched and watched with Ilya as his dick coated his stomach and chest.

“Shane…” It was the only word Ilya managed to grit out before he stilled and came inside him.

For long moments, neither of them moved. They both panted and gazed at each other, and there were words that Shane was dangerously close to saying. He could feel them, thrashing around inside him, desperate to get out, but he forced them down.

And then Ilya placed a palm on the side of Shane’s face and just looked at him, and for a wild second Shane thought Ilya was going to be the one to say those forbidden words.

But he didn’t. Instead, he pulled out of him and fell on the mattress beside him. Shane rolled to his side, and Ilya did the same, facing him. Shane smiled because the last time he’d had this view of him, Ilya had been in Moscow, and Shane had been in Montreal.

“We could stay in this bed for two weeks,” Shane suggested.

Ilya shook his head. “No. I want to fuck you in every room of this house.”

Shane squirmed and blushed. “I have a hot tub, you know.”

Ilya made a face. “Hot tubs are terrible for sex. Have you tried it?”

“No.”

“Is horrible. Too hot. Uncomfortable.”

“Well, I also have a pool.”

Ilya leaned in and nuzzled under Shane’s chin. Shane tipped his head back so Ilya could trail kisses over his flushed skin.

“And a pool table,” Ilya murmured.

Oh god.

“The felt is very delicate,” Shane squeaked.

Ilya snorted. “Do you ever relax?”

Shane pulled away so he could glare at him. “You’re really going to make fun of me now? While you’re a guest in my home? In my bed?”

Shane was assaulted by a lazy, crooked smile.

“No,” Ilya said. “I like you, Hollander.”

It wasn’t an earth-shattering confession, but the words still moved Shane enormously.

“I like you too, Rozanov.”