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

Shane wondered, as he traveled the dark highway between Montreal and Ottawa, how many times he’d done this drive in his life. He could almost do it with his eyes closed, and was in fact in danger of doing that now. It was after midnight, and he was exhausted.

He could have waited until tomorrow morning to make the drive. He’d just finished a game in Montreal, and Ilya had played in Winnipeg tonight. His plane back to Ottawa was still in the air, meaning it would be another couple of hours at least before Shane would see him. Waiting until morning would have made sense.

But Shane couldn’t wait until morning. Not when he hadn’t seen Ilya for two weeks. Even if all they did was fall asleep on each other tonight, it would be worth the drive.

He listened to a Russian language lesson podcast as he drove, which kept his mind alert as he concentrated on translating as much as he could. The podcast wasn’t quite as effective at keeping him awake as the butt plug had been. Shane smiled to himself, still surprised he’d actually done that. Seeing Ilya in that ridiculous gladiator costume had fried his capacity for rational thought. One moment he’d been telling himself it would be absurd to drive all the way to Ottawa for a quick fuck, and the next he’d been exiting Montreal city limits with a plug in his ass.

Ilya was a bad influence. But maybe Shane had needed that in his life. Needed it as much as he’d needed someone to stroke his hair, to make him laugh, to show him how good sex could be.

As much as he’d needed the warmth that filled his heart whenever he watched Ilya work on jigsaw puzzles with Dad.

Ilya texted as Shane was pulling into his driveway. Just landed.

Shane: I’m here.

Ilya sent back a heart emoji.

Shane let himself into the house and hung his coat up in the closet. He tucked his shoes away underneath. He’d gone home to change out of the suit he’d left the arena in before driving here, and was now wearing the fancy silk T-shirt Rose had bought him and a pair of dark jeans. He checked himself out in the full-length mirror in Ilya’s living room and fixed his hair a bit.

It would be another hour at least before Ilya walked through the door. Shane decided to make himself comfortable on the couch and turned on the TV, flipping around until he settled on an Australian rugby game that may or may not be live. He barely understood rugby, but the men were certainly hot enough to keep him awake until Ilya got home.

“Shane.”

He heard the name but couldn’t place where it was coming from.

“Hollander.” Something pushed on Shane’s shoulder.

Shane opened his eyes, which was his first clue that he’d fallen asleep on Ilya’s couch. Ilya was standing over him, smiling softly, still wearing his suit.

“Shit,” Shane said groggily as he sat up. “Sorry.”

“Is okay.” Ilya sat beside him. His hair was a mess of curls, likely because he’d shoved his shower-damp hair under a toque in Winnipeg before getting on the plane. In the low lamplight of the living room, his hazel eyes looked almost golden.

“Hi,” Shane said.

“Hi.”

Shane fell into his arms. The usual rush of relief flooded through him as they kissed for the first time in two weeks.

“I missed you,” Ilya said unnecessarily.

“Yeah.” For several long moments they just held each other. Shane buried his nose in the crook of Ilya neck and inhaled deeply, enjoying his familiar scent, and the solid weight of him in his arms.

“This shirt feels nice,” Ilya said.

“It’s silk.”

“Fancy.”

Shane pulled back and examined Ilya’s face. “You look tired.”

“Well. I was not the one asleep on the couch.”

Shane frowned at him the way he always did when Ilya was being snarky when Shane needed him to be serious. “Rough trip?”

Ilya glanced down at the sofa cushions. “You know it wasn’t good.”

Yes, Shane knew that Ottawa had lost all four games on the trip, but that wasn’t what he meant. “You okay?”

“I have not been sleeping well,” Ilya admitted.

“Then let’s go to bed.” Shane stood and extended his hand. Ilya took it, and they walked upstairs together.

In the bedroom, Shane turned on one of the bedside lamps, keeping the lighting low. Ilya stood at the end of the bed and watched him, then continued to watch as Shane began to undress him. Ilya’s eyes were hooded, but more with exhaustion than lust, Shane suspected.

“You won tonight,” Ilya said as Shane slid his dark gray suit jacket off of him.

“It was Buffalo,” Shane said, almost apologetically. “Nothing to brag about.”

“Buffalo beat us last time we played them,” Ilya pointed out.

Shane didn’t know what to say to that, so he silently loosened Ilya’s tie and removed it, laying it on the bench at the end of the bed, on top of the jacket.

When he was halfway through unbuttoning Ilya’s shirt, Ilya stopped him by capturing Shane’s hand in his own. Shane glanced up and found Ilya staring at him like he had something important to say.

“What?” Shane asked, when Ilya didn’t say anything.

“How long can you stay?”

“Until Friday morning. We’ve got a practice, then we’re flying to Dallas.”

Ilya’s fingers clenched around Shane’s hand. “And when is the next time?”

“I’m home for almost two weeks after this road trip. You?”

“Away when you get back.”

“Oh.” Shane forced himself to sound cheerful. “We’ll have Christmas together, though.” All NHL players had a few days off at Christmas, and he and Ilya had spent it in Ottawa the past few years, sharing the holiday with Shane’s parents. Christmas didn’t mean much to Ilya, but he generally loved food and presents, so he always seemed to enjoy it.

Ilya smiled, but it looked forced. “Yes. Will be nice.”

Shane understood how he felt. Their scattered days and nights together during the hockey season were never enough. He placed the hand that wasn’t being held in a death grip on Ilya’s cheek. “Hey,” he said softly. “I’m here now.”

Ilya’s tight smile relaxed into something more genuine. “Yes,” he agreed, and leaned in to kiss him.

Shane couldn’t imagine anyone in the world being a better kisser than Ilya. Commanding and tender at the same time, just on the edge of filthy, but still managing to make Shane feel adored and precious. Shane was always just trying to keep up.

Ilya released Shane’s hand and moved his own to the back of Shane’s head, fingers tangling in his hair and pulling gently. “Love this long hair,” he said in a low rumble that made Shane’s toes curl.

Shane hummed happily in response, then slid his newly freed hand up Ilya’s spine, over the slick material of his dress shirt, then curved his palm around the back of Ilya’s neck. Shane’s dick, which had been surprisingly chill so far, thickened hopefully against Ilya’s thigh. Shane tried to angle his hips back so it wouldn’t be obvious—Ilya needed sleep more than sex—but Ilya chuckled into his mouth and moved his thigh forward to bump against his erection.

“Happy to see me,” Ilya murmured against Shane’s lips.

“Always. But you can ignore…that.”

“This?” Ilya asked, and dropped a hand to squeeze Shane’s dick through his jeans.

Shane closed his eyes and grunted softly. “Yeah. You need sleep. We both do.”

“Sex helps me sleep,” Ilya argued.

Shane laughed and batted his hand away, then resumed unbuttoning Ilya’s shirt. He continued removing clothing until Ilya was down to his boxer briefs and socks.

“I’ll let you take the socks off,” Shane said.

“And you will help with the underwear?” Ilya asked with a crooked, sexy smile.

“Maybe.”

Shane got himself undressed, and Ilya crawled into bed. Shane went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and when he came back, Ilya was already asleep.

Shane smiled and got into bed beside him, stretching an arm across Ilya’s chest and snuggling close. “Good night, sex machine,” Shane said quietly.

Ilya didn’t reply. He just turned his head so his nose was buried in Shane’s hair, and breathed.