The Long Game (Game Changers #6)(15)

Finally, Jordan stumbled and had to put his second foot down.

“Wow,” Ilya said. “I thought a coach’s son would be a better hockey player, but okay.”

Shane entered the room when everyone was laughing. He looked confused. “I saw you guys leave the ice,” he said. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” Ilya said. “We are heading back now.”

The boys left first, shoving each other, but in a playful way, not an aggressive way. They were both still laughing.

“What the hell?” Shane asked, when he and Ilya were alone.

“They are rivals,” Ilya said, grinning. “Jordan made the A team. Ben did not.”

Shane wrinkled his nose. “Then Ben needs to be a better loser.”

“Ah, but listen. Jordan’s dad is the coach. So maybe skill was not the only thing that helped Jordan.”

Shane shrugged. “Anyway. We need to get back out there.”

“Did everyone see the fight?”

“Probably. But we’ll get everyone focused on the right thing. This isn’t Camp Ben and Jordan.”

“Not yet,” Ilya said, nudging Shane. “But maybe they will be the new us, one day.”

“Then I’d better warn Jordan not to fall for Ben.”

“Oh, are you Jordan?”

“Obviously. He made the A team.”

They smiled at each other, and Ilya leaned in a bit. He couldn’t help it. They hadn’t had sex all week because Shane didn’t want his mom to hear, and Ilya was crawling out of his skin.

Shane dodged him. “No way. We’re not making that mistake again.”

“I like making mistakes with you.”

“You can make mistakes on the ice. As usual.”

“Damn, that was a fun week,” Max said to Shane on Friday afternoon. “Thanks again for inviting us.”

The Montreal camp was over, the kids were gone, and it had been, Shane was pretty sure, a success. “Of course. Thanks for coaching. You ready to do it again next week in Ottawa?”

“For sure. I had a blast. That surprise appearance by the Stanley Cup was great.”

“That was all J.J., just in case he hasn’t made that extremely clear.” Shane was teasing, but he was touched that J.J. had used his day with the cup to share it with the camp kids. Shane was using his own day next week at the Ottawa camp, and he was grateful that the Montreal kids hadn’t been left out.

Max laughed. “He mentioned it. Invited us to a party tonight too.”

“You gonna go?”

“Sure. How often do you get invited to a Haitian street party with the Stanley Cup?”

“Every time J.J. wins one.”

“Are you going to be there?”

“Um.” Shane glanced to his left and saw Ilya approaching. “Maybe. I have other plans but I’m going to try to do both,” he lied.

“Are you talking about J.J.’s party?” Ilya asked.

“Yeah. You wanna go?” Shane hoped not.

“And celebrate Montreal’s cup win? Yuck. No.”

Shane made a show of rolling his eyes, which made Max laugh.

“You guys are kind of adorable,” Max said.

Ilya waggled his eyebrows at Shane. “Adorable.”

Shane’s cheeks heated. Had they been too adorable? Maybe they should tone it down.

He took what he hoped was a subtle step away from Ilya and said, “Have a good night, Max. We’ll see you and Leah in Ottawa.”

As if summoned by her name, Leah appeared at the end of the hallway with Ryan. When she reached her husband, she kissed him on the cheek and said, “Ready to roll, babe?”

“Yeah. Let’s get a nap in so we can party all night, okay?”

Leah rested her forehead on Max’s shoulder. “I am way too old to party all night.”

“Until midnight, then.”

“Deal.”

They smiled at each other lovingly, and Shane felt a hot flash of jealousy, followed by the urge to kiss Ilya in front of everyone. Would anyone here even care? Ryan already knew...

“Your mom is looking for you,” Ryan said. “She’s in the office.”

“Right,” Shane said, shaking off the absurd ideas that had momentarily clouded his brain. He turned and walked quickly toward the office. He was surprised when Ilya caught up with him a few seconds later.

“Okay?” Ilya asked.

“Yep,” Shane said tightly.

Ilya hummed softly, then, as soon as they were around a corner, grabbed his wrist and tugged him toward an open door. It was one of the locker rooms, dingy and kind of gross and a whole lot like the one they’d first made eyes at each other in, over a decade ago when they’d filmed a commercial together.

Ilya closed and locked the door, then pressed Shane against it.

“Oh,” Shane said, and then Ilya was kissing him, hard and with purpose, as if this was a form of physical therapy.

“Better?” Ilya asked, when they finally pulled apart. Both men were breathing unsteadily. Shane’s fingers were digging into Ilya’s hip and his shoulder, and Ilya had one hand tangled up in Shane’s hair.

“Yeah,” Shane whispered. “Fuck, I want you so bad.”

“It has been a long week,” Ilya agreed.