Page 8 of The Long Game (Game Changers #6)

“What am I even supposed to wear to this thing?” Shane called from his walk-in closet.

“Do you have a leather, um. What is it? Like, for a horse...?”

“A harness. And shut up.”

Ilya laughed quietly to himself. He honestly couldn’t wait to see what kind of outfit Shane put together for Fabian’s show.

“Just wear a jock,” Ilya suggested. “And sunglasses.”

Shane poked his head out of the closet. “What are you wearing?”

Ilya was in the process of tugging his tight-fitting pale pink T-shirt into place. It was a recent purchase, and he looked amazing in it.

“Jesus,” Shane said.

“Nice, right?”

“They didn’t have it in your size?”

Ilya grinned. Shane was full of shit, and the heat in his gaze was telling on him. “Wear something light. It will be hot in the club.”

“Okay. Um.” Shane disappeared back into the closet. He emerged a minute later in stylish black pants that tapered at the ankle and a light gray linen shirt that he’d left open at the collar.

“Good,” Ilya said, which was a massive understatement. The shirt stretched tight across Shane’s wide shoulders, and the cuffs of the short sleeves accentuated the bulge of his biceps.

“Yeah?” Shane asked.

“Mm.” Ilya pulled Shane in for a kiss. “You look hot,” he murmured against his lips. “I will be thinking all night of what I want to do to you later.”

“Shit, let’s at least get to the club before you start making me want to leave.”

Ilya smiled and kissed him again. “You will love the show. I have heard Fabian is very good.”

“Oh yeah? Who told you that?”

“Harris. You know, the—”

“The social media guy who I haven’t met but you can’t stop talking about? The adorable gay one? You did say he was adorable, right?”

Ilya laughed softly and dipped his head to kiss the hinge of Shane’s jaw. “He invited me to Fabian’s show in Ottawa last year. But I had to rest an injury.”

“So you’re being invited on dates with adorable gay guys, are you?” Shane was probably trying to sound angry, but his voice was a bit strained and he was tilting his head to give Ilya better access to his neck. “To sexy music shows?”

“Yes. All the time.”

“Is Harris going to be there tonight? Am I going to be in your way?”

“I don’t know. Do you want me to text him?”

Shane was remarkably skilled at glaring and smiling at the same time. “Come on. Let’s get going.”

Fabian’s show was every bit as sexy and mesmerizing as Harris had described it, and every aspect of it felt dialed up, because Ilya had Shane standing next to him.

Not as close as Ilya would have liked, but still. Next to him.

Ideally Ilya would be behind Shane with his arms wrapped around him, holding him close against his chest. Ilya would rest his chin on Shane’s head, and kiss his hair whenever he felt the urge.

Instead, Ilya was standing between Shane and Ryan Price, at the back of the crowded bar. Ryan had explained that he always watched from the back, because of his size. Ilya and Shane had decided to keep him company.

Onstage, Fabian was holding his audience captive.

Despite the enormous number of people there, the room was almost silent except for his ethereal voice, and the music he was making alone using a keyboard, a laptop, an assortment of pedals, and his violin.

He was wearing billowy white pants, sheer enough that the stage lights shone through them.

He was bare chested, but wore several sparkling chains around his neck, and a few more around his narrow waist. Gold armbands snaked around his biceps, and even from the back of the room, Ilya could see he was wearing a lot of makeup.

He looked magical and sensual. A prize for sure.

Ilya couldn’t be happier that Ryan was the one who’d won him.

“He is beautiful,” Ilya told Ryan, when Fabian finished his song.

“I know,” Ryan said, without taking his eyes off the stage.

He was wearing a simple black T-shirt and black jeans, and was probably going to be mistaken for a bouncer a few times tonight.

Though, Ilya supposed, Ryan basically was a bouncer because he would definitely be the first one to intervene if anyone did anything even slightly threatening to his boyfriend.

Fabian couldn’t have had a better protector.

“It must feel powerful,” Ilya said. “Knowing everyone in the room wants your boyfriend.”

The smile that curved Ryan’s lips was the most sexually charged expression Ilya had ever seen on the shy man’s face. “It does.”

Yeah, Ilya could see how going to these shows would be some heady fucking foreplay for Ryan.

He glanced at his own boyfriend, who was watching Fabian intently with his arms folded.

He may not be onstage, looking like a glittering diamond, but he was achingly beautiful.

The sharp line of his jaw and straight slope of his nose in profile were more fascinating to Ilya than anything else in the room.

He took a step closer to him, and brushed his arm against Shane’s elbow. Shane moved away, arms falling to his sides, and said, “He’s really good.”

“I know.”

“And, like, captivating. You can’t look away from him, y’know?”

“Yes,” Ilya said, without glancing away from Shane’s face. He wanted so desperately to touch him.

Sometimes Ilya was so starved for touch he felt like screaming.

He felt it most when Shane was close, like he was now, but off-limits.

Ilya used to go to clubs like this one all the time, in just about every NHL city.

He’d find someone he liked, make out with them, then go home with them.

Sometimes he would skip the club and just text one of his regulars, depending on where he was.

He didn’t miss that. Not really. He was devoted to Shane, wholeheartedly, and their sex life was beyond anything he had experienced with another person.

But he missed being touched. He missed the endorphin rush he used to get from hooking up with people, and how relaxed he’d felt after.

He missed meeting new people, talking to them, charming them.

Most of all, though, he missed the comfort he got from human touch. Right now, in this club in Montreal, he wanted that comfort from the man he was in love with.

He took another step toward Shane, closing the slim gap between them again. This time he trailed a fingertip down Shane’s arm from his elbow to his wrist. Shane flinched, and stared at him with wide, questioning eyes.

“What?” he asked.

Kiss me, Ilya wanted to say. Kiss me and hold me in front of all these people. Pull me onstage and do it. I don’t care anymore. Please. I’m dying.

“Nothing,” Ilya said, and stepped away. “Nothing.”

Shane was so turned on he felt like he would burst into flames.

The sensuality of Fabian’s performance—his whole deal—combined with having Ilya so close had created electricity that coursed through Shane’s body.

He wished he could grab Ilya and pull him closer, kiss him against the back wall of the club until they were both panting.

But he didn’t mind waiting. The forbidden aspect of their relationship—the discipline it took to hide how hot they were for each other—still did it for Shane. It was sexy.

Here, in public, Shane didn’t mind pretending that they were two bros, hanging out with their retired NHL player friend.

He didn’t mind keeping his hands to himself, because he knew as soon as they were alone they would thoroughly take each other apart and it would be perfect.

Their reward for a job well done. Shane thrived on that sort of thing.

But, fuck, Ilya looked hot tonight. That tight pink T-shirt was just barely holding itself together, stretched tight across Ilya’s muscular chest and shoulders. That fucking loon tattoo staring Shane in the face, practically a brand on Ilya’s skin.

Mine, Shane thought. The world doesn’t need to know, because I know.

He wondered if Ilya was as horny as he was at that moment. He kept glancing at Shane sideways, so probably. Also, it had been nearly a week since they’d last been able to have sex, and if the drought was affecting Shane this much, it must actually be killing Ilya.

Shane remembered the last time they’d been in any kind of club together.

It had been years ago, before they’d admitted their feelings for each other.

Shane had been with Rose at the time, had been out with her and her friends that night, and Ilya had happened to be at the same Montreal nightclub with some of his teammates.

Shane had abandoned Rose on the dance floor, drawn to Ilya like a moth to a flame, and had helplessly watched Ilya make out with a beautiful woman.

There’d been a brief, terrifying moment when his and Ilya’s eyes had met. When Ilya had discovered him. Then Shane had fled, embarrassed that he’d been caught watching, and horrified by how jealous he’d felt.

He’d needed to pull over while driving home that night because he hadn’t been able to see the road through his tears.

He’d been so confused and scared and devastated.

He should have been going home with Rose, his gorgeous movie star girlfriend, not crying on the side of the road, alone in his car, over an obnoxious Russian hockey player.

He’d been in love with him, though he’d refused to even consider it at the time.

Now, he felt the light brush of a fingertip at his elbow, and tensed as the finger trailed down to his wrist. Ilya shouldn’t be touching him like this.

“What?” Shane asked, because there had to be a reason why Ilya would break their most important rule.

For the briefest moment, Ilya’s eyes looked sad, and even a bit scared. Then he blinked, and schooled his expression into something more neutral.

“Nothing,” Ilya said as he stepped away. “Nothing.”

Ilya turned his gaze back to the stage, but Shane kept watching Ilya. His shoulders were slumped, and his jaw was tense. He looked...defeated.