Chapter Text
Shane hadn’t even planned to be in Boston that day.
He had just finished a shoot in North Carolina of all places, and had been desperate to get back to Ottawa. Unfortunately for him, his hour long layover in Boston had turned into six hours due to some plane maintenance issue he didn’t have the energy to question further.
Sometimes he wondered if he would have been better off going to college and getting a job in the government like his dad. Modelling was surprisingly exhausting.
The freezing Boston air cut through Shane’s scarf and bit at his face as he made his way down the street. It was unseasonably cold for November, which was something he had not prepared for. His eyes scanned the nearby storefronts, searching for the coffee shop that his phone assured him was just around the corner. Finally he spotted it, the warm light pouring through the windows like a beacon of hope calling him forward.
Shane’s phone buzzed just as he reached the wooden entry door. Swiping up on a message from his mom checking in on his flight, he absently reached for the doorhandle, only for it to swing towards him. He blinked upwards in surprise, opening his mouth to do something– apologize, probably, knowing him– only to be nearly knocked over by the force of the man coming through the door.
Shane had never been a small man. He grew up with the same wiry strength as the rest of the hockey players around him, and was pleasantly surprised when he continued growing to be taller than both of his parents. While his build had changed since he stopped playing hockey– his muscles shaped to be more for show than for actual use– he was still broad and strong.
The man running into him, though, was somehow broader. He wasn’t much taller than Shane. Maybe an inch, really, if Shane was feeling generous. But the man’s shoulders were wider and his biceps strained at the ridiculously thin coat they were covered in. He had a head of curly blond hair and wide, shockingly blue eyes. His cheeks were pink and covered in beauty marks, and Shane had the absurd thought that he wanted to kiss each of them.
It was a lot to take in very quickly. Really, the first thing Shane should have noticed was that the man had for some reason chosen to buy an iced coffee in the middle of November in fucking Boston, and that iced coffee had found a new home all over the front of Shane.
It soaked through his clothes faster than Shane would have thought possible, leaving a gross, tacky feeling on his chest where his undershirt was beginning to cling.
Embarrassingly, Shane realized that his mouth was still hanging open.
“Sorry!” The man’s voice was deep and accented, his eyes only seeming to grow wider as they settled on Shane’s soaked chest. “I did not– I was not looking. I am so– can I get you napkins?”
Sighing, Shane stepped around the man and into the coffee shop. The warm air did wonders to fix the chill that had settled into his bones during the walk over, but absolutely nothing for the soaking wet patch on the front of his shirt.
“Some napkins would be great, yeah,” he said evenly, trying to keep the strain he was feeling out of his voice. He hated wearing wet clothes, and he had just finished getting spritzed with water every few seconds and that damn shoot in fucking North Carolina, only to get trapped in Boston and have some asshole spill freezing coffee all over him.
The man darted away without another word, and Shane rolled his eyes as he saw him frantically pulling napkins out of a dispenser across the shop. He carefully pulled off his scarf, feeling himself relax as he saw that it had made it out relatively unscathed from where it had been looped around his neck and flipped over his back. It was one his mom had just given him the week before, and he would have been upset to lose it so soon. He peeled off his coat with much less care, the thick woolen monstrosity something he had been sent by a brand he had partnered with and wore more out of obligation than anything else. He had never liked the scratch of wool where it rubbed on his neck and wrists, so he was almost glad to see the unfortunate stain that now marred the front of it.
Before he could start scrunching up his sweater to pull that off, too, the man returned. He looked apologetic enough that Shane privately rescinded his thoughts on the man being an asshole.
“I did not know how many, so I grabbed lots. I am sorry again. Please do not write Raiders media team about me being an asshole. I do not feel like another angry email today.” There was an amused lilt to his voice at the last sentence, as if the man was trying to share a joke with Shane.
Unfortunately, unstated jokes were one of the things Shane had always struggled with. He tried to parse the sentence a few times, but his mind kept getting stuck on Raiders. Was this man a hockey player?
“That’s alright,” Shane said eventually, “I don’t know who I would be complaining about, anyway.” He pulled his sweater off as he spoke, and when he emerged from the fabric he was met with a dumbfounded expression.
“You do not know me?”
“Huh. On second thought, maybe you are an asshole.”
The man’s cheeks flushed, blinking rapidly as if embarrassment was something new for him.
“I am Ilya. Rozanov. I play for the Boston Raiders, my face is plastered all over the city– sorry. This was rude of me to assume.” The man– Ilya– said sheepishly.
“I guess I haven’t been far enough into the city,” Shane muttered, most of his focus on dabbing at the stain on his Reebok undershirt.
“You are new here? Maybe I can… show you around?”
Shane glanced up at that, his eyebrows raising as he took in the cautious hope on Ilya’s face. There was a glint in Ilya’s eyes that he couldn’t quite place until he saw the way they flickered down to his chest and back up again.
Ilya Rozanov, apparently a player for the Boston Raiders, was checking him out.
While Shane had admittedly stopped following the MLH as closely after his own hockey career came to an untimely end, he was positive that there still weren’t any out queer players.
That meant that this man, a professional hockey player, had chosen to potentially risk his career just to flirt with Shane.
His heart flipped at the idea.
“Not new here,” he said after realizing he had waited just a bit too long to reply. “Just on a layover, actually. Headed home in a few hours.” He tried not to convey the disappointment that had crept up within him. There was no reason to be disappointed, really– he was only missing out on the chance of hooking up with an absurdly hot stranger that happened to be a professional in the sport that had taken up the majority of Shane’s childhood.
Shane struggled to remind himself that it was for the best anyway, as he balled up the last of the soiled napkins. He had given up entirely on hooking up only a few months after coming out publicly. The culture had never appealed to him– he didn’t like strangers in his house, didn’t like going to strangers’ houses, and never found the sex impressive enough to forget about how filthy hotels were. Besides, there was an element of trust needed for him in having sex that he just couldn’t establish with a random hookup.
Ilya Rozanov probably had a messy house, anyway. Hockey players usually did.
“Oh.” Ilya sounded even more disappointed than Shane felt. His lips were turning down at the edges and his cheek was hollowed on one side as if he was chewing on it. “I thought– well. Never mind what I thought. Few hours, you said?”
“Yeah.” Shane narrowed his eyes, trying to see what Ilya was getting at.
“You don’t have a suitcase with you.”
“It was a checked bag,” Shane explained, “it’s somewhere in the airport, I’m sure. Which– fuck. My clothes.”
“Yes, I was worried about that,” Ilya did seem legitimately worried, but he had also shed his disappointed air in favor of a smugness that looked much more natural on him. “Maybe you come to my house? You can borrow some of my clothes. Least I can do, really.”
Shane frowned, ready to tell Ilya that he could just buy new clothes, thanks, only to stop in his tracks at the look on Ilya’s face.
He was watching Shane closely, a cautiously hopeful smile rising on his face and cutting through the smug look that had been in his eyes. Some part of Shane wanted to see more of that smile.
“You know what? Sure.”
***
Yuna Hollander was going to kill Shane when she found out what he had done.
The short drive to Ilya’s home was more eventful than Shane previously thought car rides were capable of being. Ilya drove an absurd orange mockery of a vehicle at speeds that left Shane clutching at his armrests and double (and triple) checking that his seatbelt was latched.
When they finally pulled into the long driveway that led up to Ilya’s impressive home, Shane let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.
“So,” Ilya said, his eyes crinkling with the force of his teasing smirk. “I take it you do not drive for fun, Shane?”
What the fuck.
“I– did I tell you my name?”
“No, you were very rude,” Ilya teased, “I give you my name and you say ‘oh, Mr. Rozanov, I have never heard of you before–’”
“That is not what I said!”
“It is close enough!” Ilya stepped out of the car with a flourish and circled around, opening Shane’s door for him. The gesture eased some of the tension in his shoulders, but Shane didn’t let himself fully relax. He remained in his seat stubbornly, glaring up at the other man.
“How did you know my name?”
“Relax, Hollander. I fly a lot, you are in magazines a lot. It is destiny for me to know your name.”
Shane’s cheeks flushed at the oddly romantic sentiment, as well as the reminder of how many photos of him existed all over the place, and finally stepped out of the car. He was instantly confronted with the fact that he had never put his soaked sweater and coat back on, and his hands rose to rub at his chilly arms.
“Yes, let’s get you inside.” One of Ilya’s hands rested in between Shane’s shoulder blades as he gently nudged him up the driveway. It was like being branded by a hot poker, the heat radiating out from Ilya’s palm and dripping molten honey down his spine.
They reached the door some indeterminate time later, Shane snapping back into focus with a sheepish smile that Ilya didn’t seem to notice, too focused on trying to open the door with one hand.
Finally, the door opened and Ilya guided Shane the rest of the way into his wonderfully warm and surprisingly clean house. Shane took his shoes off at the door absentmindedly as his eyes scanned what he could see of the house. It was very modern, with sleek appliances in the bit of kitchen that he could see and contemporary art on the walls that weren’t covered in floor to ceiling windows.
There was a faint lingering smell of smoke in the entryway, but Shane had a feeling based on the pristine white of the walls that Ilya at least didn’t smoke inside.
“Come,” Ilya urged, his hand once again pressing into Shane’s back, “I have clothes in my bedroom.”
Shane froze suddenly, planting his feet against the insistent pressure of Ilya’s hand.
“Wait– I want to make sure I’m not… giving you the wrong idea, or something– I mean you’re obviously… well… but I’m not really looking for– you know?” He spun as he finished talking, his cheeks burning as he took in Ilya’s incredulous expression.
“No, I do not know. You have used a lot of words but I don’t think you actually said anything.” There was still a hint of teasing in Ilya’s voice, but something else was under it that Shane couldn’t quite pick out.
“I might be way off base here, but I don’t– I don’t do hookups.”
Ilya blinked slowly, his lips pressing together as he thought.
“Maybe I don’t want a hookup,” he said eventually. “Maybe I want something more. We can just talk.”
“You’ve known me for less than an hour,” Shane said, unable to disguise his disbelief.
“I want to know you for more than that.”
Shane snorted at that, shaking his head. “How could you possibly know that? You’ve known me for less than an hour.” Part of him wasn’t even sure why he was fighting this– there were butterflies throwing a rave in his stomach at the thought of the gorgeous, funny, oddly sweet man in front of him being interested in him. But he had made so much progress since coming out, spent so much time figuring out what he really wanted in life, and a random hookup wasn’t it.
“I say I see you in magazines,” Ilya hedged. “Maybe I also read the articles.”
Shocked silent, Shane stared at Ilya. This man– this ridiculous, smugly hot hockey player of a man, read Shane’s interviews in magazines? He knew what kind of magazines those things got posted in, and he couldn’t imagine Ilya’s massive frame hunkered over a tabloid like that while flying to an away game.
“You can’t really learn much about someone from press pieces,” Shane said eventually, which was not what he had wanted to say.
“Mmm, I don’t know. I know you are sweet, and funny even when you maybe don’t mean to be. I know you are close with your parents and you built your home near theirs so you could see them often. I know you came out a few years ago, and that you are looking for someone to settle down with. I know that your freckles get airbrushed by idiots sometimes, and I know that they drive me crazy–”
For some reason, it was the comment on his freckles that broke Shane.
He whirled around and stepped into Ilya’s personal space, backing the man into the front door and taking pleasure in the surprised huff that escaped him. He doesn’t linger on it for too long, though, instead tipping his face up just enough to brush his lips against Ilya’s jaw before pausing with their mouths nearly touching. He breathed in as Ilya breathed out, the feeling oddly intoxicating.
“How crazy?”
That seemed to be all the encouragement Ilya needed, and Shane found himself spun around with his back pressed against the door and his front pressed to Ilya’s. He had just enough time to anchor his hands on the other man’s waist before his lips were being devoured. Ilya’s lips were warm and soft against his, and his tongue dipping into Shane’s mouth spread that warmth through his body and all the way into his toes.
Shane whined as Ilya pulled back, too busy trying to follow him to even care about the slightly pathetic sound. Clearly Ilya cared though, as his face creased with a delighted smile.
“Ah, but we must stop, Shane,” he murmured, his hands rubbing teasing circles into Shane’s hips. “Remember, you don’t do hookups.”
Shane’s heart fluttered at the consideration, even if Ilya was clearly fucking with him.
“Thought this wasn’t a hookup?” He challenged, stepping back into Ilya’s space.
“My mistake.” Ilya’s words were soft, practically just a breath that Shane could feel ghosting over his face before he dove back in. They quickly found themselves working towards the living room, with Shane backing away only for a moment to comment on the architecture before Ilya was laughing and tipping him onto the massive leather couch that took up one side of the room.
Shane laid back against an armrest, his hands running up and down Ilya’s back as the other man thoroughly investigated Shane’s neck with his mouth, his teeth nipping occasionally when Shane squirmed just right. Eventually, Shane decided to speed things along and started pushing at Ilya’s jacket until the man finally got the hint and sat up enough to take it off. Shane stared up in amazement as Ilya sat astride him, his powerful thighs on either side of Shane’s hips, and shucked off his shirt as soon as he was free of his jacket.
The revealed skin had Shane’s blood burning within him, and his hands raised shakily to trace the moles covering Ilya’s chest and stomach. He was all coarse hair and hard muscle, and Shane didn’t even know where to start in exploring all of it but he knew he wanted to know every inch.
“You too,” Ilya said, his voice rough. “Shirt off. I want to see you.”
“You mean you want to see me in person?” Shane teased, feeling lighter than he had in a while. None of his hookups after coming out had felt this easy. Maybe all he had to do was go into it planning to do it again. Which– he still couldn’t believe Ilya wanted to do this again. They hadn’t even done it once!
Ilya hummed in response, his hands drifting to the hem of Shane’s shirt. “Probably want it off anyway, yes? Still wet.”
Suddenly, Shane was completely pulled out of the moment. He wasn’t sure how he had ever managed to forget, but now that Ilya brought it up the sensation of his skin sticking to his shirt was like being dragged across a bed of nails. He sat up abruptly, ripping his shirt off and narrowly avoiding sending an elbow into Ilya’s nose in the process.
“I need–”
“Yes?”
“Can we… do you mind if…” Shane huffed, irritated with himself beyond belief. “I just– now that I remember it’s there I can’t stop thinking about it and my skin feels all gross and I won’t be able to focus on–”
“Shane,” Ilya cut in, his eyes dangerously fond. “You can shower. If you want, I can join you. If not, I will be out here waiting.” He paused to flick his eyes up and down Shane’s body. “Eagerly.”
“Do you mind if I shower alone?”
“Yes, Shane, I just said. You go get clean and I will sit out here and imagine you all naked and wet in my shower. You will come back out, and I will eat you alive. Or, you change your mind in the shower and I make us lunch and we talk. Yes?”
“Yeah,” Shane agreed, nodding weakly. Well. He was certainly going to be quick.
***
Afterwards, Ilya was the perfect gentleman.
They were pressed together in Ilya’s massive bed, sweat sticking their skin together. Part of Shane was desperate for another shower but the rest of him wanted to remain in the moment for as long as possible.
Whereas Shane’s previous hookups had seemed irritated by his desire to remain close after they finished, Ilya only tugged him closer. He had already set out a glass of water and some baby wipes on the nightstand while Shane was in the shower, so he was feeling hydrated, relatively clean, and overall well cared for in a way he wasn’t used to.
Ilya himself was curled up, his large frame looking oddly small with his head ducked to rest on Shane’s chest. Shane was carding his fingers through Ilya’s hair slowly, a sense of peace filling him.
The moment was so wonderful.
Shane didn’t want it to ever end.
Unfortunately, he still had a flight to catch, and the red numbers of the alarm clock by Ilya’s bed let him know that he didn’t have much longer.
“Ilya,” he murmured, tugging slightly on the hair beneath his fingers.
“Mmnph?”
A curl of fondness grew in Shane’s chest at the sleepy grumble. He trailed his hands down to Ilya’s shoulders and shook him gently, grinning at the continued grumblings.
“I have to get to the airport.”
“No,” Ilya complained, his voice very close to a whine, “you need to stay here.”
Shane pressed a kiss to the top of Ilya’s head, grinning to himself as it caused the man to finally stir. Ilya sat partially upright, just enough to look up at Shane with his chin pillowed on the pec he had previously been napping on.
“Alright, alright. Five more minutes?”
“Yeah, okay,” Shane whispered, unable to stop himself from caressing Ilya’s cheek.
It was hard to believe how much his day had changed. Just a couple of hours ago he had been silently cursing out freak maintenance issues, his airline, airports as a whole, and the entire state of North Carolina, but now he felt like he had a lot of thankful fruit baskets to send out. His longer layover may have seemed like an inconvenience at first, but it had led him to Ilya. He hated that he had to leave already.
“When can I see you again?”
Clearly, Ilya had been reading his mind.
Shane wracked his brain, trying to pull up the convoluted schedule of shoots and interviews and promos his mom had him doing.
“I’m busy for a while, so I’m not sure if I can make it back down here. Are you in Ottawa anytime soon?”
“Have an away game next week. Thursday. I will take you on an actual date, somewhere in public where we can talk without you jumping me,” Ilya teased, his eyes shining as he ran his hands up and down Shane’s sides.
“Whatever, you’re the one that invited me over to hook up anyway.”
Ilya frowned, his hands stilling on Shane’s sides. Shane panicked for a moment, worried he had said the wrong thing and fucked up already. Was that too rude? Too presumptuous? Too-
“I did not invite you here to hook up. Well, maybe I hoped, but– I really did just want to talk to you,” Ilya murmured, his hands resuming their path along Shane’s skin. “I can’t stop seeing you everywhere I look, and I want to know more about you every time. It felt like fate, getting to meet you.”
Shane’s cheeks flamed. “Fate? Spilling your stupid iced coffee all over me in the middle of November felt like fate?”
“Seeing your shirt all wet and stuck to your chest felt pretty close.”
“Ilya!”
The man laughed, finally rolling off Shane so they could sit up properly.
“I am glad it led us here, even if I feel bad about how uncomfortable it made you,” Ilya said.
“I am too,” Shane whispered, tugging Ilya closer with a hand on his jaw. “And now I get to go home wearing your clothes.” He sealed the sentiment with a gentle kiss, grinning into it too much for it to really be any good. Thankfully, Ilya was doing the same.
Humming, Ilya pulled back. “So I will see you next week, then,” he murmured, his eyes flicking back and forth between Shane’s. “I will win against the Centaurs for you, not that it will be hard, and then I will take you to a nice Ottawa restaurant, if those exist, and I will woo you thoroughly.”
“Woo me?” Shane asked incredulously, choosing not to comment on the slight against the Centaurs. He didn’t follow them anymore, but they had once been his favorite team in the MLH.
“Yes. I think you deserve to be wooed, and I want to do it.”
“Oh.”
Shane didn’t know what else to say. He had expected Ilya to make a joke, but instead he was faced with the man’s serious expression. His hand came up slowly, tapping against Shane’s cheek once, twice, and then tugging him closer to press a kiss to the same spot on his other cheek.
“I know it maybe seems like a lot, but I– you feel it too, right?”
“Yeah,” Shane said softly, wonderingly, “I feel it, too.”
***
The next week passed Shane by in a daze, until Wednesday night when he found himself gazing despondently into his closet.
He was supposed to meet Ilya the next day for lunch between Ilya’s morning practice and evening game, and he was realizing that he had no idea what he was supposed to wear for his first ever date with another man.
Thankfully, he had one remaining tie to the professional hockey world that he could consult.
“Shane? Hey, man, what’s–”
“I need your help.”
Shane had met Hayden Pike in a similar way to how he had met Ilya– completely organically and with no idea that Hayden was a hockey player. Shane was starting to think he was cursed to surround himself with reminders of a life he could no longer have.
That was a bit of a dark sentiment to have about his best friend and his crush, though, so he pushed the thought aside.
“Is everything okay?! Do I need to come to Ottawa? I can see if I can get someone to watch the kids–”
“No! Jesus, Hayd, do not leave some poor soul with your army of kids. I just… I have a date tomorrow and–”
“A date?” Hayden’s voice squeaked embarrassingly, somehow sounding more excited about it than Shane was.
“Yes, a date! I’m meeting him for lunch and I don’t know what to wear and I don’t want to ruin this already. I really like him, Hayden. He seems sweet.”
There was a moment of silence before Hayden let out a delighted sound not unlike something Shane would expect to hear from a young child seeing candy in front of them. Rolling his eyes, he settled onto the edge of his bed and prepared for an interrogation.
“He’s sweet? What does he look like? How did you meet him? Oh my god, Shane! Are you finally on one of those dating apps I keep sending you?”
“For the tenth time, Hayden, no, I am not downloading Grindr! It is not the app you think it is!” Shane groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I met him outside a coffee shop in Boston. He spilled his coffee all over me and then took me to his house so I could borrow some clothes–”
“Shane! You dog!”
Taking a deep breath, Shane continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “And as for what he looks like– hey, you actually might know him! He plays for the Raiders and he seemed pretty surprised I didn’t recognize him, so he must be pretty good–”
“Shane.” All traces of joy had left Hayden’s voice. Shane raised his eyebrows, waiting patiently for whatever his friend had to say next. “Please tell me you aren’t talking about Ilya Rozanov.”
That couldn’t be a good sign.
“What if I am?” Shane asked cautiously, settling more into his bed in preparation for whatever conversation was about to happen. Maybe Hayden was just being dramatic. He did have that tendency, after all. The Raiders were Montreal’s rivals, so maybe Hayden was tired of losing to Rozanov or something like that. Shane had heard enough about the season from Hayden to know they had been losing a lot of their matchups.
“Shane.” The sound of his own name in his best friend’s voice was really starting to grate on his nerves. “Are you sure he was being serious about a date? He’s kind of– I mean– he has a bit of a reputation.”
Shane’s chest felt cold and hollow suddenly, none of the warm excitement from before remaining. “What do you mean, a reputation?”
“I’ve heard some of the guys say he has a girl in every city.”
A girl in every city.
“Oh.”
“Maybe they were wrong! I don’t know, man, I just– he’s a dick, okay? Every time we play against him it’s all ‘yes, Pike, of course I scored on you, you don’t know what protection means’ and ‘maybe you would win more if you brought your team to skating lessons’ and after– well.”
“What happens after?”
“I’ve seen him at bars. Picking up, I mean.”
Shane frowned, shuffling around on his bed so he could slouch against the headboard. “That doesn’t mean anything. I don’t exactly expect him to have been celibate his whole life.”
“I’ve seen him at bars telling a girl he had apparently slept with last time that he ‘is only in it for the fun’ and ‘doesn’t do serious’” Hayden finished, his voice soft. “I’m pretty sure he’s said something similar in an interview somewhere, I can find it–”
“No,” Shane cut in, his eyes clenching shut. “I think I’ve heard enough. A girl in every city, huh? Guess he doesn’t have one in Ottawa yet.”
“Yeah,” Hayden said, his voice sad. “I’m really sorry, Shane– well, actually I’m kind of glad you called me before you got your heart broken by him, but– still.”
Privately, Shane thought it may have been a bit late for that.
He opened his eyes again, his breath coming out of him in a rush of air. “I guess. Thanks for being honest with me, Hayden.”
“Anytime, man. You said the date was tomorrow, right? How about I come by with Jacks and the kids instead? We have an optional skate, I can totally skip–”
“Don’t skip for me, Hayd. I’ll be fine.” Shane pulled the phone away from his ear to check the time, his face creasing as he realized he had a text waiting for him from an unknown number.
He hadn’t given his phone number out to anyone recently. Well, anyone except for Ilya.
“Listen, I have to go. Give my love to Jackie and the kids.”
“Yeah, alright bud. We love you, you know? You can come by anytime. And hey! JJ said he thinks his new personal trainer is gay, so maybe–”
“Okay, I really have to go,” Shane muttered, pressing the button to end the call firmly.
He stared at the lit screen for a few seconds, his eyes lingering on the text notification sitting innocently at the top of it until it went dark. Unable to help himself, he pressed on the power button to stare at it again, repeating the cycle a few times until he forced himself to stop.
It was ridiculous to feel hurt.
They had only met once, and while Shane had hoped for more he had still had a good time during the one day they spent together. Sure, Ilya had made it seem like they were going to be more, like he had any interest in being more at all, and maybe Shane had been kind of ridiculously excited about that prospect, but–
At the end of the day, he really didn’t know Ilya Rozanov that well.
Clearly.
Shane finally unlocked his phone and tapped on the notification, staring blankly at the messages that awaited him.
(617) xxx xxxx: getting on plane now
excited to see you again tomorrow
have not stopped thinking about your beautiful freckles
among other things 🥵
That was it, then.
Part of Shane had been hoping that Hayden was wrong, but Ilya had made it clear in his last message. No matter what he had promised about it just being a date to get to know each other, he had other intentions.
He had recognized Shane in that coffee shop because he has seen him in magazines, right? Maybe he saw the underwear ads. Maybe he had wanted him ever since, and had read all his stupid, boring interviews to try to find out how to… what, seduce him?
It was so at odds with the man Shane thought he had met that day. But then, how much could he really learn about someone else in one day?
Ilya had learned about Shane from interviews. Suddenly determined to do the same, Shane tabbed over to his browser app and made a simple search.
Ilya Rozanov
He blinked rapidly as news article after news article popped up.
Ilya Rozanov seen with the third blonde and second brunette of the week- at the same time!
Ilya Rozanov on his playboy persona: “Is easier this way; nobody is surprised. They know my reputation.”
Ilya Rozanov scores hat trick against the Buffalo Daggers! Watch here:
Previous lovers of Ilya Rozanov are gathering on a public forum to discuss their experiences. Is this bad for the Raiders image? (OPINION)
Shane's frown grew as he kept scrolling, unconsciously stopping every time he came across an image of Ilya with yet another beautiful woman. Finally, deciding he had gotten enough proof to kill off the crush he had been nurturing for the last week, Shane scrolled back to the top and selected the second article.
Shane: https://articlesite.com/Ilya-Rozanov-on-his playboy-persona-21141410
Yeah, I'm sure.