Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Fluff, Getting Together, Ilya Rozanov is a Menace, romcom, Inspired by How To Lose a Guy in 10 Days (2003), Bets & Wagers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hijinks & Shenanigans

Language:

English

Collections:

Hollanov Reverse Bang 2026

Stats:

Published: 2026-08-15 Words: 9,306 Chapters: 1/1

How to Lose Shane Hollander in Ten Days or Less! (Preferably less)

Summary

Ilya needs to date a guy and get dumped in less than a week. Luckily Shane Hollander has impossibly high standards and a track record of quick turnarounds.

Shane needs to prove he can date a guy for a whole ten days. Luckily Ilya Rozanov has a reputation for being a no-maintenance boyfriend who will be easy to put up with for a couple weeks.

What could possibly go wrong?

Notes

I needed a couple of rookies for the plot, so I tossed Luca Haas to Boston and made up a rookie for Montreal. There’s an unrealistic amount of travel between Boston and Montreal in this story, don’t worry about it. I wanted to stick with the movie storyline of the conflict being the bets, so there’s no homophobia in this one. Maybe they live in the Bridgerton universe and all of homophobia was solved in the 1800s, I don’t know.

Thank you to chinesebakery for the beta read!

Art by pinenora317. Please remember to tell the artist how fantastic her art is on her art post!!!!

Written for the Hollanov Reverse Bang based on the art prompt:

Cliff was complaining about his dating life again. Ilya sighed and put on his most sympathetic expression. They were in the locker room changing back into their street clothes after their morning practice had finished. Ilya was looking forward to their game against Montreal that night. All the teams they’d been playing recently had been terrible, and he was ready for a challenge.

“She dumped me and called me a scrub. What does that even mean? I kept trying to explain how much I liked her, but she just kept yelling about how I brought all my friends over to her place without asking first and ate all her food. And, like, something about empty pizza boxes? I stacked them all neatly in her oven, I didn’t leave them on the floor or anything! Man, chicks are impossible.”

Ilya made a noncommittal noise. The fact was, Cliff was bad at dating. If Ilya had a sister, there was no way in hell he’d give Cliff her number. Cliff wrecked his relationships like a bulldozer that had been designed specifically for that one task.

“It must be so much easier for you when you date guys,” Cliff said. “You can burp and put your feet on the table and never get dumped.”

“You think men have no dating standards?” Ilya grabbed a roll of medical tape out of his locker and tossed it to his favorite rookie, Luca Haas. “Take care of your hand, Haasy. We need you for the game tonight.”

“I know men have no dating standards,” Cliff said. “You probably couldn’t get dumped if you tried.”

It was still January and Ilya’s New Year’s resolution had been to stop impulsively making bets, but he decided to break it for this one. “Fifty bucks says I can find a boyfriend and get him to dump me in less than a week.”

“You’re on.”

They shook on it. Now Ilya just had to find a suitably picky boyfriend.

The Montreal team had breakfast together at the hotel in Boston like they usually did on away game days. Shane sat at a table with Hayden and J.J. while keeping one eye on Finley Gosling, their newest rookie. It was the kid’s first roadie, but he seemed to be managing well enough.

“My personal trainer says I should stick to egg whites,” J.J. said as he took a bite of his ham and cheese omelet. “But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“Henry, right?” Shane asked, struggling to recall what J.J. had told him about his new fitness trainer. Mostly Shane had been distracted by his picture. The man was hot. “Hey, could I get his number? I was thinking about asking him out when we get back to Montreal.”

“Absolutely not,” J.J. said.

“What? Why?”

J.J. pointed his fork at him. “You ditch everyone you date in less than a week. I’m not finding a new personal trainer, I just got this one.”

Hayden nodded along as if J.J.’s argument made sense. “Remember when you went out with my kid’s preschool teacher three times then dumped him? We had to switch schools.”

“Bit of an overreaction,” Shane said. “Not everyone settles down and starts popping out kids in their early twenties, Hayden.”

J.J. jabbed the fork toward Shane again. “I’m not settled down, and I’ve still managed to have relationships that lasted longer than a fly’s lifespan. Your standards are insane. You dumped the last one for ordering coffee weird.”

“He said small instead of tall, that is objectively the wrong way to order coffee. And I don’t even want to think about what he meant when he asked if they had a froyo-frappuccino.”

“I’m not setting you up with anyone else until you’ve proven you can date a guy for more than, I don’t know, ten days.”

“Ten days?” Shane stirred his breakfast smoothie. “I can do ten days. If I ask a guy out today and keep him around for that long, will you give me the hot physical trainer’s number afterwards?”

J.J. shrugged. “Deal. Only because I know you can’t do it.”

“I can,” Shane insisted. “I can date a guy for ten days. Just watch.”

Finley and Luca had decided when they’d first been drafted to rival teams that they would meet up for lunch before each game. They’d become online friends years ago, then met in person for the first time at the MLH draft. So far their friendship had proven unshakable. It was a relief for Finley to feel like he had someone to talk to who was going through the same experience of being a newly minted professional hockey player with him.

Luckily no one was paying attention to their careers yet, so they were largely left alone as they caught up over poutine at a hole in the wall cafe.

“You won’t believe what Rozanov and Marlow were betting on this morning,” Luca said as he polished off the plate. “Marlow has this weird idea in his head that gay men are all so low maintenance they’d never dump their partner for being a pain.”

“He should compare notes with Montreal,” Finley said as he waved a waiter over to refill his water. “Hollander will break up with a guy if he ties his shoelaces wrong. He even made a bet with J.J. this morning that he could date a guy for a whole ten days and no one thinks he’s going to manage it.”

“That’s funny,” Luca said. “Rozanov bet Marlow he could get a guy to break up with him in less than a week.”

They both paused as the same thought went through their heads.

“I mean,” Luca said slowly. “We couldn’t. Right?”

“It would be hilarious,” Finley said.

“But the ethics?”

“If you think about it, it would actually be more ethical to set them up and save two other unfortunate men from getting dragged into their bets.”

Luca’s forehead wrinkled as he considered this angle. “What if they catch on that it was us?”

“We’ll be so subtle they’ll think it was their idea.”

The teams were on the ice for warmups when Haas skated over to Ilya. Ilya grinned. The rookie was like a puppy that followed him around. Ilya was constantly having to resist the urge to ruffle his hair.

“Going to be a tough game tonight.” Haas looked green with nerves.

Ilya clapped him on the shoulder. “The best kind of game.”

“Yeah. Umm. Hollander, right?”

“He is a great player, but Boston has me.” Ilya winked.

Haas nodded earnestly. “You and Hollander are legends. Umm. He seems very intense, though. Not really fun. I heard he has, umm, ridiculously high standards for his boyfriends. Dumps them over anything.”

Ilya turned to look at where Hollander was stretching on the ice and talking to his own rookie. Obviously Ilya had noticed that Hollander was attractive before, but Hollander had that polite-Canadian-boy-you-could-bring-home-to-meet-your-parents vibe that just wasn't Ilya's thing. Besides, their paths had never really crossed and dating another hockey player sounded awful. That was just too much hockey. But he’d only have to date Hollander for a couple days to win his bet.

“Thank you, Haasy,” Ilya said. “You’ve just given me a genius idea.”

Haas mumbled something under his breath that Ilya didn’t catch.

“Rozanov, right?” Gosling said.

Shane nodded. He figured the rookie was just babbling out his nerves.

“Scariest player in Boston.” Gosling gave a fake shudder. “Can you believe my cousin actually dated him?”

“Really?” Shane said with disinterest. If he wanted to know about Rozanov’s dating life he’d open a tabloid. The paparazzi loved Rozanov, probably because he was hot and constantly had one model or another on his arm.

“Yeah, she said he was actually really chill. Super easy to date. She basically ignored him for a week and he was cool with it.”

That was a solution to the bet Shane hadn’t thought of before. He could date Rozanov for ten days and he’d barely have to put any effort into it. They’d break up with no hurt feelings, obviously, because it was Rozanov.

“Thank you, Baby Goose,” Shane said. “You’ve just given me a great idea.”

Gosling gave him a thumbs up, probably just thrilled to have helped his captain out even if he didn’t know with what. Rookies were so sweet.

Shane made sure to skate over to Rozanov after the game was done (a 2-1 overtime victory for Montreal, of course). To his surprise, Rozanov was also making his way over to him.

“Do you-” Rozanov started to say.

Shane cut him off to make sure he’d be the one to ask first. “We should go out on a date. I mean, it’s weird we’ve never tried dating before, right?”

Rozanov bristled, but still said, “Yes. A date. Just like I was about to ask you for. We should-”

“Get drinks at The Speakeasy.” Shane had googled good first date places in Boston during the intermission.

“I’m the one who lives here, I think I can pick the bar.”

“I asked you out first, so I should get to pick.”

“I was trying to ask you out first, you keep-”

“You missed the shot and I’m the one that found the back of the net-”

“What the fuck is this, hockey analogies? You sure a drink won’t short circuit your hockey robot circuitry?”

“You are such an asshole. Don’t even bother bringing your wallet tonight, I’m not letting you pay for anything.”

“You’re too slow, Hollander, I’ll make it to paying off the tab long before you.”

“Hey!” Hayden and J.J. skated to his side and lightly pulled his shoulders back. “We already won, he’s not worth the suspension,” Hayden said.

Cliff Marlow rushed to Rozanov’s side. “Back off my captain before I teach you how we do it in Boston!”

Shane blinked. The guys thought they were fighting? What gave them that impression? Shane had been enjoying himself. “Rozanov and I are going on a date,” Shane declared to the group. And then, just to make it clear this counted for the bet, Shane said, “We’re officially boyfriends now.”

“Yes.” Rozanov glared at him. “Boyfriends. Exactly.”

“What the fuck is happening?” Hayden asked.

Shane pulled off his gloves. “I’ll see you outside,” he told Rozanov.

“I’ll get there first and see you outside.”

They stormed away from each other towards their respective team’s locker rooms.

Ilya liked The Speakeasy, which made the fact that Shane Hollander had suggested it especially annoying. The lighting was dim and soft background music played, perfect for a romantic date. It was a bar in Boston past ten o’clock at night, so it was crowded but the acoustics weren’t bad.

“You sure this isn’t too late for you?” Ilya chirped. “You don’t need to drink a glass of warm milk and go to bed?”

“Fuck off,” Hollander said.

Ilya grinned. He couldn’t believe he was actually having fun. It was Hollander, after all. Ilya managed to order vodka for both of them before Hollander could put in his boring order. Hollander’s face screwed up into an adorable scowl. This relationship might not even last the first five minutes. Ilya congratulated himself on a job well done.

“So, Shane Hollander. What do you do for fun?”

Hollander took a defiant sip of his vodka then pulled a face at the taste. “I read biographies. Do yoga.”

“God, Hollander, stop, you are putting me to sleep. I said fun. Clubs, parties, fast cars.”

“We have very different definitions of fun. I stay home, mostly. But you should feel free to go out on your own while we’re dating, don’t let me hold you back.”

“No, no, I’ll stay home with my boring boyfriend, try out this new and more boring definition of fun.” The better to sabotage their relationship. Hollander would have no reason to break up with him if he wasn’t even there. “You can stay at my apartment tonight. We’ll do yoga together.”

“Seriously? Fine. I guess I can teach you a thing or two. Might improve your game so I’ll have some real competition.”

Ilya snorted. “Says the second best player in the league.”

“The best player, asshole. You’ve been behind me in the scoring race for a month.” Smugness radiated off Hollander, and it was oddly adorable. Hollander was even more attractive than usual when he was all worked up and it was making Ilya want to prod at him some more.

Ilya had a sudden, vivid thought about another way he could be behind Shane Hollander. No, he had to focus. The goal was a breakup, not getting laid. If he fucked Hollander he’d risk Hollander liking his incredible dick so much that it would take longer to get broken up with.

“You got a couple points ahead of me when you played New Jersey because their goalie is terrible this year. I’ll be caught up with you by next week.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that. Okay, my turn for a question.” Hollander leaned forward over the table. “True or false: all’s fair in love and hockey.”

Ilya considered the question. He was currently only dating Hollander to win a bet, so he’d have to go with: “True.”

Shane considered the ethics of the situation as they stepped into Rozanov’s apartment. On one hand, he’d slept with men he’d dated for a far shorter timeframe than ten days. On the other hand, he hadn’t dated any of them with the express purpose of breaking up in order to get someone else’s phone number. Probably best not to muddle the situation with sex, even if the thought of getting his hands on Rozanov's biceps was extremely tempting.

“I think we should take it slow,” Shane said.

“Agree,” Rozanov said immediately. “I’m saving myself for marriage.”

Shane paused as his brain crashed through all the tabloids Rozanov’s face had been splashed across. “No, you’re fucking not.”

Rozanov clutched a hand to his chest. “You think you know my private life so well, Hollander? I made a purity pledge.”

Fuck, maybe Rozanov was waiting until marriage? He did wear that cross all the time, maybe he was religious? Or Rozanov was just fucking with him. The last option seemed most likely, but refusing to believe him because of some sketchy tabloids would make Shane an asshole. “Sorry, I shouldn’t assume things. Anyway, we don’t need to immediately start having sex just because we’re dating.”

Rozanov nodded rapidly. “You can sleep in the guest room tonight. I’ll put a mint on your pillow. I’m a very considerate host.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Of course, since we’re doing a you thing tomorrow with the yoga, we’ll do a me thing tonight.” Rozanov threw himself down on the couch and grabbed the remote. “I need to catch up on the new episode of the Bachelor.”

Shane blanked out for a moment in horror. He had to watch trashy reality tv as part of his boyfriend duties? The words we’re breaking up almost crossed his lips, but no. He had to stay strong. Think of the hot personal trainer he’d get to date at the end of this.

Shane stiffly sat on the end of the couch. Rozanov patted the cushion beside himself. Shane gritted his teeth and moved over until he was practically in Rozanov’s lap. Rozanov flung an arm across his shoulders and started the show. His body heat invading Shane's space was an annoying distraction from the cheesy theme song playing on the tv.

The show host announced the women would be competing in an obstacle course to win a chance to have a date with the extremely mid leading man.

“What does any of this have to do with romance?” Shane asked as one of the women started hurling rubber ducks and invectives at another one of the women for reasons Shane could not understand.

“Nothing,” Rozanov said. “It’s about instagram views. My money is on the tall model winning the obstacle course, because she’s feisty. She’ll get eliminated on the date, though, because the bachelor doesn’t like feisty.”

“Are you kidding? The short makeup artist is winning this, she’s got tactics.” Shane settled more comfortably against Rozanov’s side. “How much money are we betting?”

“Eh. What’s money between boyfriends? I’ll bet you a kiss.”

Shane swallowed as he imagined pressing his lips to Rozanov's mouth. It was one kiss. He could manage to kiss Rozanov once if they were going to date for nearly two weeks. “Fine. I’ll raise you two kisses.”

“Deal.” Rozanov lounged back on the couch, perfectly relaxed.

Shane’s thoughts couldn’t stop spinning in circles around what he’d just agreed to as the drama on the screen continued on. His awareness of Rozanov’s body pressed against his side prickled. Rozanov had impressive biceps, but he was a pro-athlete, he was supposed to look like that. He was beyond a doubt ten times hotter than the man the women on TV were being made to fight over. Better career, too. The bachelor was a male lifestyle influencer, whatever that meant.

Shane cheered when the makeup artist made it over the finish line first. Rozanov groaned and covered his face. The tall model was eliminated anyway because the bachelor didn’t like how she’d run the course. Rozanov was right, the man had a problem with feisty.

“I hope Brianna dumps him,” Shane said. “She can do better.”

“Brianna needs to last as long as she can to get more clients for her makeup business,” Rozanov pointed out. “Weddings are good money, but she needs the free advertising.”

Rozanov turned off the TV. Shane had never been so aware of someone else’s mouth before. He usually thought of kissing as the puck drop before sex. This wasn’t going to lead anywhere by prearranged agreement, which made it pointless, didn't it? Rozanov didn’t seem inclined to move, so Shane climbed onto his lap. “I think I’m owed two kisses,” Shane said.

Rozanov reached up and stroked the back of Shane’s neck. Shane felt his face begin to heat, and he didn’t want Rozanov to see it so he leaned down quickly and kissed him.

The first press of lips was tentative as they got the measure of each other, then Rozanov took charge of it and slid his tongue into Shane’s mouth. Shane wanted to cry unfair but he was too busy moaning as Rozanov’s fingers caressed his hair. It felt so good he didn't want him to stop. Shane took back over the kiss by nipping at Rozanov’s bottom lip with his teeth and then shoving his tongue down Rozanov’s throat. Did this count as one kiss or two? Shane couldn’t think well enough to sort it out. The only thing left in his brain was heat and need and his unquenchable thirst for winning. Had he won this kiss? He could feel the hardness of Rozanov's dick against his ass, so he definitely wasn't the only one enjoying it.

He pulled back from the kiss slowly. Rozanov’s breath brushed against his lips. “Goodnight, Hollander.”

“Goodnight, Rozanov.” Play it cool, he reminded himself. Whatever had just happened with that kiss, Shane was going to win this fucking bet.

Yoga had been invented purely to torment Ilya. No matter how many times Hollander said, “This is a simple beginner stretch,” Ilya could not make his body bend that way. And what the fuck was the point of all this stretching? He wasn’t a goalie.

His physical prowess wasn’t the only limit getting tested, either. For some horrible reason Hollander was currently face down, ass up in front of him, and Ilya was already using the breathing exercises Hollander had explained to clear his mind of impure thoughts. It wasn’t working.

Don’t fuck Hollander, he reminded himself. You need him to dump you. DonotfuckHollanderdonotfuckHollanderdonotfuckHollander.

“It felt good, right?” Hollander said as he started to roll up his yoga mat. Oh, good, the torture was over.

“Mmhm.” He needed Hollander to dump him as soon as humanly possible. He couldn’t take much more of this.

“I should get packed. Head back to Montreal. We probably won’t see each other for a bit.” Hollander sounded cheery about it.

Ilya couldn’t let the one week deadline pass while Hollander was off ignoring him in Montreal, but luckily he had a plan. He wrapped his arms around Hollander. “Baby, I told my coach I’m skipping optional practice today to visit you in Montreal.”

“You did what.”

“I just can’t be apart from my pookie-bear.”

“Well your pookie-bear won’t be skipping practice.”

“I understand. I’ll wait for you in your apartment. I can entertain myself for a couple hours, yes?”

Hollander didn’t look at all like he wanted to agree to that. Dump me, dump me, dump me. “Okay,” he said. “Sure. We’ll get to spend more time together. It’ll be… fun.”

When they got to Hollander’s apartment, Ilya took in the space he was about to destroy with satisfaction. It was clear that Hollander had places where things were supposed to go and orders they went in. Ilya was going to make Hollander wish he were dead. A few short hours from now, Hollander would break up with him and Ilya would win his bet.

“Have fun at practice, pookie-bear.” And then, because Hollander’s mouth was right there, Ilya pinned him against the wall beside the door and gave him a goodbye kiss. Hollander’s mouth was warm and the satisfied noise he made went straight to Ilya’s dick. He was actually going to miss kissing Hollander when they broke up later today, so he let the kiss linger longer than he should have and pressed a few extra kisses to the scattering of freckles across Hollander’s face when he was done.

“Bye,” Hollander said, a bit breathlessly. Ilya stole a glance at his ass as he left. Then the door closed and it was time to ruin his life.

Luckily Ilya had learned from the best at being a nightmarish boyfriend, Cliff Marlow. He started with an easy one, pulling porn up on the TV, pausing it, then shutting off the screen so the porn would start playing again as soon as Hollander tried to turn his TV back on again to do something boring like watch a hockey game or a meditation video.

Watching porn required popcorn, so Ilya fished the bag he’d brought with him out of his suitcase and set it on the oven to burn. Ilya also grabbed a Boston t-shirt then went to the bedroom to throw it over a lamp for ambient lighting. He swapped out a picture of Hollander’s boring parents that was sitting on his dresser for one of his own signed headshots, then tacked a Rozanov poster up to the wall as well for good measure. He noticed a book on the bedside table and paused to read the title. Hollander had mentioned reading biographies, and this was a hockey biography because of course it was. A pair of glasses sat on top of the book. Fuck, Hollander would look cute curled up in bed reading with those glasses on. If Ilya wasn’t trying to get dumped, he would have demanded Hollander put those glasses on for him immediately.

Speaking of which, he should be getting on with the psychological warfare part of his plan. Ilya pulled out his phone and sent Hollander a series of texts. I’m bored. How is practice going? Scoring lots of goals? ❤️❤️❤️ Punch Hayden Pike for me! :) Send hole pic? Hollander would fucking hate getting that during practice.

While he waited for a reply, Ilya went back and turned the stove off to make sure he didn’t actually burn down the apartment, then considered what other trouble he could cause. His phone dinged.

Hollander: What? No

Hollander: I don’t see how that’s compatible with your purity vow

Ilya: Was a lie

Hollander: Shocking

Ilya: I was a lying slut, sorry. You want dick pic?

Hollander: Fuck off.

Ilya: Are you breaking up with me?

Hollander: No

Fuck. Clearly Ilya was hotter than Cliff and had more leeway on the hot-crazy scale. Ilya set down his phone and considered Shane Hollander’s apartment again. What this place needed was a complete furniture rearrangement. He moved the TV to ensure there would be a glare on it, pushed the couch to an awkward angle where you’d have to crane your neck to see the screen, and made the armchairs face the wall just for the hell of it. For the coup de grâce, Ilya found leftover salmon in the fridge and microwaved it.

His phone dinged with a text from Hollander. Finishing up here. Hayden and J.J. are stopping by to meet you. Don’t punch Hayden.

Ilya sent back a smiley face, confident that this relationship was as ruined as Hollander’s apartment.

When Hollander showed up at the apartment with his friends in tow, his bag slid out of his hand and hit the floor with a thump. “What did you do?”

“Helping. Is Russian interior design method,” Ilya lied.

“Get out,” Hollander said, his voice growing more aggravated with each word. “Get out, get out!”

Ilya clutched his chest. “Is this you breaking up with me? And I thought we had something special!”

“Something special? You’re the worst boyfriend I’ve ever-” Then he glanced at his friends still hanging out in the doorway and his face pinched with frustration. “No, we’re not breaking up. We shouldn’t give up on our relationship so easily… babe.”

“What.”

“Relationships take training. We should, uh. What’s like the gym but for relationships? Couples counseling! We’ll go to couples counseling.” Hollander nodded as if this settled the matter.

Couples counseling? For a two day relationship? Had Hollander suffered one too many concussions? The problem occurred to Ilya in a flash of insight. He knew he shouldn’t have kissed Hollander. He was too skilled at it, and now Hollander was addicted to his first line kissing abilities. He was going to need to up his bad boyfriend game if he was going to win this bet.

“Okay,” Ilya said. “Couples counseling. I’ll arrange it.” The pieces of a new plan began snapping into place.

Two days later, Shane showed up at the address Rozanov had sent him at the appointed time and seriously questioned if this was too much work to go to just to get some guys phone number. There were other men in Montreal, after all. Of course, Shane felt like he’d already dated most of them.

The place Rozanov had chosen was conveniently halfway between Montreal and Boston, so it was only a couple hour’s drive. Shane would make it back from this morning roadtrip in time for afternoon practice.

There was no receptionist, which felt weird for a therapist’s office, and it kind of looked like it was just a temporarily rented space. Maybe the couples counselor was in the middle of moving practices or something.

Rozanov was already there sitting on a couch and the counselor greeted him from where she was seated in an armchair with a clipboard in her lap. Shane checked his watch but he knew he wasn’t late. Rozanov was even better than Shane at arriving to things early, it seemed.

“Shane Hollander,” the counselor dragged his name out as if she was considering it. “I am Miss…” She looked down at the pen in her hand and clicked it a couple times. “Pen. Miss Pen.”

Shane supposed any counselor Rozanov chose would be a little bit weird. “You look familiar,” Shane said. “Have we met before?” He couldn’t quite place her, but he was sure he’d seen her somewhere. There was something itching at his brain about her wavy brunette hair and thick Russian accent.

“No,” Miss Pen said. “Now to the counseling.”

“My boyfriend is unhappy about-” Rozanov started to say but Miss Pen waved him off.

“We should start with some exercises,” Miss Pen said.

Shane liked the sound of that much better than talking about his feelings. Miss Pen pushed her glasses up her nose. They didn’t seem to have lenses in them.

“Wait,” he said as the memory of where he’d seen her before resurfaced. “Aren’t you the captain of the Boston Fleet?”

Miss Pen clicked the pen in her hand rapidly for a moment. “No. The captain of the Boston Fleet is the beautiful and talented Svetlana Vetrova. I am Miss Pen.”

“Huh. You look just like her.”

“Incredible compliment, thank you. Now.” She flipped her clipboard around so he could see it was a graph depicting a hockey rink with arrows for where the players were going. “Imagine you are on the power play. Two minutes left in the game. Score tied. Do you go empty net?”

Shane leaned forward, extremely invested in whatever this counseling was. “It would be a bold move, but the risk-”

“Sv- Miss Pen,” Rozanov said. “I don’t see how hockey game plays are relevant.”

“Visualization,” Miss Pen said. “Don’t question my process.” Miss Pen pulled some more charts off her clipboard and spread them out on the coffee table. “What I really want to dig into is three-on-two gameplay, which you wouldn’t think would be a common occurrence, but-”

“Caused the Fleet to get knocked out of the playoffs last year.” Shane nodded.

“Yes,” Miss Pen said emphatically. “So, here is what I was thinking for plays.”

Rozanov sighed dramatically, Shane had no idea why. This had to be the best couples counseling session of all time. Shane actually lost track of time a little bit while he was arguing over play possibilities with Miss Pen, because when Rozanov next interrupted them they’d gone over their one hour limit.

“And our relationship problems, Miss Pen?” Rozanov asked.

“Ah. Yes. Hmm. Attend a hockey game together, should fix everything.”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” Shane said. He’d get closer to the end of the bet and get a date night out of the way while also getting to watch a hockey game. It was a win-win scenario.

“On a night we’re both not playing?” Rozanov asked.

“Ottawa plays New York on Thursday,” Miss Pen said. “Neither of you have a game that night, and Hollander can show you around his hometown. Perfect date night.”

Shane was actually impressed. He should call up Miss Pen for date ideas after he had a real boyfriend.

“Fine,” Rozanov agreed tersely. “But this had better work, Miss Pen. Thursday is the- is our one week anniversary.”

Weird that Rozanov knew that off the top of his head and cared about it. Shane worried that Rozanov was more invested in this relationship than he’d thought. He didn’t want things to be awkward between them after their breakup. They probably shouldn’t have kissed. Obviously Shane's unbeatable kissing skills were causing Rozanov to confuse lust for feelings. No more kissing, Shane decided staunchly. He'd just have to control himself.

“What the fuck was that?” Ilya asked Svetlana in the car afterwards as they were driving back to Boston. They both spoke in Russian since there was no one else there that needed to be included.

“What the fuck was what? I liked him.”

“You were supposed to be getting him to break up with me, not picking his brain about hockey.”

“He has a good brain for hockey. And he’s hot. So what if he doesn’t break up with you? Date him.”

“Sveta, I’m trying to win a bet here.”

Svetlana waved a hand. “Lose the bet. Does it matter?”

“I’m not losing to Marly.”

She shrugged. “Then be a bad lay and get dumped, I don’t care.”

“I’m not sleeping with him.” Ilya drummed his fingers along the steering wheel. “I’ll invite his parents to the game. Hollander is sappy about his parents, and parents hate me.”

“How do you know he’s sappy about his parents?”

“Interviews, and those player puff pieces the sports channels put out. It’s common knowledge.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s studying the enemy, Sveta. Good tactics.”

“If you say so, Ilyushka.”

Ilya needed Hollander to dump him by midnight tonight. This hockey game was his Hail Mary pass. He made sure to wear his Boston jersey, since he assumed it would be the worst possible thing to wear to the game.

He met Hollander in the parking lot outside of the arena, then pulled out his phone and loudly made a call just to see the look on Hollander’s face when Ilya said, “Yuna! Hello! Yes, we’re here. Waiting to meet you.”

“You invited my parents?” Hollander hissed.

“We’re in your hometown, it’s only polite, yes?”

“Polite? We’ve been dating for a week! One week is not meet the parents territory!”

“Relax, Hollander, I’m great with parents. They’ll picture Ilya Rozanov as their son-in-law and be over the moon.”

“Son-in-law?!”

“Yes, I already asked them about wedding venues to put the idea in their heads. It’ll be a summer wedding, of course, so we can take our honeymoon during the offseason.”

Hollander sputtered but didn’t manage to get any words out.

David and Yuna waved to them from across the parking lot.

Hollander glared at Ilya before they started walking over. “Don’t talk to my parents about wedding planning.”

“Or what? Will you break up with me?” Ilya asked hopefully.

Hollander looked even more pissed off, but didn’t say he would. How much longer was this going to take? Maybe he’d spill his drink over Hollander’s head and see if that did anything. It would be a shame to mess up Hollander’s hair, though. Ilya’s fingers tingled with the thought of how good it would feel to run them through the silky strands.

“Ilya.” David Hollander said his name warmly then shook his hand. It was… not what Ilya had been expecting. Surely Hollander’s parents were upset about their son dating a notorious asshole like Ilya. “Shane never brings anyone to meet us. We were so excited when we saw your invitation.”

Oh, shit. David’s face was so earnest and open and Ilya felt… bad. He didn’t want to disappoint Hollander’s nice Canadian parents. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” Ilya said, then realized he’d gone too far with the formality. Who are you, Hollander mouthed silently at him. And honestly? Ilya didn’t fucking know. Maybe he should see a real therapist and talk about his issues. Svetlana would probably know someone.

Anyway, Ilya could surely think up a way to get Hollander to dump him without upsetting his parents.

Shane eyed Rozanov from the seat beside him as the game started. Rozanov was innocently drinking a cherry coke and didn’t seem poised to cause trouble at all. It had to be an illusion. Rozanov had brought nothing but trouble to Shane’s life, even though he was supposed to be a no-commitment, low-key boyfriend. Still, Shane only needed to make it three more days and then he could dump him. If there was an odd feeling in chest telling him he was going to miss Rozanov, that was just a confused cousin of Stockholm Syndrome. Though he could swear he’d read somewhere that Stockholm Syndrome wasn’t real, so maybe he should think of another name for it. The Rozanov Feelings Distortion Field, something like that.

“Scott Hunter is terrible this year,” Rozanov complained. “Maybe if I send him an ad for one of those elderly Florida communities he’ll retire.”

“He’s been in a scoring slump for months,” Yuna agreed. “But the Admirals have no depth at center so they’re stuck playing him.”

Shane suddenly saw the possibility of Rozanov helping his mom bully anyone not playing hockey up to her standards and mentally recoiled in horror. His mother and Rozanov never should have been allowed to meet.

“If anyone should retire it’s Eric Bennett,” Shane said. “I feel bad taking shots when he’s in the net. I swear I can hear his bones creak when he tries to block them.” Fine, yes, Shane had taken after Yuna with his chirping, but he wasn’t proud of it.

Rozanov grinned at him, and then the worst thing happened. The kiss cam found them. Of course it did. They were star hockey players currently dating each other and attending a game. They could probably get away with a polite wave, but the arena was cheering for a kiss and Shane’s people pleasing tendencies were strong. Rozanov was already planning their wedding, one kiss couldn't make this mess any worse, could it?

Shane leaned in towards Rozanov and was immediately rewarded with a kiss. He was distantly aware of the crowd roaring their approval, but his every nerve ending was focused on the press of Rozanov’s lips to his. Their previous kisses had verged on filthy, but this one was confusingly sweet. The thought crossed his mind that he could enjoy a lifetime of discovering new types of kisses like this.

Why was this so good? He didn’t even like Rozanov, did he? He admired him for his skill at hockey, of course, and Rozanov was funny in a way that Shane actually appreciated. That Rozanov was stunningly handsome was simply an objective fact of nature and nothing to do with Shane’s opinion at all.

As they eased out of the kiss and Rozanov’s gaze met his own, Shane’s breath caught. Fuck. This could be really, really bad. He would just have to focus extremely hard on how unbearably obnoxious Rozanov was. He’d wrecked Shane’s apartment, sent an entire series of annoying texts, and drank way too much cherry coke for a professional athlete.

The kiss cam had long moved on to some other willing victim and Shane was still staring at Rozanov. He cleared his throat and looked away. “Do you want a refill on this?” Shane picked up Rozanov’s empty cup and rattled the ice to break the tension.

“Scott Hunter just glared at me,” Rozanov said in a complete non-sequitur. He stood up and banged on the glass. “Hey! Scott Hunter!”

Hunter looked over at them and held out his arms in a what? gesture.

“My boyfriend is better at fighting than you!”

“Rozanov,” Shane said.

“He told me he saw you at the club and the only thing worse than your hockey is your dancing.”

“No, I didn’t!”

Hunter dropped his glove in order to give Rozanov the finger. Shane managed to pull Rozanov back down to his seat.

“Aren’t you going to defend your boyfriend’s honor?” Rozanov asked him.

“For a fight you started? No.”

Rozanov looked grumpy for a moment, but then David drew him into a conversation about his favorite cooking show, and Shane thought the whole thing had blown over until the third period when there was a scrum near the boards and before Hunter could skate away Rozanov yelled, “I’ve seen kittens fight better than you, Hunter.”

For some reason Hunter turned on Shane instead of Rozanov. “Why are you dating this asshole?”

Anger flared up in Shane. Where did Hunter get off insulting his boyfriend to his face? “You mean my boyfriend who skates circles around you and has won a Stanley Cup? And what does your boyfriend do? Oh, that’s right, he wins World’s Shittiest Smoothie awards.”

Hunter’s face displayed the entire spectrum of the color red and Shane thought for a second that Hunter was going to punch the glass to try to fight him. “I’ll see you outside after the game, Hollander.”

“What are we, five?”

Shane settled back down to resume eating his popcorn after Hunter skated away in a huff. Rozanov clung to his arm and looked at him with wide, bright eyes.

“What?” Shane asked.

Rozanov shook his head and grinned.

Hunter did not attempt to chase them through the parking lot, probably because it would make him look like a lunatic. Ilya was a bit disappointed, but he supposed he could just fight Hunter himself during their next game if he wanted.

Hollander’s parents invited him back to their house to play board games which he was about to decline until they said pie and ice cream and then he accepted. So he wound up sitting at a kitchen table with a bowl that contained the crumbs of his pie a la mode at his elbow and his knee pressed against Hollander’s. Shane, he corrected himself. It had rapidly gotten too confusing to use last names in a room full of Hollanders.

David had been destroying them all in a game of Scrabble until Ilya had successfully argued he should be allowed to use Russian words to make it more even. If he was now cheating a little bit on the spelling of those Russian words, well, all was fair in love and hockey.

“No,” Shane finally argued. “There’s no way ‘kxqz’ is a word in Russian. You’re making that up.”

“You speak Russian now?” Ilya asked.

“Fuck off, I don’t need to speak Russian to know that’s not a word. If I google ‘kxqz’ right now there isn’t going to be a Russian translation.”

“Google Translate is useless,” Ilya said. “It doesn’t know the slang words, like kxqz.”

“Slang words aren’t allowed,” Shane said. “It’s in the rules.”

Yuna got on her phone. “Kxqz isn’t in the Scrabble Russian dictionary. Not allowed, Ilya, sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry.

Ilya pulled the tiles back off the board and hoped no one thought to check his other words against the dictionary. “You would betray your future son-in-law like this, Yuna?”

“I would betray my own husband to win at Scrabble.”

Shane rolled his eyes and pressed just a little closer against Ilya’s side. The warmth of him felt like it spilled into Ilya’s entire body. The clock kept ticking closer to midnight and Ilya was about to lose his bet, but he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore.

They ended up in Shane’s old room after they decided it was too late to bother with trying to drive anywhere. The room had been turned into a generic guest room at this point, and Ilya seemed disappointed not to find old hockey posters on the wall.

Shane didn’t remember how they’d started kissing. They’d gotten into the bed together and it had just felt natural that their lips would meet, that Shane’s hand would tangle in Ilya’s hair and pull him closer, that their bodies would want each other like this.

Shane managed to get Ilya’s shirt off and indulged in some exploration of Ilya’s abs before Ilya returned the favor and they were both half naked.

“You’ll need to be quiet,” Ilya whispered against his mouth as his hand slid under the waistband of Shane’s pants. “If you scream my name you’ll wake the whole neighborhood at this hour.”

“Fuck off,” Shane said, but it came out too breathless to be an insult. Ilya’s hand wrapped around his cock and a noise escaped Shane’s mouth that Ilya quickly swallowed with a kiss. Shane wanted more but he didn’t want to stop kissing. He shoved Ilya’s sweatpants down, freeing the hard length of his cock, then Shane rolled on top to straddle him. They resumed kissing as Shane held their cocks together in his fist, and the friction of rubbing against Ilya like this was so good that he knew his moans were getting as loud as Ilya had warned, but luckily they were all being muffled by Ilya’s mouth.

Neither of them lasted as long as they should’ve, maybe because it was new, or it was just too good, or it felt like something deeper was growing between them, a question being asked and answered in the language of heated bodies and stolen breaths. Do you really like me? Is this anything?

Shane collapsed bonelessly onto Ilya’s chest after they both came, his brain sluggishly registered that there was now a mess of come on both their chests that would need to be cleaned up.

Ilya kissed the top of his head and said something softly in Russian. How difficult would it be to learn Russian? Were there online classes? Ilya kept one arm wrapped around Shane while fumbling to grab his phone on the night stand. “Twelve twelve,” he said. “Make a wish.”

Shane snorted. “I wish Montreal would beat Boston the next time we play each other, not that we need extra luck for that.”

“You shouldn’t have said it out loud, now you’ve cursed your team to lose.”

“No I haven’t!”

Ilya quieted his laughter with another kiss.

By unspoken agreement, they spent the next morning wandering around Ottawa instead of immediately parting ways. Shane took Ilya to a museum which Ilya immediately called boring, but he held Shane’s hand and seemed so pleased to be there that Shane didn’t think he really meant it. Ilya dragged them to a tourist shop and exploded with delight when he found a Shane Hollander bobble head. Shane grumbled but didn’t stop him from buying it.

They grabbed dinner at one of Shane’s favorite restaurants. It wasn’t until that moment that Shane realized how late it had gotten. They’d spent the entire day together without realizing it.

“You probably have to head back to Boston,” Shane said.

Ilya shrugged and poked at his dinner. “Could wait until tomorrow morning. Practice isn’t until late.”

“Well, if you don’t need to leave until tomorrow.” Shane sipped on his ginger ale. “We might as well get a hotel room.”

“Would be practical, yes,” Ilya said.

“So,” Shane said. “Did you want to get a dessert? Catch a movie?”

“I think we can do all that from the hotel room,” Ilya said.

“I do like room service.”

Shane had been in the shower too long for any reason other than they were about to fuck. Ilya tried to distract himself by playing Candy Crush on his phone then texted Svetlana to tell her he’d decided not to break up with Shane after all. Actually, he had no idea how he was going to explain his friendship with Svetlana to Shane. Maybe he could say that Miss Pen was Svetlana’s identical twin. Well, he’d figure it out at some point. It wasn’t like he’d doomed their relationship by building it on a foundation of lies… was it?

Shane finally emerged wearing nothing but a towel, which was still too much clothes. Ilya set down his phone and grinned. “Come here.” Ilya patted the bed.

In the most awkward seduction move of all time, Shane sat stiffly on the edge of the bed and then flopped himself towards him. Ilya adored this man so much he wanted to die. He gave Shane a kiss and felt the tension melt out of him.

Ilya tugged the stupid towel out of the way and didn’t waste any time getting his mouth around Shane’s cock. He slicked his fingers with lube, intending on opening Shane up while he worked him with his mouth, but Shane had apparently beat him to that step with his shower prep. Ilya hadn’t had sex with many men before, and definitely not any who thought ahead about it. His drunken club hookups were never well planned. Was the difference between hookups and boyfriends forethought?

Ilya gave Shane’s cock one last lick as he pulled back. He had too much to say to leave his mouth occupied. “Should we make sex game plays?” Ilya asked. “Draw out all the different positions?”

“Fuck off. Wait. Maybe. Not right now.”

“No, right now I’m going to fuck you.”

Shane let out a content hum and spread his legs. There was no hope left, Shane Hollander was going to murder him and Ilya would let it happen. Ilya couldn’t get a condom on fast enough and then he was inside him, wringing perfect moans out of his throat with every thrust.

After the sex Ilya sprawled against Shane’s side and cuddled, which was rapidly becoming Ilya’s favorite part of boyfriending. “New episode of the Bachelor is on now,” Ilya said faux-casually.

Shane grabbed the remote and turned the TV on.

Ilya felt like he was walking on clouds when he walked into practice the next day. He slapped fifty dollars into Marly’s hand without being asked. “He didn’t break up with me. I still have a boyfriend.”

“Are you going to dump him now the bet is done?” Marly asked.

“No.” Ilya sighed dreamily. “I think I’m in love with him.”

At the bench next to him, the rookie Luca Haas dropped his hockey stick. “In love? Is that one of your jokes?”

“I know it seems absurd that a baddie like me could be caught-”

“He’s breaking up with you tomorrow,” Haas said frantically.

Ilya paused. “What?”

“It was just supposed to be funny! You made your bet with Marly and Hollander made a bet with his friends about how he could date a guy for ten days without dumping him to prove he could before he dated someone else. I don’t know! We never would have done it if we thought you’d fall in love, we weren’t trying to be mean. I guess it was a little bit mean. But not that mean.”

Ilya wanted the locker room floor to swallow him whole. Hollander had played him. Their relationship hadn’t lasted this long because Ilya was just that good at kissing. “Okay,” Ilya said, his voice as blasé as he could manage. “He ruined my bet, I’ll ruin his.” Ilya pulled up Hollander’s contact and scowled at the little heart he’d added by his name. It’s over, he texted. Sorry about your bet, except for how I’m not. He slammed his phone back into his locker and walked away.

As he got ready for practice, Shane told himself he had to stop smiling or else he’d scare the rookies.

“Impressive, Captain,” J.J. said, clapping him on the shoulder. “A nine day relationship, your longest ever. I’ll text you Henry’s number tomorrow. Honestly, I didn’t think you were going to make it.”

Shane picked at the tape on his hockey stick. Realistically, breaking up with Ilya would still be a good decision. Ilya had trashed his apartment, after all. And the distance between Montreal and Boston was substantial. Henry was the better choice. But.

“That’s okay,” Shane said. “I don’t need Henry’s number. I think… I’m going to keep dating Ilya?” It would still technically fulfill the terms of the bet if Shane continued dating Ilya, so it still counted as winning his bet. 

“Weird choice,” Hayden said, making a face.

“Is it?” Shane asked. “He’s the second best player in the league, and easily the hottest.”

“Uh,” was Hayden’s only response to that.

A text chimed on his phone and he checked it immediately, flushed with anticipation. The words registered slowly in his brain. “Never mind.” Shane dropped his phone on the floor and left it there as he headed for the ice. “We just broke up.”

Lunch between Finley and Luca was awkward a few weeks later when they met before the Boston versus Montreal game.

"I tried to make things right with Hollander by telling him that Roz was only dating him on a bet, too," Finley said.

"Did it help?"

"No." Finley ordered them both sandwiches when the waiter stopped by. They were going to need all the energy they could get to make it through what was no doubt going to be a tense game.

“Roz is still miserable,” Luca said. “He keeps arguing with a Shane Hollander bobble head. That can’t be normal, right?”

“Hollander mopes around staring at a signed Rozanov headshot. Neither of them are normal.”

They both took sad bites of their sandwiches before they spoke again.

“We really messed up,” Luca said.

“How were we supposed to know they’d fall in love for real? They seem so wrong for each other.”

Luca looked thoughtful. “We told them both about the bets, but not about the other one’s feelings. Maybe we can fix this.”

“How?”

“We parent trap them.”

Finley considered as he finished his sandwich. “We lock our dads in a storage closet until they agree to get married? It’s crazy enough, it just might work.”

Even Hayden and J.J. were giving Shane a wide berth after the game ended. If Shane hadn’t been so dedicated to hockey he might have faked an illness rather than play against Rozanov. They’d managed to make it through the game without exchanging a single word, and had barely even looked at each during the face-offs.

“Captain.” Gosling had to be the bravest rookie Shane had ever met.

“Baby Goose.”

“I need your help with something in equipment storage. I’m trying to organize the tape.”

“Where's the equipment manager?”

“Taking a sick day. I started organizing it alphabetically by the first letter of what color the tape is-”

“You what?” Shane stormed toward equipment storage. How difficult was it just to leave things alone?

Equipment storage was a large, brightly lit closet that Shane didn’t spend much time in because mostly other people dealt with equipment for him. As soon as he strode through the door he heard the rookie yell “sorry!” and slam the door shut. That’s when Shane noticed Rozanov was already there looking equally confused. Why would the rookies have…

“Those fuckers,” Shane said. “They locked us in a closet to parent trap us.”

“Why do the rookies care if we kiss and makeup? Are we being that unbearable?”

“I’ve been nothing but professional.”

"So have I. Even more professional than you, probably."

Shane scoffed. "They wouldn't have locked us in here if that were true."

"I have been a tiny bit more stoically Russian than normal," Rozanov finally said.

"I guess I've been a little upset," Shane admitted, not wanting Rozanov to one-up him at being vulnerable.

Rozanov crossed his arms. “Okay. How do we get the rookies to let us out?”

“We lie and say we settled our differences.”

“What if the rookies make us kiss to prove it?”

“That’s not- we say no, obviously.”

“Okay. So we say you apologized for tricking me into dating you.”

Shane scowled at him. “You should be the one apologizing for messing with my head just to win fifty dollars. Do you have any idea how long it took to get the smell out of my apartment after your antics?”

“Fine, I’m sorry for making that bet. I really liked you, at the end of it.”

Shane briefly closed his eyes. He’d had plenty of time to put together that Rozanov had continued dating him after the one week bet was over. The way they’d spent that final day together hadn’t had anything to do with a bet. That had just been them. “I really liked you, too. I wasn’t going to break up with you, you know. I told J.J. I didn’t want Henry’s number any more.”

"And you're sorry."

"Yes." Shane met Rozanov's eyes. "I'm sorry."

Rozanov’s breath caught in his throat and he took a step closer. “What if we let this be the messy story of how we got together that we don’t tell anyone.”

Shane took his own step towards Rozanov. “And don’t let our friends repeat under pain of death.”

“We might have to threaten the rookies to get them to keep their mouths shut.”

“They’re rookies, just say we’ll call their moms on them.”

At some point they’d gotten close enough for Shane to wrap his arms around Ilya.

“No more bets,” Shane said.

“Eh. One more bet. Five dollars says Haasy and Baby Goose are going to get together.”

“You’re on. Those two are just friends.”

Ilya leaned in to kiss him, and it felt like happily ever after.