Summary:

“I’m trying to figure out,” Rose wonders aloud. “Are you always a complete prick? Just with women? Or just when you lose a game?”

Ilya barks a laugh, shocked and almost delighted, and his smile spreads wide enough that Rose can see all those pearly whites of his that are so much nicer than she expected any hockey player’s to be. “All the time,” he grins, “all the time. However much of an asshole Hollander has told you I am, double it.”

She answers truthfully, shrugs her shoulders in her tiny silver dress. “He hasn’t mentioned you at all.”

After a shitshow of an evening in a Montreal nightclub, Ilya wakes up the next morning in Shane’s bed. Only, he’s not in Shane’s bed — Rose Landry is, and he’s in Rose Landry’s body, and she’s in his. Well, what the fuck are they supposed to do with that?