Summary:

Oh no, Shane thought. Oh God. No. Ignoring his clammy palms, he scanned the tiny hotel room, wondering where he could even lay his bag. Then, after a breathtaking second, he forced his eyes to meet Rozanov’s. With a mischievous smirk, Rozanov was sitting casually on the only bed, arm draped over the pillows—including the pillow that Shane had to sleep on. And Rozanov’s muscular chest and arms were on full, shameless display. Shane might just die. “So,” Rozanov said, “you and me, we sleep together?” Or: Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov were stuck in the same hotel room in Saskatchewan after the International Prospect Cup ended—and there was only one bed.