Without warning, Ilya grabbed him and rolled them both until Shane was on his back, Ilya stretched out on top of him, grinning down at him.
Shane shoved at his sweaty chest. “You’re disgusting.”
“We are both disgusting.” Ilya dipped his head and kissed him, quickly.
“Enough,” Shane said, though he didn’t sound like he meant it. “We should go home. Shower.”
“Fine.” Ilya sprang off of him, then offered a hand to help Shane up.
“You’re just full of energy,” Shane grumbled, taking his hand and allowing himself to be hauled up.
“I can think of ways to use it up,” Ilya said.
God, Shane wished. “We have that call with Farah soon.” He started walking toward the car.
Ilya sighed heavily behind him. “Why do we need this call?”
“Because she’s our agent and it’s her job to, like, check in on us.”
Ilya had signed with Shane’s agent last year, after parting ways with the Russian agent he’d had since he’d been a teenager. He’d wanted a Canadian agent, and Shane couldn’t recommend Farah Jalali highly enough. On top of being a great agent, she’d been nothing but supportive when Shane had told her he was gay two years ago.
“We could tell her, maybe,” Ilya said.
“Tell her what?”
“About us.”
“What? Today?Now?” Despite the summer heat, and his blood still churned up from the run, Shane suddenly felt icy cold.
Ilya shrugged easily. “She probably knows already.”
The panic alarm that lived inside Shane started blaring. “Why would she?”
“We are together at your cottage. You are gay. I am hot.”
“It’s a bit...soon. We should talk about it more. Figure out how to word it and—”
Ilya was gazing at him with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. “Is not complicated. And if she does not support us, then she should not be our agent.”
Shane chewed his lip, considering the undeniable truth of that. “She’ll support us.”
“I know. So we tell her.”
The shower they’d taken together had lasted longer than was strictly necessary. As a result, Shane was still struggling into his T-shirt when Farah’s FaceTime request lit up his phone. Ilya was only wearing underwear.
“Should I answer?” Ilya asked, picking up Shane’s phone from the dresser.
“No! Get dressed!” Shane snatched the phone and accepted Farah’s request. Her face filled the screen, elegantly put together as always.
“Hi, guys,” she said cheerfully. “Or, hi, Shane, anyway.”
“Ilya’s here. He’s just...” Shane trailed off, momentarily distracted by Ilya’s low-slung shorts and bare torso.
“Hi, Farah,” Ilya called out.
Farah smiled, probably used to dealing with idiot hockey players by now. She was only about ten years older than Ilya andShane, but seemed twice as mature as they’d ever be. “Hi, Ilya. Are you guys having a nice summer?”
“Great. Yeah,” Shane said, probably a little too enthusiastically. He was nervous. And he’d just realized that they were doing this video call from his bedroom, which was probably a bit weird. He sat on the edge of his bed, holding the phone at eye level. “How’s your summer going?”
