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A review by aecidyk
Heated Rivalry by Rachel Reid
4.0
ok. LISTEN. this is my 66th book i read this year, and 100th book i have marked as read on goodreads. and it’s a smutty book with a cringy ass wattpad cover that looks like it could’ve been written from a 12 year old. but hear me out. ok, well, GOING INTO THIS I DID *NOT* EXPECT THIS AMOUNT OF SEX SCENES!! jesus christ, usually that’s what makes me dislike a book, but here? the tension, the banter. and oh my god. this is such an important aspect. THE LOVE THEY DEVELOPED FOR EACH OTHER!! surprisingly this has become the biggest comfort read for me. the humor, the love, the deeper topics… amazing. i truly did not expect all that. i could genuinely feel their affection for one another. only the author could’ve done more with characters outside of the main ones, like there was a lot of potential with the rosa girl. or with more challenges in hockey in general.
ok ok ok, now time for my fav quotes, which i have quite a lot of…
-
“I have ruined you,” Rozanov said when they broke apart. “No one else will do.”
“God, fuck off.”
“Such a mouth on you.”
“Don’t say it.”
“I preferred it when it was on me.”
“Dammit, Rozanov.”
-
“Did you like sucking my dick?”
“Oh, those English words you know?”
-
“Your hands are so soft,” Ilya said. “Like a girl’s.”
“Fuck you.”
-
Hollander fumbled the phone out of his pocket and handed it to Ilya. Ilya took it and entered his number into Hollander’s contacts, under the name Lily. Hollander snorted when he saw it.
“Who should I be?” he asked as he picked up Ilya’s phone from the dresser. “Shannon?”
“Jane,” Ilya said.
“Jesus Christ,” Hollander muttered as he typed.
“No. Just Jane.”
-
“Ass fucking?”
Shane rolled his eyes. “You sweet talk all your sex partners like this?””
-
“I like girls.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
“But I also like you.”
“Well, lucky me,” Shane grumbled.
-
“Let’s be friends. And I don’t mean in an ‘I hope we can still be friends’ bullshit way. I mean it. Let’s be friends. Let’s be best friends. Because I really do care about you a lot, Shane. And I feel like you might not have anyone else to talk to about...certain things.”
“I’d like that. You’re right. I don’t. And I care about you too. We’ll be friends. You have my number. Text me. Text me all the time. Please.”
“Whenever we’re in the same city, we’ll hang out. I promise.”
She hugged him as her driver pulled up. He hugged her back and kissed the top of her head. He was surprised to feel tears in his eyes.
-
Shane shook his head. “We’re not. No. It was just a short thing. She’s great. We just weren’t, um...compatible.”
He looked seriously at Ilya then. Ilya wanted to kiss him.
“Anyway,” Shane said, gesturing toward the room with his beer bottle, “I should say hi to everyone.” He stepped away from the bar.
“Right.”
Ilya put his hand over his mouth to hide his ridiculous smile.
-
“Tell me everything you want to say,” he said. “In Russian. I won’t understand but...maybe it will help?”
There was a silence that was long enough for Shane to physically cringe at himself. He was about to take it back, when he heard Ilya quietly say, “Okay.”
The next several minutes were filled with Ilya’s voice, sounding more animated and flustered than Shane had ever heard him. He was used to Ilya saying more with a teasing smile or a calculating look than with actual words. But now it was like a dam had burst, and Shane sat himself on the stairs and let it wash over him.
Without the ability to translate any of it, Shane could just enjoy the sound of Ilya’s voice, which he barely recognized now. The words were so quick and confident, unrestricted by Ilya having to carefully piece together his sentences like when he spoke English. It felt intimate—like they were somehow sharing a bigger secret now than when they slept together.
And there was something undeniably sexy about hearing Ilya speak so fluidly in his mother tongue.
-
“I can see you a lot better if I leave them on.” He slid the thick black frames back into place. “What?” he asked, because Ilya couldn’t stop smiling.
“What were you reading? Your boring hockey book?”
-
“I told you...” Ilya grinned. “You love praise.”
When Shane didn’t reply, Ilya said, “And you like to hog it all for yourself. You asshole.”
-
And, so help him, in that moment Ilya wanted to tell him he would stay with him. That he would move into his apartment and help him with his recovery and make him sandwiches and watch the playoffs with him and read him his boring hockey book.
-
No human should be able to make that noise.
“You speak bird now too?” Ilya asked flatly.
-
“Yes. It’s very...” Fuck. What was the right word? Was there a right word for everything Ilya was feeling in that moment? He couldn’t think of one, so instead he said, “She would have loved you.”
-
“And when I retire,” Ilya said, “after I have won twelve Stanley Cups and thirteen MVP awards—”
“The hell you will.”
“And you have been retired for, like, eight years already because you got very bad at hockey...”
Shane laughed. “Okay.”
“Then I will bring you to that dock out there. I will have hundreds of candles all over it...”
“That sounds like a fire hazard.”
“Is on the water, Hollander. Fucking relax. Will be beautiful, you will love it. The candles. The lake. The full moon.”
“Oh, is it a clear night?”
“Yes. Of course. And I will get on one knee—”
“Ilya—”
“And I will say, ‘Shane Hollander, will you please marry me so I can become Canadian citizen faster?’”
Shane burst out laughing, and shoved him. “You’re such an asshole.”
-
“Hi, Hayden,” Ilya said, grinning.
“I still don’t like you, Rozanov,” Hayden said.
“Oh no!” Ilya mocked him. “How can I impress Montreal’s fifteenth best player?”
“Shane, I’m gonna punch him.”
ok ok ok, now time for my fav quotes, which i have quite a lot of…
-
“I have ruined you,” Rozanov said when they broke apart. “No one else will do.”
“God, fuck off.”
“Such a mouth on you.”
“Don’t say it.”
“I preferred it when it was on me.”
“Dammit, Rozanov.”
-
“Did you like sucking my dick?”
“Oh, those English words you know?”
-
“Your hands are so soft,” Ilya said. “Like a girl’s.”
“Fuck you.”
-
Hollander fumbled the phone out of his pocket and handed it to Ilya. Ilya took it and entered his number into Hollander’s contacts, under the name Lily. Hollander snorted when he saw it.
“Who should I be?” he asked as he picked up Ilya’s phone from the dresser. “Shannon?”
“Jane,” Ilya said.
“Jesus Christ,” Hollander muttered as he typed.
“No. Just Jane.”
-
“Ass fucking?”
Shane rolled his eyes. “You sweet talk all your sex partners like this?””
-
“I like girls.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
“But I also like you.”
“Well, lucky me,” Shane grumbled.
-
“Let’s be friends. And I don’t mean in an ‘I hope we can still be friends’ bullshit way. I mean it. Let’s be friends. Let’s be best friends. Because I really do care about you a lot, Shane. And I feel like you might not have anyone else to talk to about...certain things.”
“I’d like that. You’re right. I don’t. And I care about you too. We’ll be friends. You have my number. Text me. Text me all the time. Please.”
“Whenever we’re in the same city, we’ll hang out. I promise.”
She hugged him as her driver pulled up. He hugged her back and kissed the top of her head. He was surprised to feel tears in his eyes.
-
Shane shook his head. “We’re not. No. It was just a short thing. She’s great. We just weren’t, um...compatible.”
He looked seriously at Ilya then. Ilya wanted to kiss him.
“Anyway,” Shane said, gesturing toward the room with his beer bottle, “I should say hi to everyone.” He stepped away from the bar.
“Right.”
Ilya put his hand over his mouth to hide his ridiculous smile.
-
“Tell me everything you want to say,” he said. “In Russian. I won’t understand but...maybe it will help?”
There was a silence that was long enough for Shane to physically cringe at himself. He was about to take it back, when he heard Ilya quietly say, “Okay.”
The next several minutes were filled with Ilya’s voice, sounding more animated and flustered than Shane had ever heard him. He was used to Ilya saying more with a teasing smile or a calculating look than with actual words. But now it was like a dam had burst, and Shane sat himself on the stairs and let it wash over him.
Without the ability to translate any of it, Shane could just enjoy the sound of Ilya’s voice, which he barely recognized now. The words were so quick and confident, unrestricted by Ilya having to carefully piece together his sentences like when he spoke English. It felt intimate—like they were somehow sharing a bigger secret now than when they slept together.
And there was something undeniably sexy about hearing Ilya speak so fluidly in his mother tongue.
-
“I can see you a lot better if I leave them on.” He slid the thick black frames back into place. “What?” he asked, because Ilya couldn’t stop smiling.
“What were you reading? Your boring hockey book?”
-
“I told you...” Ilya grinned. “You love praise.”
When Shane didn’t reply, Ilya said, “And you like to hog it all for yourself. You asshole.”
-
And, so help him, in that moment Ilya wanted to tell him he would stay with him. That he would move into his apartment and help him with his recovery and make him sandwiches and watch the playoffs with him and read him his boring hockey book.
-
No human should be able to make that noise.
“You speak bird now too?” Ilya asked flatly.
-
“Yes. It’s very...” Fuck. What was the right word? Was there a right word for everything Ilya was feeling in that moment? He couldn’t think of one, so instead he said, “She would have loved you.”
-
“And when I retire,” Ilya said, “after I have won twelve Stanley Cups and thirteen MVP awards—”
“The hell you will.”
“And you have been retired for, like, eight years already because you got very bad at hockey...”
Shane laughed. “Okay.”
“Then I will bring you to that dock out there. I will have hundreds of candles all over it...”
“That sounds like a fire hazard.”
“Is on the water, Hollander. Fucking relax. Will be beautiful, you will love it. The candles. The lake. The full moon.”
“Oh, is it a clear night?”
“Yes. Of course. And I will get on one knee—”
“Ilya—”
“And I will say, ‘Shane Hollander, will you please marry me so I can become Canadian citizen faster?’”
Shane burst out laughing, and shoved him. “You’re such an asshole.”
-
“Hi, Hayden,” Ilya said, grinning.
“I still don’t like you, Rozanov,” Hayden said.
“Oh no!” Ilya mocked him. “How can I impress Montreal’s fifteenth best player?”
“Shane, I’m gonna punch him.”