Chapter Text
They talk a lot more than Shane expected. It starts by Shane sending a stupid gym selfie along with: So what's your gym routine?
And Roz texted him back with a similar photo of herself doing hip thrusts. End of season, light day for recovery :P. The bar balanced over a little pad resting over her lap and her quads looked insane through the thin fabric of her leggings. Shane shook his head a little and replied:
What do those even do for you?
My ass, duh. You should give them a try.
Shane did give them a try along with every other exercise Roz suggested. They text the most when they're both at the gym and then don't text at all when they're both practicing. Roz apparently has six hour days at the studio five days a week, which is insane to Shane.
She also texts him a lot during hockey games, not that Shane sees her messages until afterwards. Her feedback is as swift and twice as brutal as his own coach's and she doesn't just leave her opinions for Shane. Each player gets appropriately reamed out, and she even manages to catch onto the way injuries are impacting his teammates' play styles. It's honestly a little bit insane of her, and Shane really…
Loves it? Maybe. Maybe he loves her. Which is still a whole thing he hasn't told anyone about, really. Especially not Rose, who keeps texting him asking him how his Grindr hookup went. He hopes that if he ignores her for a little while longer, maybe she'll forget about it.
He and Roz also call on the weekends, something he never actually did with Rose. They'll just be on the phone for hours doing nothing or everything. Usually, Roz talks Shane through her meal prep and her plans for the evening. Apparently, it's her mission to try out every single nightclub in Boston before her contract ends. Shane's usually going through the sponsorships his mom sends him, and he always asks for Roz's feedback. She's got good taste and a keen eye for what will sell, what makes sense for his career, and what an absolute no should be. He thinks his mom would really, really like her. They're both sort of insane in a similar but very different way.
"Gymshark is terrible, Hollander," Roz scolds. He can hear her walking around her apartment, picking things up, cursing herself out a little bit, "If anything, go for Lulu sponsorship. Their clothes are superior and you also get female hockey enjoyers interested in you all over again. Plus, is good for masculinity if you do it."
Shane chuckles, "What does Lululemon have to do with masculinity?"
"Hollander, all of my sports bras are Lulu and my warm up jackets. They're good brand! Look at men's section sometime and tell me Lulu does not scream Shane Hollander yoga advertisement."
"You saw that!?" Shane chokes. Roz cackles at him.
"Needed help sleeping…"
"Screw you, Roz. Oh my God. I can't just do a sponsorship with Lululemon, okay? They haven't reached out and there's no way my mom is going to understand why I'd want one with them."
"I will send you package, then. Of Lulu things that suit you."
"No— no, you don't have to do that. I can go to the store." He took a look at what dancers make at the Boston Theater and cringed at the number. Shane can make her entire yearly salary in one month if sponsorships line up the right way and he's sure she knows that. "I actually wanted to ask if I could send something to you?"
"What? Like present?"
"Sort of, it's just, well," Shane takes a breath. "I was shopping with a friend the other day and the next game against the Bears falls on the weekend of Valentine's day, so…"
She sighs into the receiver, "It's a dress, isn't it?"
Shane might be imagining it, but he swears he hears disappointment in her voice. He wets his bottom lip, a little unsure on whether or not he should ask about that. Instead, he says, "No, it's uh… it's actually a leather jacket. Way too cool for me but it seems kind of your style. I was hoping we could get dinner and you could uh… maybe wear it. To dinner. Maybe."
Roz coos, "You want to take me out for romance holiday, Hollander?"
"Shut up, oh my God. Yes, Roz, I want to take you out."
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"I will let you take me out and I will wear leather jacket. I'll text you my address, yes?"
Shane sits up a little straighter, ignoring his mom's incessant emails, "Please and I was thinking maybe Omakase? Does that sound good?"
"Mhm, yes."
"Okay, so, Valentine's day? I can pick you up from—"
"I'll meet you at restaurant."
A beat passes between them, then Roz says, so quietly Shane nearly doesn't hear her, "I want to fuck you again, Hollander. It's all I can fucking think about."
"Yeah?" Shane's throat goes a little dry and his tongue goes quite stupid, "How would you?"
"I have a strap."
Fuck.
She continues, "And several dicks, you could choose which one you like best. I just wanted— I wanted you to know that."
"I want you to fuck me too."
"I'm glad we are on same page."
Shane is too, desperately, desperately glad. Dinner is one thing, dinner can 100% just be dinner and if Roz said that's all she wanted, Shane would be happy to have just spent the time with her. But now he has something else to look forward to; Roz fucking him again. With a strap, no less.
"I'll prep," he tells her. "So we don't have to waste anytime."
"And if I wanted to stretch you open on my fingers, what then?"
His dick twitches in his pants. Shane leans back against the couch, "How… How would you do that?"
He can hear the mischief and pleasure in Roz's voice as she gets started, "Slowly, one finger at a time, lots of lube. I'll find your prostate but won't touch it except for a few gentle brushes to remind you what we're doing this all for. When I can finally fit in three fingers, I'll finger fuck you until you're at your breaking point—"
Shane unzips his pants, stroking himself lazily in his fist. Roz's breath shudders on the other side of the line and he wonders, and kind of hopes that she's touching herself too. They've had phone sex before. Over Facetime, actually. That had been thrilling— being told what to do by Roz while she was hundreds of miles away, her eyes never leaving the screen while Shane postured and preened for her.
"Tell me you're touching yourself, Hollander."
"I am."
She laughs, "Good, yes. Keep going. I want to hear you when you come."
This, Shane thinks to himself as he starts getting off to the idea of Roz fingering him, is why they work. Roz will throw him a fantasy and Shane latches onto that fantasy and shapes it with her before throwing the thing back. If she could be here in Canada with him and not in Boston, he knows he'd be in trouble. The deep, drowning kind of trouble that he didn't actually want to escape from.
He thinks of the way her curls framed her face when she was fucking him, the way her face went from mischievous and almost jeering to being consumed with nothing but lust and want. How good it felt to have his legs over her shoulders, how she folded him into the mattress as if she was actually fucking him with her own dick.
With a strap, that could happen. Shane closes his eyes with a whimper, "Roz—"
Maybe this is some sort of kink thing or a fetish. Maybe Shane just likes being dominated and he knows Rose does too, so that could be why they didn't work but he and Roz do.
Her smile fills his head, not the one she'd grinned at him while they were fucking but that intense, unmistakable joy when she was dancing.
Can Shane make her smile like that too? He wants to, he wants to make her smile like that just as much as he wants her to grin down between his knees and call him pretty.
His own orgasm catches him completely off guard. His hips cant up into his fist and he's gasping Roz's name sharply into the air.
"I can't wait," Roz hums, "To see you do that again in person. Don't prep, please. I want to do it."
Shane nods even though she can't see him, "O-Okay."
"And go take a hot shower, relax, and consider Lulu brand deal. I want Shane Hollander themed leggings."
He can't help but laugh, "They'd be Voyageurs themed for sure."
"Mm, no. Hollander is not red and blue and white. Pick colors that are better, please. I will call you tomorrow, I have to go pick up costume from the dry cleaner. Muah, bye-bye."
Shane's face warms at her muah, "Bye, Rozzie."
At first, he didn't intend on telling his parents about Roz. They only found out about Rose because the papparrazi photos dropped before he got the chance to tell them. But as Valentine's day draws closer and closer and the Voyageurs prepare endlessly to crush the Bears, he finds himself at a loss.
He doesn't know what to get someone like Roz for Valentine's day and the leather jacket he shipped off to her absolutely doesn't count.
Poking around his sad bowl of brown rice and baked salmon, Shane just comes out with it, "So, I've been seeing this girl in Boston since the last game against the Bears and we're having dinner this weekend, but I don't know what to get her for the holiday and I was wondering if you two could give me some suggestions, please?"
His parents exchange a weighted look. "Sorry," Yuna says, "You've been talking to a girl since— okay. Well, that's good to hear. What's she—"
"What's she like?" David finishes, taking a sip of wine.
"She's amazing, honestly. She's the one who suggested I do a collab with Lululemon although trust me, her intention with that is completely one-sided. She likes hockey a lot too."
"Like Rose?"
Shane shakes his head, "Nothing like Rose. She's uhm— she's a ballerina at the Boston Theater but she also takes kickboxing classes and stuff like that." He hopes the point gets across. Roz is more dominant more… more like Yuna, honestly than Shane's quite ready to admit. Forceful in her own way but also so funny and so, so beautiful.
And dominant.
He scrolls through their messages until he finds the absolute wall of text Roz sent after Montreal's last game against Buffalo and passes it over the table. Yuna and David crane their heads to read.
"Oh," laughs Yuna, "She really likes hockey."
"Yeah, if you keep going, she sent a selfie…"
Yuna slides her finger up and for a second neither of his parents say a word. Shane already knows what the picture is— Roz in the leather jacket he bought. The leather jacket that is actually in his size and goes all the way past Roz's hips. In the photo, she'd worn a racerback sports bra and distressed jeans that sat just low enough to expose the band of a pair of Calvin Klein boxers— the ones from Shane's ad, no less. She thought it was too funny not to buy them now that they're so… close.
"She's a smokeshow—"
"Dad!"
"Well she is. You said she's a ballerina?"
Shane sputters, "Yes, but you can't just call her that—"
"She is really hot— not that Rose wasn't, but this girl has… bad girl vibes, it's different."
He's never regretted sharing something with his parents so much in his entire life.
And then, very stupidly, he tells them, "I think I'm going to marry her."
They both go so quiet a pin could drop and Shane knows he would hear it. He clears his throat, "Not like some shotgun wedding or something, but… yeah. She's…"
"You've been dating for a month. Long distance," Yuna says, turning his phone off and passing it across the table. "What makes you think that you're going to marry her?"
Shane pockets his phone, "We're both the same way about our careers for one thing, and we're the same in the gym and we're… It's hard to explain, but we just clicked. I asked her out for a drink and we spent the whole night together and nothing about it felt awkward o-or forced or anything like that. She was everything." Shane remembers the way her hands felt on him when they play wrestled at the bar. He couldn't help but smile to himself, "It was the first time I ever felt that comfortable around anyone and I've tried, you know? To do the whole… dating thing, but Roz is different. She's just… you'd really like her if you could meet her."
"Shane, we believe you, it's just… you used to be the kid that wouldn't jump in a pool until we covered your whole body in sunscreen, and now you're telling us you want to marry a girl you've known for a month."
"Long distance," Yuna adds. "A girl you spent one night with. Is everything okay, honey? Did something happen?"
"Nothing happened!" Shane snaps, "Trust me I know how insane this sounds, especially coming from me and I'm not telling you guys I'm marrying her this weekend or even a year from now. I'm just telling you it's serious, like really, really, terrifyingly serious."
Like so serious that Shane can't stop thinking about her, ever. He'll be skating around at practice, planning what moves he'll use at the game and what Roz will say about them. He spends game days looking forward to her paragraphs of text and loud voice messages. Shane even looks forward to the random photos she sends him throughout the day. A photo of someone's shoes on the train, her bloody toepads, her cobbled together lunches and many, many photographs of the Boston Skyline.
He just wants to be talking to her all the time. When he was with Rose, he didn't feel like this at all. Yes, talking to her was great and incredible and they're definitely good friends but Shane never found himself this level of obsessed with her. Roz lit a fire under him that simmered it's way through his bones and pulsed through his veins.
Shane puts his head in his hands for a second, digs the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, "I know how crazy it sounds, okay? I know."
His mother's hand wraps around his forearm. Shane doesn't open his eyes yet, too afraid of what expression might be on her face. Disappointment, perhaps? Or shock.
"I want you to meet her, eventually," Shane says a hair too quickly, desperate for his parents to understand how serious he feels about Roz. "I'm going to invite her to my cottage this summer. I know that's her off season and I can install a barre in the gym so she can keep practicing and I'll bring her over to dinner and—"
"Shane—"
"We'll spend time by the lake and everything. It'll be," he breathes, "Good."
His mom pulses her grip on his forearm and he finally manages to look at her. Her face, much to his disbelief, is soft and warm, her eyes shining with an almost teary wetness.
"How about instead of waiting until July for you to introduce us to your girlfriend, you bring her to one of the Montreal games? We could stay at your place, go to dinner, get to know her."
Girlfriend hits Shane like a brick to the face in it's wrongness. Like yes, he guesses that is the most socially acceptable term to describe what Roz means to him but it's also…
Wrong, just. Wrong. Rose was his girlfriend, Roz is… So much more than that, but he can't find the right word. Soulmate is too much, too fantastic, but maybe that's the closest thing Shane has. Really, she's just, like…
She just gets him in a way no one has before. Their career goals are basically the same but for their respective fields, they're both hungry for success in every way possible, and they both like hockey.
"I'll ask," Shane nods a little. Yes, that makes way more sense and will be so much less stressful over the summer.
David clears his throat, "Although, I'd consider doing some inward reflection on why you keep going for girls called Rose, son…."
"Oh my God!" Shane's voice breaks at the end, "Her name is Liliya, she just prefers going by Roz."
"That's still a flower."
Montreal beats Boston this time and instead of hanging around to celebrate, Shane gets the hell out of dodge as quick as he's physically able.
"Going somewhere, Hollander?" JJ asks.
"Yeah, dinner. Don't you have a date of your own, man?"
Wrong thing to say. The entire locker room fucking erupts as Shane ties his dress shoes on. His face feels like it's been set on fire.
Hayden leans half his bodyweight over Shane's shoulder, "This dinner wouldn't happen to be with Liliya, would it?"
"Fuck off."
"Holy shit, it is."
He hates how shocked Hayden genuinely sounds. He hates that his entire team finds the possibility of Shane going on a date sooo fucking hilarious. Like sure, he didn't fuck around like everyone else and he's never been the kind of guy who can just waltz into a city, get laid, and go about his life happy as a damn clam, but still.
"Enjoy your date, Hollander!"
Shane has to ignore them, because he's afraid if he doesn't, and he reacts he's going to explode or something. Why is him going on a date so surprising? Why did Hayden have to look at him as if he's five years old and not the same exact age he is? Shane can admit there's some things in life he's always been slower on the uptake to take on, but he's never seen that as a bad thing. He'd rather be single and miserable than in Hayden's position— 25 years old with three kids that he's constantly stressed about.
Shane burns the whole walk to the restaurant, burying his hands deep into the pockets of his parka as he makes the miserable journey over. Boston is still covered in slush and he has to mind where he's walking so as to not ruin his shoes and slacks.
"Hollander."
Fuck, if the sound of Roz's voice doesn't cut through the bullshit in his head like a heated blade. She's standing right next to a decorative plant, a cigarette burning between her fingers. Despite the chill biting through the air, she's not only wearing the leather jacket Shane sent her but a dress too— small and velvet with the skirt ending at her midthigh, and wine colored tights that show off the contours of leg muscles that end in a pair of sleek but edgy black heels. Somehow, she looks smaller than she did the last time they saw each other.
She dressed up for him. Like, a lot. Makeup done to perfection, red lipstick leaving a mark on the butt of her cigarette. Is it bad that Shane almost wishes she didn't? Is it awful that he misses her sports bra and baggy joggers? He should be glad, like, a lot of the married guys talk about missing when their partners dressed up for them. Shane should be giddy. He thinks she might've lost weight-- she looks smaller, somehow.
Roz cut her hair.
Instead of falling around her shoulders in a wild mane, her curls are cropped closer to her ears and she has a little bit of a fringe now, it's so…
It's so her.
"Hi," Shane says stupidly.
Roz smiles at him, "Hello. Let me finish this and we can go inside."
"I didn't know you smoked." He's about to ask if she knows how bad smoking is for her— she's a professional dancer for God's sake.
She brings the cigarette back to her mouth and shrugs, speaking around it when she says, "Not often anymore. One time thing, promise."
Shane reaches for one of the curls closer to the back of her neck, twisting the soft lock around his finger a few times, "This is nice."
"Is it too short?"
He shakes his head at her, "No, it really— you look very you." Brave words considering he's only known her for about a month and a handful of change. Still, she smiles at him in that dangerous, lopsided way of hers that makes his stomach do a flip, so he's glad he said it. Really, really glad he did.
She stubs her cigarette out on the bottom of her shoe and tosses the butt into a nearby trashcan. Shane makes a mental note: Rozanova throws away her cigarette butts instead of leaving them on the ground to rot.
"Ready?"
Shane wraps his arm around her waist, sticking his hand into the pocket of her jacket. She smells like vetiver and nutmeg, like—
"Are you wearing Tom Ford?"
Her eyebrows lift in surprise, "How in the fuck do you know what brand I'm wearing?"
"I have a good nose?" Shane laughs, "Kidding, I just uh… I own the same one; I wear it in the summer."
She mocks his voice and accent, "I wear it in the summer. Fuck off, Hollander. Get your hand out of my pocket and take my coat. You are ridiculous."
"Aw, but you like it?"
Roz rolls her eyes at him, "If I did not, we would not be doing Omakase on Valentine's day."
Shane can't help but smile. Roz doesn't do what Rose used too— the whole You're cute Shane, you're just so adorable. Shane didn't realize until now how much that made him almost feel like a pet instead of a boyfriend until another girl acted differently around him. He takes the coat off her shoulders and hangs it up as instructed by the host.
They're lead into a dark but private corner of the restaurant at Shane's request. Part of the experience is ruined, of course, by the fact that they won't be able to watch the chef but he also didn't want a fan to spot him or something and for photos of he and Roz to end up plastered all over the internet. A smarter person probably would've ordered something in and booked a high-end hotel room with a balcony and a fireplace.
Roz folds her hands over the table, "You look like you are dying to speak, you know."
Shane's eyes drop down to the gold necklace around her throat— two of them this time, the crucifix, and a beautiful gold chain with a medallion pendant.
Note to self, Roz wears gold jewelry. If there's anything Shane learned from Rose, it's that women can get very picky about what metals they wear and when. Not that he's so brazen as to buy Roz any jewelry at this point in time.
"We have our next home game in Montreal in April, and I wanted to ask if you would like to come up to see it. I can get you tickets, and you can stay with me, obviously, but uh…" Shit, he can't even look at her. This is going to sound too crazy, he knows it is, but he has to spit it out. "I kind of talked to my parents about you a bit and they want to meet you and well, the home game is kind of the perfect opportunity to do so, especially with summer being so far away. A-And I didn't want to bog you down when you're at my cottage with the stress of meeting my parents."
"Oh."
Shane takes a breath and finally looks at her, but she's not looking at him. Her gaze is focused somewhere past Shane, her first two fingers, perfectly manicured in a lacquer of polish that matches her tights, rest against the crucifix. He can't read her expression at all and that terrifies him.
"I know it's very soon," Shane says a little too fast, "And if you don't want to, you can absolutely say no, but I just thought—"
She shakes her head, "No, no. That is fine, I would like to. I sort of, oh, this is so embarrassing," a soft sigh escapes her lips, "I just forgot, is all."
"Forgot?"
"Parents, meeting them, is part of getting to know someone, yes?"
"It… can be, but—"
"I will go to Montreal. Will we all be staying in your house?"
"It's a big house!" Shane splutters, hating himself a little bit, hating how quickly he becomes flustered around her. "There's plenty of guest rooms and my parents will take the downstairs one and you can be in the upstairs one."
"Oh?" She cocks her head to the side, "Upstairs guestroom? Not upstairs in your room?"
"Shut up," he laughs, and that little bubble of hatred pops entirely and is replaced with just… Joy. Excitement to see her and talk to her in person again, to relish in the scent of her Tom Ford fragrance and the way her curls gleam under the warm glow of the restaurant lights.
She smiles at him, warm yet so full of mischief, "I will go to Montreal for April game, and meet your parents."
Shane's heart actually skips a beat, "Yeah?"
"Yeah. Should be done with Rite of Spring by then for a week or two before preparing for Sleeping Beauty."
"That's your last show before summer break?"
"Unfortunately, yes, I was hoping for Giselle this year but no such luck."
She taps her toe against Shane's, and Shane taps back, feeling way, way too fucking giddy for a 25-year old.
"Do you want me to come to any of those? I've never really…"
Roz just gives another shake of her head, "Only if you want, I know you are busy with hockey things. Rite of Spring can be difficult to understand sometimes and Sleeping Beauty is so boring. I'm praying I do not get Aurora, I do not like Rose Adagio a bit."
"What role do you want, then?" And maybe Shane will come to see Sleeping Beauty, because that would mean seeing Roz do what puts that smile on her face.
"Carabosse. I want to be evil. I've been sweet princess for sooo long, so boring. So much fucking pink and white and it's old. I should not complain so much. I know I am very, very lucky."
"You want to be evil?"
"Yes! Do you not want to be evil sometimes?"
"Well—"
They're interrupted by their first course. The conversation naturally falling away as they both busy themselves with the dish and sake.
Shane remembers, belatedly, that he did get something for Roz beyond being way too willing to cover her trip to Montreal. He fully plans on booking her a first class ticket. Sure, the flight isn't really that long but well.. He can do it, and wants to do it, so why not?
He takes the small box out of his pocket and eases it across the table.
"Hollander, what is this?"
"A gift?"
"For?"
"V…Valentine's day?"
Roz sits back, a little stunned. Maybe Shane is way overstepping here. Oh God, what if he's lovebombing her and being a total creep about it? Fuck. He should've just left it at the April Montreal trip, "It's small," he promises. "Just…"
Wasting absolutely no time or asking permission, Roz pulls the red velvet ribbon from the box and tugs the top off. The second she lays eyes on it, her entire face lights up, "You got me your hockey tape!"
"Yes, you mentioned it on the phone—"
She tugs a piece off, testing the stick between her fingers, "I am using this on my toes. I will send pictures."
"I don't want your feet pics."
"You're getting them anyway, sucker," she waves the tape at him, delight brightening her eyes, "Thank you. This is… this is awesome, but I didn't get you anything."
Shane waves his hand, "Just being here is enough for me." And being fucked later, but he's not so willing to say that bit out loud.
She gets him anyway. A small, pleased smile curls at the corners of her mouth, "One day, we should play hockey together."
"Do you know how?"
"Mhm, I played a little bit before I found ballet. Not much but," she sighs softly, takes another sip of sake, "Was fun, for a while."
"When you're in Montreal," Shane hates how fast his heart is beating at the mental image of skating with Roz, of picturing her smile hidden behind a mouth guard. "Sometimes before the game, we do, like, family games with the team. It could be fun." The last time Jackie participated, she bodied Hayden into the wall and managed to score a goal less than five seconds later. Everyone was impressed, but maybe Shane most of all because he knew she was pregnant with Amber at the time and that didn't stop her.
He wonders if Roz wants kids. She's so good with them, but when he looks at her… he doesn't know. He can't really imagine her pregnant at all, but he's not sure why. Is that a normal thing to think about any woman or is he being really, really weird again?
The dinner goes well. Everything is remarkably good and it's still dark and miserably cold out by the time they end up leaving. He and Roz walk side by side, her hand having slid into his front pocket at some point, his hand in the pocket of her coat.
"Can we go back to your hotel?" She asks, her breath fogging out before her in a thick cloud.
"My hotel?"
Roz nods, tucking some of her hair behind her ears, "I have roommate— Sveta, I will introduce you someday, she's my best friend. If I bring you home to fuck you, she will not let you live it down."
Shane's face lights on fire again. He's sure he's turned beet red at least ten times tonight, and he knows he's probably beet read right now, but Roz makes no comment on the flush of his cheeks or the fact that he can't look at her because he's thinking about being heard.
"You mentioned a strap—"
Roz whips her purse open. Shane cranes his head to look inside before zipping her bag back up, ignoring the glint of metal and many different colors of silicone within, "Jesus."
"I prepared!" She chirps, "Been looking forward to this for weeks, I miss you."
"I miss you too." Way too much, he misses her a scary fucking amount. Her hands on his body, her voice in his ear, just her. "I want to suck you off tonight."
Where.
The. Fuck.
Did that come from!? Why did he say that! Shane claps his hand over his mouth stupidly and turns his head away from her. The right term is eating out, he knows that. He knows that's the word because Rose told him that's the word— what the fuck is wrong with him!?
"Oh?" Roz purrs, leaning up so she can whisper in his ear in a way that leaves every hair on his body standing on end, "Only good boys get to suck my dick, Hollander. Will you be good?"
His breath shudders in his chest, "I'll be good."
How is she so good at this? At breaking down every single one of Shane's walls only to reconstruct them again brick by fucking brick. Shane's always certain he's said the wrong thing and that she'll look at him in that pitying way Rose used to whenever he slipped up a little bit— got too submissive too quickly or wasn't as dominate as he should've been, but it's like every time Shane slips up there Roz is grabbing the reins and steering him right back to her.
She drags the tips of her fingers against his rapidly swelling cock and Shane has to fight not to whimper and buck against her hand, "Careful, wouldn't want you to come in your pants before we're back at hotel."
"Fuck. Off."
"You love it."
Shane looks the other way, resisting the urge to bite his knuckles. He loves it and he loves Roz too fucking much. This is dangerous; he feels like he's spinning out of control.
But Roz takes the reins, and she guides him right back to her, "Let all of your teammates see us, Hollander," she's still petting his fucking dick. "Rub it in their faces in morning."
He would honestly love nothing more than to do exactly that. Surprise, Shane Hollander isn't the wet blanket, late to the party, firmly in his box player the league loves to characterize him as. He's also this, whatever he is when he's with Roz. Hungry, desperate. Adored wholly and deeply for everything he is and everything he's stuffed deep inside himself under the impression he'd never be able to have it.
Roz gives it to him without question, without asking why Shane likes what he likes. Because she likes it— she likes him.
Shane didn't think anyone could do that.