Blazing ice

Thank goodness they’re back in Boston, with three weeks of home games ahead. Ilya finally made an appointment with the dentist. The start of the season had been incredibly tough. They won the first game, then the second, but lost the third, but that wasn’t what bothered him. The problem was that Shane fucking Hollander had taken their bet seriously and scored five goals in New York. Someone really wanted to win. Rozanov even wondered what Shane could have come up with. After endless soulless hotel rooms, his rented apartment felt like paradise. Ilya stocked up on groceries at the supermarket, vacuumed, dusted, and baked chicken with potatoes and mushrooms in the oven. He watered the cactus on the windowsill, the only plant that could survive for months without water. Routine household chores slowed the frantic pace of travel and matches. The clock showed two minutes to seven in the evening, and the bell rang. Ilya opened the door, letting Ryan in with a large bag: “I didn’t know what to bring,” he said sheepishly, holding out the package. “Anything will do,” Ilya replied, taking out an ice cream cake. “Jump to the table.” “Your place is quite cozy,” Price looked around and added sheepishly, “Thank you for inviting me.” “ I never thanked you enough for Zullo. ” “It’s my job,” Price shrugged, but then tensed up: “And how do you want to thank me?” “There was an option to tie you to the bed and mark you harshly until you forgot your name, but I decided to cook potatoes with chicken and a couple of salads. “Chicken sounds good,” Ryan smiled, “especially since it smells fantastic. Can you cook?” “When you’re hungry, you learn to do even worse,” Ilya remarked philosophically. “But if you liked the first option, just ask,” he winked. “I will think. ” There’s something incredibly satisfying about being devoured. Ilya happily helped himself to a salad with fresh tomatoes and cucumbers and skewered baked mushrooms on a plate—homemade food is simply unbeatable. Ilya threw the dishes in the dishwasher and, taking a couple of beers from the refrigerator, invited Price into the living room. They settled on the couch in front of the TV, tuning in to a talk show. “So, what’s your favorite type?” Ilya asked, turning to Ryan, who nearly choked at the question. After hesitating a bit, he finally answered: “ Not like me. ” “Like me?” Ilya smiled. “Mmm,” Price said thoughtfully, “in character, yes, but in appearance, more… gentle.” “Delicate?” Ilya was surprised. “You mean not two meters tall and weighing a hundred kilograms?” “No, yes, that is… open, not afraid to express themselves. Free. ” Ilya thought: “And how many of these have you met? ” Ryan exhaled heavily and took a long sip of beer. “A little, but… they don’t like me. ” " Damn it!” he cursed in Russian. “You’re awesome! A sweet, huge, and modest guy with a gorgeous body! Where’s your confidence?” Ryan shrugged and took a sip from the can, saying quietly: “I have… an anxiety disorder… since college. ” “Depression?” Ilya asked seriously. “No,” Price shook his head. Rozanov put the can of beer on the table and moved closer to Ryan. “Are you taking your pills?” Ilya whispered, gently tucking a stray strand of red hair behind her ear. “Yes, but because of them I have… problems… with sex. ” Ilya tilted his head to the side. “ I think everything was great. ” And then Price blushed. “It’s because of you… you guided me, I didn’t panic, you helped,” Ryan mumbled haltingly. “I didn’t do anything at all…” “You didn’t have to do anything,” Ilya smiled, lifting Ryan’s chin and touching his lips to his. He kissed him tenderly, soothingly, without any sexual undertones. “Do you have someone to talk to?” “I go to a psychotherapist. ” “Family? Do they know you’re gay? ” “Yes, my sister—she’s very supportive. It’s not that I’m gay,” Ryan sighed heavily and rested his head on Ilya’s shoulder. “It’s something with my brain… I’m just at a loss, I don’t know what to do, how to speak, how to react. Sometimes a simple question can stump me.” Ilya sighed and stroked Ryan’s hair: “Everyone struggles with their own demons. ” “Sometimes these demons tear me apart,” Price replied. “You’re doing well, I wouldn’t have thought you had any problems. ” “You’re the first person I’ve ever spoken to so openly. You know what’s worst… I don’t like fighting, but when I do, I feel better, like all my doubts disappear and all that’s left is emptiness.” “Hmm,” Ilya drawled, narrowing his eyes. “I think I understand you. I feel something similar during sex, when I cum.” Price smiled broadly: “ I can’t keep up with you. Which ones do you like? ” “I love uninhibited women who aren’t afraid of their bodies. I always go down on my knees in front of women like that,” Rozanov smiled. “What about the men?” Price asked sheepishly. Ilya thought. How could one describe Hollander? A nerdy pedant with cute freckles? Modest Canadian boys playing hockey? “Hmm, those who aren’t afraid to challenge me. Although,” Ilya smiled slyly, looking Price in the eyes. “I love sex. I love giving and receiving pleasure. I don’t care who, I care how.” “You’re not my type,” Ryan said, blushing and with panic in his voice. ” “What? Really?” Ilya leaned closer to Price’s lips. “Close your eyes and imagine anyone…” “You’re too pushy,” Ryan breathed out and licked his lips. “You can always stop me,” Ilya whispered and, unable to resist, kissed him softly, running his hand through his red curls. Price groaned softly. Rozanov smiled contentedly, running his fingers through his hair. “If you were to tidy up a bit, everyone would be hanging on you. ” “I don’t need people hanging themselves, I don’t like attracting attention,” Ryan frowned. “You can’t escape it — you look like a sex machine. ” Ilya reached for his smartphone and looked at the schedule. “ We have training in the morning, then we can go shopping in the evening. ” “Shopping?!” Price was surprised. “Yeah. You remember I’m throwing a Halloween party at the club this Friday, right? I need to buy something wildly sexy. You dance, right?” Rozanov asked. “Yeah, when I’ve had a few drinks and I’m relaxed enough,” Ryan shrugged. “I’ll pour you a drink and relax you,” Ilya winked. *** They stumbled into a huge arcade, where everything screamed “very expensive” Ilya inhaled deeply the intoxicating scents of perfume and leather, glanced around the luxurious lobby with its babbling fountain, and smiled in anticipation of the fun ahead. “Okay,” he said loudly, “I suggest we go straight to the salon.” “What the hell?” Cliff didn’t understand. Upon hearing that they were going shopping, he categorically declared that he would go with them. “Make this Cinderella into a Beauty,” he nodded at Ryan. Cliff looked Price up and down and said, “Hmm… We’ll need a very powerful fairy. ” “There is such a thing. ” They entered a brutalist barbershop in the style of “Night Devils,” where metal, black leather, and mirrors formed the basis of the interior. A huge, tattooed man in a tight black T-shirt came out to greet them. “Ilya!” he exclaimed loudly and pressed Rozanov firmly to his chest: “Long time no see!” “Hey, Brian!” Ilya patted his huge back. “This hottie needs an upgrade, so he’ll want to fuck himself!” Ilya said, nodding at Price, who turned beet red at those words. “Good material,” Brian assessed. “I’ll handle it myself. And what about this one?” he nodded at Marlowe. “Shave this one bald and get a butterfly tattoo on his skull. ” “Fuck you!” Cliff said indignantly. “Relax,” Brian said good-naturedly. “Jackie, take care of the boy.” A long-legged girl with straight bangs down to her eyebrows, scarlet lips, and sharp, knife-like eyeliner emerged from the depths of the room. She smiled slyly and beckoned Cliff with her finger. Marlowe followed her, mesmerized, without uttering a word. They were seated in comfortable leather chairs. Hard rock played in the background, and the smell of coffee filled the air. Ilya hadn’t shaved that morning and calmly surrendered himself to Ricky, a young man with pink streaks in his hair and a wildly charming smile. When a warm towel was placed over his face, Ilya closed his eyes and listened. “What do you wash your beard and hair with?” Brian asked. “With soap,” Ryan answered simply. There was a long, heavy exhalation. Ilya mentally saw Brian put his hand to his mouth and, his eyes wide with horror, looked at Price, shaking his head. “Baby,” he drawled, “Your hair is gorgeous, but it needs some attention and care, otherwise you’ll look like a witch’s broom.” Ilya didn’t listen anymore, enjoying Ricky’s soft hands and playing staring games with him. They shaved him, gave him a light haircut, styled his curls into a luxurious hairstyle, sprayed him with something delicious, and even gave him a manicure, polishing his nails to a shine. He looked at himself in the mirror and winked: all that was left was to find someone to give himself to. Cliff, to Ilya’s surprise, had his hair cut short, and now he looked like a mischievous boy with dimples on his cheeks. “It suits you,” Ilya said approvingly. “I got her phone number,” the lower one whispered to Marlowe. “Oh, come on,” Ilya drawled, wondering whether to tell Cliff that Jackie was a dominant woman or not. He might very well like it. “Um,” Ryan said, drawing attention, and Ilya and Cliff turned around. “So?” “Your mother,” Marlowe breathed. “Who are you?” Ryan’s hair was left at its original length, but it was braided, his beard was trimmed short and oiled, and his eyebrows were plucked to perfection. Now Price looked like he stepped off the cover of a European magazine. “Isn’t that too much?” Ryan asked sheepishly, looking at himself in the mirror. “You look like…” Cliff mused, “a Norse god! There!” “Now you’ll definitely look in the mirror and jerk off to yourself with pleasure,” Ilya nodded. “That’s the best praise I’ve ever heard,” Brian laughed and clapped Ilya on the shoulder. “So,” he looked sternly at Price, “I’ve worked hard on you, and I want you to appreciate my work and not neglect yourself. I’ve told you how to take care of yourself, and I’ll be back in a month.” They spent about an hour in the barbershop and emerged feeling like stars on the red carpet. Marlow couldn’t stop admiring himself in the reflections of the shop windows. “I’ve never spent so much on myself before,” Price complained, looking at the bag of high-quality hair care products. “It’s time to start, otherwise sex will remain a fantasy for you,” Rozanov replied. “Sometimes you really want to punch someone in the jaw. ” “Careful, I just got a tooth implant, it hasn’t paid for itself yet,” Ilya clapped his hands. “Well, beauties, now let’s go get some clothes!” Needless to say, Ilya adored beautiful things, from expensive suits to expensive racing cars. Taste was essential in everything. They popped into a couple of boutiques, but Ilya’s trained eye couldn’t spot anything worthwhile. A pair of rhinestone-studded thigh-high boots and an orange leather coat gleamed in one of the windows. “Just what I need,” he nodded and resolutely walked into the boutique. “Um,” Cliff said, stopping at the entrance. “Are we sure we’re going this way?” Price looked in horror at the twenty-centimeter shiny thigh-high boots. “Absolutely. Come on, no one will bite you here,” Ilya teased them. The boutique turned out to be glam rock in style. Leather jackets with studs, bright shirts with crazy patterns, jeans with laces up the legs and at the crotch, and flares in every color hung on hangers. Glitter, rhinestones, metal, crosses, skulls, and leather all mingled in a crazy kaleidoscope. “Try this on,” Ilya handed Ryan a pink T-shirt with glitter. “Are you kidding?” he asked. “No, I want to figure out what would suit you,” Ilya answered seriously. “Hello,” a bunny-boy consultant approached them silently, like a shadow, “can I help you with anything?” Ilya glanced at him quickly: a student, working part-time, clear face, warm May in his eyes, and the scent of a summer night. The name tag read “Oliver.” “Yes, we need something sexy, depraved and daring,” Ilya smiled charmingly. The boy was confused, then blushed, but, clearing his throat, he pulled himself together: “You’ve come to the right place. ” Ilya caught Price’s eye and raised an eyebrow. Ryan frowned, shook his head, and, grabbing his T-shirt, strode resolutely toward the fitting rooms. When he emerged from the locker room, sweet Oliver choked. And understandably so. The pink jersey fabric clung to Price’s powerful chest, seeming ready to burst. “We need the same one, but in green,” Ilya said. “Pink doesn’t go with your hair.” “Maybe we can find something in my size?” Ryan asked. “No,” Rozanov shook his head. “Another example is white jeans.” “Let’s write the price tag on my forehead right away!” Ilya burst out laughing, and Oliver blushed and smiled sheepishly. Price tugged at his tight T-shirt, revealing his pectorals, his hair a little tousled, and a strand of hair straggled over his forehead. Oliver bit his lip and handed Ryan the T-shirt. “We need to find some pants for this sex machine,” Ilya winked at Oliver. “You can play with contrasts,” he replied. “For example, ripped, distressed jeans with metal. I’ll get them right now,” and he ran behind the counter with leather jackets. “Ryan?” Ilya called meaningfully. “Get lost,” Price muttered and disappeared behind the curtain. “As you say,” Ilya said conciliatorily and went to the other end of the room so that Price could sort things out and blush alone with Oliver. As he passed the racks, he rummaged through hangers, trying out different options, evaluating them in the mirror. He was looking for something revealing, yet still within the bounds of propriety. There was a wide selection, as if Bowie and Kiss had donated their stage costumes to the store. “Rose!” Cliff called. “If I wear this,” he held up a pale blue chiffon shirt, “will everyone think I’m gay?” “Unless you start making out with men in front of everyone, then it’s unlikely,” Ilya noted. “Well, no,” he wanted to hang the shirt back, but hesitated and regretfully ran his fingers over the fabric. “If you like it, wear it, and don’t care what others think. Live for yourself!” “But I’m not you! ” “What the fuck difference does it make! At least go try it on! ” Cliff pressed his lips together, turned sharply, and disappeared behind the heavy burgundy curtain. “Fuck,” came from the locker room. Ilya peeked in. Although Marlowe looked like a firefighter from a poster, with his blue shirt and short haircut, he resembled a fine arts student. It suited him very well! “Jackie would appreciate it,” Ilya teased. Cliff whined as he spun around in front of the mirror. “Invite her to the party. ” “What if she refuses?” Marlow asked naively. “Take a sexy photo and send her an invitation, she won’t refuse. ” Marlowe’s eyes lit up and his hands reached for the phone. So, Ilya has established one sexual life, there is still one left. Rozanov chose a translucent, wide-leg shirt the color of night, glittering like stars, and tight black leather pants that creaked against his butt. Oliver picked out light-colored jeans for Ryan, ripped at the hips, with a multi-layered chain with studs and crosses running down the side of the pockets. A tight green T-shirt accentuated his chest muscles and contrasted with his red hair. “I’m not going to wear this,” Price said plaintively, peering out from behind the curtain. “You look absolutely gorgeous!” Ilya hammered home the obvious. “Cliff, tell him!” “To be honest, you don’t look anything like your old self now. Back then, it was scary to approach you and talk, but now you look sweet, and as my sister would say, 'cute.'” “I think it suits you very well too,” Oliver said. Oliver’s words seemed to have the most calming effect on Price. Ilya smiled and, while Ryan relaxed and let his guard down, added a couple more brightly colored items to his jeans and T-shirt. As Price was paying at the checkout, Ilya approached Oliver. “There will be a party at the club on Friday, I invite you. ” The sweet boy blushed. “I… um… I don’t think he did…,” he said quietly, nodding his chin at Ryan. “You have a chance,” Ilya whispered conspiratorially. “Give me your phone number, I’ll send you the location and time. Bring your friends.” Ilya punched in the number and caught Price’s intense gaze. As they left the store, Ryan leaned toward Rozanov and whispered: “I think you’re up to something stupid. ” “I always come up with nonsense,” Ilya replied. “I’m starving,” Cliff complained, getting their attention. “Who wants what?” Ilya asked. “Meat!” Marlow raised his hand. Price nodded, continuing to drill Rozanov with his eyes. Ilya hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. He liked people, the company they provided, and life itself, a vibrant, effortless rhythm. He wanted more. Always wanted more. A glimpse of a pretty girl’s smile, a pleasant perfume mingling with the scent of a strong man’s body, the smooth curves of a new sports car. He loved hockey. The way his hands gripped the stick, the way his skates left a mark on the smooth, freshly poured rink, the sweat sticking to his jersey and the frantic rush of the race. The slap of the puck flying off. The darkened brown eyes behind the clear visor. The split second the puck dropped between the sticks on the faceoff. The drive, the speed, the excitement, the taste of victory on his lips, the helpless anger in his opponents' eyes, the arena falling silent in confusion when their favorite team lost. It made his blood boil. He lived hockey. And he could no longer imagine his life without it. He loved sex, the moans, the caresses, the kisses; he loved to take, to drive his partner to distraction. To run his palms over bare skin, to feel the heat and softness of a body. He was thrilled by danger; he always wanted to see how far he could go. He played, but he always remained honest. He didn’t fall in love with anyone, didn’t promise anything to anyone, and didn’t forbid anything to anyone. He wanted freedom and allowed others to be free. He could give himself over, get on his knees, and open his mouth wide. He didn’t feel vulnerable or weak. There was a special sweet-spicy flavor to giving up control that was just as arousing, but few dared to kick his ass. He gave himself over in sex, as in hockey, to the end. Without regret. He made it a rule never to judge anyone. Not to be like his father, who was accustomed to breaking and hating everything around him. Ilya could obey, bow his head, and obediently answer when asked. For years, he had been taught discipline, as his father put it, but in reality, he had been trained to obey without question, where his own wishes were ignored. Year after year, he watched the only person he loved fade away, and he felt helpless and angry. He clenched his fists, not daring to raise his hands. He endured and bided his time. And this forged his character to a diamond-hardness: nothing could touch him, throw him off balance, or make him lose control. He set a goal for himself and walked towards it, step by step, putting his life on the line. And now, having broken free, he wanted to live, to burn, to enjoy everything fate had to offer. Never to doubt his choices, his actions, his decisions for a second. He wanted to make up for the years of mute submission and loneliness. He wanted to breathe deeply and remove the mask of hypocrisy. *** Ilya rented a VIP area overlooking the ballroom. It had plush chairs, tables stocked with pre-ordered snacks, a private bar with a smiling bartender, and even two poles. Ilya was confident that by morning everyone would be twirling on the poles. He picked up Ryan in a taxi, giving him no chance to escape. Price still put on a new T-shirt and jeans and even styled his hair. “Everything will be fine,” Rozanov whispered when they were allowed into the club. Ryan muttered an inarticulate reply, but, apparently resigned to the inevitable, he meekly followed Ilya. They arrived almost first, and ordered a couple of shots to warm up, only then did Price’s shoulders sag. “Guys!” Cliff stood up to them. “Have they started already, and without us?” He was followed by Victor and Carmichael, two goalkeepers Bruce and Dallas, the Finn Vilho and the Czech Milan. “Hey! Hey!” Vilho roared. “I bet I can beat you all.” “I bet you’ll be the first to spin on the pole,” Ilya nodded towards the pylons. “Okay!” Vilho clapped his hands. “Whoever loses will spin on a pole.” “And the rest will shove money under his belt,” Marlow nodded, and everyone supported the idea. We sat around a large table, sipping our drinks and warming up to the necessary condition to go down to the dance floor. “Where’s your Jackie?” Ilya asked. “She’s not mine yet,” Marlow whispered, “but she said she’d come.” “Then wait, people like her don’t make empty promises. ” About an hour later, the rest of the players arrived, and the club seemed to be packed to capacity. The music thundered, vibrating throughout the body, cigarette smoke swirled around the ceiling, and the heat from hundreds of frenzied bodies swirled. “Why are you so handsome?” Dallas asked, nodding at Cliff’s blue shirt. “Like a high school student at prom?” “He needs to seduce someone today,” Ilya answered for Marlow. “Who?” Vilho asked in surprise. “The morality police?” “Get lost!” Cliff snapped and stood up. “I’m going to dance.” “Do I look handsome today?” Ilya asked. “You’re always handsome,” Vilho grinned back. " At least sell yourself to the one who will pay more.” Ilya showed him the finger. “No, Ryan takes first prize today. ” “Don’t drag me into this nonsense,” Price shook his head. “It’s too late,” Ilya winked and, slapping Ryan on the thigh, said: “We’re going to dance too.” Ilya dragged Ryan away before he could get too excited. They went down to the first floor and, maneuvering through couples, made their way to the center of the room. Ilya decided not to bother with a costume this year, and he had no time anyway. It was a miracle they were spending Halloween in Boston and not on a plane somewhere over the States. The music hit every nerve, flowing from his chest down his legs, making his body move to the rhythm. Ilya winked at Price and swayed his hips, closing his eyes. It became hot, stuffy, sweat trickled down his spine and chest, but that was only the beginning. He realized he was tipsy. He spotted Cliff and barely recognized Jackie, who was wearing a latex Catwoman suit with sharp claws and cute cat ears. Marlowe gazed at her with admiring eyes and couldn’t look away. The rest of the world ceased to exist for him. “He’s here!” Price breathed out nearby. Ilya frowned in confusion and looked at what Ryan was pointing at. Oliver, accompanied by a group of other cute bunny boys, was hanging out near the DJ booth. They were indeed dressed in pajama-like costumes, blue, pink, and yellow bunny costumes, with long white ears dangling from their hoods. “Oh my!” Ilya exhaled in admiration. “This is so damn cute.” “You invited him after all. ” “I invited you, and the rest is up to you,” Ilya countered. “Cliff, as you can see, can handle it himself.” “Rose… I can’t… it’s too much… all of us are here! ” “You can do anything. I’m here,” Ilya assured. “Everyone will be drunk now, and no one will notice if you leave with someone.” “I hate you,” Ryan whispered helplessly. He loved danger, loved walking on the edge. The club was filled with team players, plenty of prying eyes and ears. Ilya caught the glances of girls and boys; they were watching, assessing, fantasizing about him, wanting him. One guy openly licked his lips, looking straight into Rozanov’s eyes. Ilya smiled broadly and shook his head. He wanted to dance, to move with the music, to arouse with his body. One sweet witch in a pointed hat pressed her breasts against him, smiling with her black lips. Even in the flickering light, Ilya could see the freckles on her cheeks. He grabbed her slender waist and spun her around, and she laughed joyfully, throwing her head back. The frenzied dancing and the heat of hundreds of bodies made him thirsty. Another party was taking place on the second floor. Ilya plopped down on a vacant couch and waved to the bartender. The girls had already arrived and were dancing on the bar. Confetti exploded, sending a cloud of orange and black paper flying everywhere, landing on the tables and floor. The red lights pulsed, and the music grew even more aggressive. While he waited for his order, an idea occurred to him. Ilya pulled out his phone, opened his already see-through shirt, and gracefully arched his back to take a selfie. He found Jane’s name in his contacts and sent it, writing, “Happy Halloween!” He didn’t think that obedient boy Shane was celebrating Halloween. Perhaps he was lying in bed watching a horror movie. Or, more likely, simply sleeping and dreaming of winning the Stanley Cup. The bartender brought a vodka and tonic, and Ilya downed almost half of it in one gulp. His body relaxed completely, he leaned back on the sofa and surveyed the dance floor, which was clearly visible from the balcony. There were no plush bunnies anywhere, but Ryan was hugging a girl with blue hair and a long black dress. The light reflected off the hair unnaturally, as if it were a wig. Ilya leaned in to take a closer look. “Your mother,” he breathed out in shock. Isn’t it customary to dress up on Halloween to avoid recognition? Perhaps Oliver had read Ryan too well to understand his fears. And now Price was calmly hugging the girl in the black dress and looked happy. Ilya scanned the room again, but couldn’t find Marlow. He’d have to call him tomorrow and find out how it went. “Hey, Rose!” Vilho boomed. “Let’s drink!” He plopped down next to me and raised his glass. Ilya raised his. A minute later, Victor and Carmichael joined them. And the alcohol began to rise again. The phone vibrated persistently in his jeans pocket. Ilya glanced at the screen, and his good mood instantly evaporated. He made his way across the hall and out into the street, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. The phone continued to insistently draw attention to itself in his convulsively clenched hand. He exhaled a cloud of smoke and accepted the call. “I’m listening,” he said in Russian. “Grigory became ill, he was taken to the hospital, money is needed for an operation,” Polina reported. ” Ilya took another drag and covered his eyes with his hand. “What do the doctors say? Is it something serious? ” “Don’t you know our doctors? They didn’t tell me anything. It could be my heart.” Ilya really wanted to scream: who should know if not she, the wife? “Will you translate? ” That’s the main question. Could he trust her? Is it serious with his father? Or is this just another way to make money off him? “I’ll translate,” he said, and without waiting for her answer, he hung up. He took a deep drag until the smoke filled his lungs completely, and exhaled. He found Andrey’s number in his phone book. His finger hovered over the call button. Was it even worth calling him? Ilya didn’t even want to hear his brother’s voice, let alone ask him about his father. He walked into the alley between the club, which reeked of urine and dampness, squatted down, and took another drag. He indifferently transferred a couple of thousand. Anger and helplessness burned his insides like acid. He felt sick to his stomach. The phone beeped, Ilya clicked on the message without looking. And froze. The photo showed a sculpted abs, a groin with an open book resting on it, and long legs. The image was quite clear, despite the dim lighting; Ilya could even read the title on the cover. Jane: “Good night.” Ilya: “I think the book is superfluous there.” Jane: “Not all at once” Ilya: “Or were you turned on by the healthy food recipes for athletes?” Jane: “Especially Belgian sausages in cream sauce” Ilya laughed out loud. “I adore you,” he said quietly. The world no longer seemed ugly and hopeless. Ilya stood up, stubbed out his cigarette, and walked out of the dirty alley. A couple of rings later, a cheerful voice rang out: “ Have you missed me already? ” “I need your help,” Ilya began, getting straight to the point. “I’m listening,” Sasha switched over, dropping his playful mood. “Polina called and said my father was hospitalized. I find it hard to believe her; she doesn’t even tell me how serious it is.” “I understand. I’ll find out everything. ” “Thank you, brother. ” “Come talk to me, brother,” Sasha answered with a smile in his voice. Ilya took a deep breath of the cold air and walked back into the club. If anyone was supposed to be spinning on a pole tonight, it would be him.