speak to us of clothes by whimsicule
Shane Hollander, hockey player extraordinaire, hovers in the doorway to his impressively designed but sparsely filled walk-in closet, looking at her with wide eyes like she might shoot him if he’s got the wrong things in there. If she finds any cargo shorts, she might shoot herself.
or: shane hires a stylist.
I am really shocked that I have not blogged about this before. I have even red this like.. Three times? already or something.
We are returning to my all time trope where Hollanovs relationship is seen from some random person's view (or sometimes not so random, maybe outsider's pov would be the best term, but, meh, whatever). And thats it. Thats all there is.
Also. I am kinda wishing a sequel here with more Ilya. But if this is all Im getting, Im not complaining.
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