Page 30 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son

“What are you looking at?” I ask.

He frowns, and somehow, I’ve said the wrong thing. He breathes in, then smiles, and clearly I was worried about nothing. “You gave me the nicest room.”

I blink. “Of course I did.”

He looks away, and I promise to get ready soon.

Soon, we’re going back to the airport, back to Boston, back to our life.

We fly through the clouds, and I gaze at the patchwork of fields and tiny houses from the sky. My country, once Vince does the paperwork.

I grin. He’s going to be so happy I found a solution.

“How do you think Pappa will react to finding out about, um...”

I jerk my head away from Oskar’s face. A sensation I haven’t felt today finds its way inside of me. Guilt spews acid through me, and I inhale and remind myself that I have nothing to feel guilty about.

“He, um, won’t mind much, will he?”

Oskar turns his head to me, hesitation flickering in his eyes. “Well...”

He’ll mind. Of course he’ll mind.

“It will be fine,” Oskar says, but his voice trembles slightly, and we both know he’s lying.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.

Oskar laughs. “I’m pretty sure he’ll be more upset at you.”

I try to tell myself that that sentence is not ominous, but it stays with through the rest of the plane ride as if I’ve just come back from watching a particularly scary thriller movie and am eying various locations in my apartment with a fear that I do not generally feel.

It will be fine.

Coach is, well, mostly cool.

Besides, this is a paperwork thing. Maybe he doesn’t even have to know.

“We, um, can keep this quiet.”

Oskar nods, but his smile is strained. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I don’t know what I’m apologizing for.

It’s not like Oskar and I are in love or something, and I’m forcing him to be quiet. I’m not some closeted guy who expects blowjobs at night and separation in the day.

“You’re still my best friend,” I tell him.

He nods. “I, um, didn’t expect you would want to tell anyone. I didn’t make any social media posts or take any pictures. No one knows. I promise.”

I hate the way that he says ‘I promise,’ as if he’s trying to convince me of his spy-like tendencies. He shouldn’t be forced to keep secrets. But at the same time... My stomach curdles at the thought of what might happen if Coach finds out.

It’s a paperwork thing. Oskar works for the team. It’s no big deal.

But I know it’s more than that. I knew it yesterday. That’s why I insisted on going to all the fancy restaurants and all the fancy stores so I could make his day special.

God, he should have experienced all those firsts with the guy he’ll actually end up with. Not with me. Not with a bumbling hockey player who hired the wrong agent and got into a fight with the wrong person and all the newspapers and blogs and vlogs and newscasters say bad things about him.

Oskar slides off his ring, and I hate how effortless it looks. My gaze lingers on his bare finger.