Page 32 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son

“Is everything okay?”

He pastes a smile on his face that I know is fake, but I’m still not sure what I said that was wrong.

“You’re wonderful,” I tell him. “Fantastic. The absolute best.”

He turns around. “So are you.”

I nod, but the air feels heavy between us. Maybe it’s the fact that we’re in an airport, a place notorious for stress. Everyone around us is probably either trying to figure out the way to the rideshare app pickup or they’re triple checking to make sure they haven’t lost their wallets or passports or boarding passes.

That’s probably it. Once we leave, things will feel normal again.

But things are still strange when we take a car back to our apartment complex, and they still feel wrong when I walk him to his apartment door.

He doesn’t invite me inside, because that would be crazy. I need to drop off my luggage and get ready for practice. But it still feels strange when he waves goodbye, and the door shuts between us.

It’s fine, I remind myself.

Totally fine.

I pull out my phone to call Vince. “I have good news.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Oskar

I prepare for work quickly. I’m late.

Daniela is probably so confused. I’m never late.

I think about asking Dmitri for a ride in his car, but that feels too couple-y, and honestly, I probably should remember we’re not a couple.

And we never will be.

Dmitri is incredible.

And straight.

If he’s cool with my gayness, I should be cool with his straightness. Lusting after my best friend, and well, technically now husband, does not fall in that category.

I walk to the arena, because maybe the fresh air will put some sense into me, even though nothing, certainly not fast-paced walks, will keep me from thinking that Dmitri is the most wonderful man there is.

After all, hundreds of thousands of people vote him onto ‘Sexiest Athlete’ lists every year. I dash into the arena, wave at the guard, and hurry through the hallways.

“Hi Oskar!” Troy waves at me.

I give him something resembling a wave and hurry forward. Finally, I slide into the office.

Daniela raises a lofty eyebrow. “You’re late, Oskar. That’s very unlike you.”

“Sorry. I texted, but, um I know I didn’t request PTO formally and...”

Her eyes soften. “It’s fine, Oskar. Really. Just paperwork today.”

I nod and slip into my office chair. The wheels roll too fast, and I grab the desk to steady myself.

“Is everything okay?”

“Me! Everything is fine! Super! Super-duper!” My voice ends in a squeak, but then the last time I said super-duper was probably when I was prepubescent. I half expect her to wheel out some whiskey or chardonnay and pummel me with questions.