Page 7 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son

Blaine shifts his legs from side to side.

I snort. “You’re still here?”

Blaine stiffens, then stalks away.

“Why did you do that?” Oskar asks. “He was talking to me!”

“He was flirting with you,” I clarify. “He brought you a drink!”

“And now I’m missing a drink.”

I shrug and usher him to the black marble island, now an impromptu bar. I pour Oskar a drink and hand it to him. “Here you go.”

He takes it reluctantly. “Dmitri, I’m an adult. He can flirt with me.”

“He could have put something inside that drink!”

“He knows Sebastian. I don’t think he’s going to roofie me.”

“He might! He got your trust! There’s more than one bedroom in this place Oskar. You shouldn’t be naive. Next thing you know, you’re in a locked room, and he’s pulling down your pants and spreading your cheeks!”

Oskar’s mouth drops open. “People are staring.”

I look around. “You’re right.” I clear my throat. “No one should leave their drinks unattended. Public announcement.”

“My drink wasn’t unattended,” Oskar hisses. “I was holding it!”

“You didn’t pour it yourself!”

God, normally Oskar is smarter than this.

“Didn’t they teach you anything at Harvard?”

He glowers at me, and I fling my hands up.

“You are embarrassing me,” he says.

I frown at him. “I’m sorry. But who’s going to keep you safe when I’m—”

His eyes soften. “I’m sorry. I—”

He doesn’t finish the sentence because there’s nothing that can be said. There’s nothing he can say that can change what’s going to happen.

He chews on his bottom lip. “Want to get out of here? My apartment is quieter.”

I nod. “Yeah. That sounds great actually.”

I grab my coat from the closet, then wrap Oskar in his. Blaine glares at me from across the room, and I smirk, then usher Oskar toward the door.

“That was one minute,” Oskar says. “I was at the party for one minute.”

“Wasbadminute,” I say. “That man liked you.”

His eyelashes flutter down, and his nostrils flare. He looks like he’s counting, but when he speaks, it’s not to recite numbers to me. “Let’s get on the elevator.”

I follow Oskar. His apartment is in Seaport, like mine, though we’re in different buildings. Seaport is filled with modern high rises.

The elevator pings, and we walk across the lobby.