Page 71 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son

I grin. “That’s because you’re good at it.”

“Really?” His eyes widen. “I wasn’t sure. I mean, I’ve never...”

“Never what?” I hang his coat up and turn to him. I unbutton my own coat, and his gaze darts away.

“Danced with someone... like that. Um, close.” He waves his hand in a vague manner, and suddenly I know.

“Oskar, have you ever dated anyone?”

He steps back, and his face pinkens. He bounces his gaze around the apartment. “Naturally!”

But his voice wobbles in a distinctly un-normal manner.

I narrow my eyes. “Who?”

“People. Guys. At school. You wouldn’t know them.

That’s what I always assumed, but now...

“What were their names, Oskar?”

“That’s not important!”

“You haven’t dated at all, have you?”

“I have! We’ve gone on dates!”

“But before me?”

He looks away. My chest tightens. “Oskar...”

“Don’t. Please don’t make fun of me.”

“I would never make fun of you.” I step toward him, because I’m always drawn to him. I want to wrap him in my arms, but I hesitate, unsure. He wasn’t supposed to say this, and my mind reels. “I-I just don’t understand. You’re...”

I want to tell him he’s beautiful. I want to tell him that he’s perfect.

He still doesn’t meet my gaze. He steps back, as if the wall is better protection against the world than me. “It just never happened. I thought it would. I mean, that’s what is supposed to happen, right? But I was busy with school, and...” He swallows hard. “And maybe I was waiting for someone special. I have done...other things with guys. My first week at Harvard I went to a house party and someone invited me to the rooftop, and we kissed and...”

My body grows cold. “And?”

“Nothing like that.” His skin reddens. “But when I saw him again, he didn’t remember me. I-I didn’t want that. I wanted...more.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “Maybe I was too focused on school. And later my heart wasn’t into it and...”

His hands flutter, and I take them gently. I wait for his eyes to open.

“You should have told me.”

He squirms from my arms, and I flinch. “So you could feel more guilty about the green card? I-I didn’t want that.”

“I could have made everything more special.”

“It was special.” His voice is soft, but my heart thuds.

I want to hold him in my arms, kiss him, and show him just how special he is in every way I can.

But I’m straight. But this isn’t the first time I’ve thought about pulling Oskar into my arms.

There’s no one telling us to kiss.