Page 73 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son

I frown. “And risk your green card application?”

“What does my green card application have to do with anything?”

Irritation moves through me.

He’s proposing this because he misses his hookups.

“It just takes a single news article to derail everything,” I say. “A single social media post.”

Understanding seems to flicker through his eyes, and for some reason his lips move upward, as if I’ve said something amusing.

I haven’t.

I’ve just reminded him that sleeping with people as a newlywed is the sort of thing that might get people to think that the marriage isn’t real, and that’s not the sort of thing I want them to think now.

“Oskar,” he says, his voice gentle.

“I’m serious,” I say. “I don’t want you to sleep with anyone else. It’s not right. I don’t want to tell you this, and yes, I do feel absolutely ridiculous, but I don’t want you to do this. I know how important staying in the US is for you, and...”

“When I said, we should have sex,” he says, his voice slow likes he’s taking to an infant in the middle of an English lesson, “I meant us. Together.”

My heart rate quickens, and I should probably say something, but I must have misheard. Because he definitely did not say that. No way.

His lips move in a sultry manner, and I can’t look at him. I am concocting things with my imagination. My brain has decided that it doesn’t like its normal life and to just instead go about and make up a brand new one.

Oh, God.

“Oskar,” Dmitri says, his voice low and way too appealing. “Don’t run.”

“But...”

“We already like kissing each other,” he says.

“We do?”

He blinks. “You don’t?”

“I-I like kissing you.” My chest tightens, and my tongue feels too thick for my mouth, but when I finally meet his eyes, they’re filled with warmth.

“Same,” he murmurs.

His voice is deep, and my cells zing, as if they want to crawl up beside him.

I stare into his eyes but then force myself to look away. My heart beats wildly, and I have to remind myself not to do something ridiculous like kiss him.

Because Dmitri is straight. And he kisses beautiful, experienced people.

He doesn’t want me. Not really. Not when no one before has claimed me.

I’m not going to make our friendship more awkward, and it’s already pretty amazingly awkward now. I’m not going to test it to the limits. I’m not going to crawl into bed with him...well, not to do anything besides actual sleeping.

I inhale. “That’s nice of you, but...”

He frowns. “No?”

My eyes widen. “No.”

He nods. “No.” Then he takes my hands and pulls me toward him. I stiffen when I realize he’s going for the bed, but when he sits down on the edge, and ushers me into his arms, I slip onto his lap.