Page 82 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son

“I really like you,” I say, water droplets clinging to my eyelashes. “You know that?”

He nods, but something’s still off.

I love him actually. Have for longer than I care to admit.

But I’m not going to spring that on him while we’re rushing to work. Instead, I squirt shampoo into my palm and look up at his towering frame.

“This would be easier if you were shorter,” I grumble.

Finally, he smiles. “Is not husband duty to shampoo other husband.”

“No? I didn’t read the booklet.” I stretch up on my toes and work the shampoo through his thick dark hair until it’s full of foam. A grin spreads across my face.

“What’s so funny?”

“Now I know what you’ll look like when you’re old.”

His mouth drops.

My mouth drops.

Shit.

I did not just sleep with someone for the first time, then talk about getting old together. I spin away, promptly slipping on the wet tile.

Dmitri instantly steadies me. “Good?”

“Uh-huh.” My voice squeaks as water streams into my eyes. I wipe it away, trying to act like a functional adult who showers regularly.

“My turn,” Dmitri says, pulling me closer. His strong fingers massage shampoo into my scalp, and I melt into his touch.

I’m pretty sure that my hair does not need to be shampooed the length of time he dedicates to it, and when I open my eyes, he’s staring at me.

“Now I know what you’ll look like when you’re old.”

My heart thuds.

I’m suddenly aware that I’m stark naked and standing in front of the man I care about the most. He runs soapy hands over my body, and after a moment’s hesitation, I do the same.

God, I can’t believe I’m touching him. My fingers trace the hard planes of his torso, mapping broad shoulders built from years of sending pucks flying across the ice. The hot water has turned his skin pink, steam rising between us.

“Time to rinse.” He pulls me closer to him, and I close my eyes, just in case he can see the worry and admiration and hero-worship reverberating in them.

Maybe we’re married. Maybe we did physical things together I never imagined us doing. But that doesn’t mean he has to know all my secrets.

Because this thing between us is going to end. Either we’ll fail at convincing the government to let him stay, and my heart will be broken, and he’ll have to move to the other side of the world, or we will be successful: and I’ll have to wait for him to begin divorce proceedings and see him with the person he actually wants to be with and live his happily ever after without me.

I keep my eyes closed.

But then Dmitri’s hands run through my hair as he rinses me, and finally I feel him feather kisses on my temple, then my lips. I deepen the kiss, because maybe I can forget all the reasons why this is temporary, why all of this will dissolve into a memory, one in which I won’t be sure if he behaved tenderly or not.

“Is okay,” Dmitri murmurs, and maybe he can read my sadness. “Is okay, Oskar.”

Then he turns off the shower, bundles me in a robe that is far too big for me, and dries my hair.

We rush through getting dressed, then head to the arena. His hand finds mine during the drive, staying there longer than any driving instructor would deem strictly proper.

Finally, the arena appears, modern and flashy. Dmitri parks, and we head to our separate sections. He goes with the athletes, the warriors, the people who bring the whole audience in, while I go to my office and my papers and my admin.