Page 33 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son
Thankfully, she doesn’t do any of those things.
I nod to myself one too many times, and she snorts and shakes her head.
This is a normal day. Perfectly normal. Just like what I did last night was also perfectly normal. I mean, people get married every day.
Obviously, most of those people love each other. Or at least don’t sleep in separate rooms on their wedding night. And also don’t break US laws to get married.
God, I never even handed in papers late at school. And now when I’m flaunting rules, it’s against the US government?
I don’t regret it of course. I just—God, I just hope it goes okay.
Which it will.
Dmitri needed a US spouse, and that’s me.
I inhale, just like my breath app on my phone recommends I do when things get stressful.
Daniela shoots me a glance. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, my voice too sharp.
It’s the sort of voice that other people might use when they’re about to burst into tears, something I don’t plan on doing since this is an office environment. And because I’m in my twenties, not lower single digits.
“Dmitri arrived late too.”
“Oh?” I go for innocent.
It doesn’t work.
“Did you two have a fight?”
“What? No! Never... I could never...”
Her eyes have that sympathetic look that is on too many faces whenever I mention Dmitri.
“I know crushes are normal,” Daniela says, “but this seems to be getting in the way of your work.”
“I’m fine. I don’t have a crush.”
She gives me a hard stare. “So you don’t think his gaze is broody, and his chest is wide, and the way that his t-shirts stretch over his pectoral muscles is interesting?”
“No!”
“You don’t think his accent is dreamy?”
“Um...”
Daniela gives me another one of her stares. “You’re smitten. You shouldn’t lie to me.”
“His gaze isn’t broody around me!” I exclaim.
She sighs. “He’s straight, Oskar. He’s very, very straight. He goes to bars all the time. If he wanted to sleep with men, he would. Plenty of men-appreciating men would be happy to appreciate him. Ever since Finn and Noah got married, the sports bars are filled with gay and bisexual men. He’s never indicated the slightest interest in men.”
Each sentence slams against my chest as if she’s suddenly turned into a knife-wielding maniac, and from the sympathetic smile she shoots me, she’s fully aware of the fact.
God. A knife-wielding, sympathetic maniac.
And I’m a virgin. Even if he decided he was curious or something, he wouldn’t pick me. And if he was curious... he would have told me.
