Page 55 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son
Uneasiness slithers through me. “I see.”
He rises. “I should do some work.”
“You’re not in the office, Oskar.”
“I want a head start for tomorrow.”
“But—”
“Are you going to say what I do isn’t important?”
I shake my head quickly. I know better than that.
“These questions are important too,” I say finally.
He sighs, and his long lashes flutter down. He rakes a hand through his silky blond curls, and his soft, full lips transform into a pout. “Do you want to talk about your past relationships?”
“Is on paper. Is not desire.”
“What should I know?” he asks finally.
“Nothing was serious,” I say. “You’re the first person I lived with.”
He gives me a weak smile. “There was that woman you took to Isaiah’s wedding last year.”
“Rebecca.”
“And you were pretty close with Madison,” he says.
“Just casual,” I say. “You know how it is.”
His face whitens, and he shoots me another one of those wobbly smiles I absolutely despise.
“We weren’t close,” I say. “Not really.”
“Who were you close with?”
I frown.
“Have you been in love?”
I open my mouth. Then shut it.
“I don’t have a tragic love story in my past, Oskar. I met lots of nice women that I had lots of nice times with. Is simple.”
“Oh.” His brow remains wrinkled.
Should I have been in love with someone before? That’s normal too, isn’t it? But I’ve seen Finn and Noah, Luke and Sebastian, Vinnie and Evan.
And what I’ve had with the people I dated... well, it wasn’t that. My past relationships were about having fun. About having sex and going to events together. They never lasted long. The women I chose weren’t expecting a forever with me, just stories they could tell their friends. I was one of a string of pro athletes, and I’m pretty sure they were waiting for the doctor or finance guy who had a job that would make money over the coming decades. I’m in my prime, and once I’m sent back to Russia, it will be over.
I’ll be through with the NHL, through with my life here. Through with my friends, through with the job I love, through with spending time with Oskar.
“Is okay if you don’t want to talk about your past relationships,” I say.
Oskar nods, but for some reason his eyes dart away in a manner that I might term guilty.
But that doesn’t make sense.
