Page 72 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son
There are no paparazzi.
No nosy reporters either.
But all I want is Oskar in my arms.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Oskar
Oh God, this was not supposed to happen.
Dmitri was not supposed to find out.
But he knows.
I open my side of the chest of drawers and remove my pajamas. When I turn to head to the bedroom, Dmitri is beside me. I jump.
“You’ve never slept with anyone?”
I draw back, my heart thumping. “It’s not important.”
Dmitri stares at me, his dark eyes intent. “Is very important. Is your happiness.”
“Other things make me happy, Dmitri.”
“Nothing makes anyone as happy as sex, Oskar.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that.” I turn away, blinking rapidly.
“I wish you’d told me.”
“So we could have had this conversation earlier?” My voice is too high, and my fingers flutter too much.
I’m not myself.
“But now you can’t sleep with anyone,” Dmitri says. “Because you’re married to me. You don’t even have memories of sleeping with anyone.”
Nausea rises in my throat. “You’ve been distracting yourself with memories of sleeping with other people?”
Dmitri’s mouth drops, then he shakes his head. “No. I haven’t. But that doesn’t mean—”
“What? When you asked me to help you, I should have said ‘no thank you, I don’t care about your situation’ because I haven’t had sex yet and don’t want to postpone it for another year?”
Dmitri clamps his mouth shut. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault. We divorce and you’ll be twenty-four-year-old virgin.”
“I’m helping you,” I say. “That’s enough for me.”
He gives me a tender smile that makes my heart ache. Then his eyes round. “I have idea.”
“What?”
“Is good idea,” he declares.
“Okay...”
“We can have sex.”
My jaw drops. Then I realize my mistake. I misheard.
