Page 25 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son
We’re doing this together. I’m not alone.
I flew to the US from Russia, the only Russian on the Blizzards. And even though Oskar is not on the team, we grew close after he joined the Blizzards staff. He understood being new to the US in a way no one else did. I don’t want to return to Russia, and now, because of Oskar I won’t have to. He fixed what the expensive immigration lawyer couldn’t.
The marriage officiant begins to speak, and I smile at Oskar.
God, this is our wedding.
Emotions surge through me, and I study Oskar’s face, my gaze bouncing from his high cheekbones to his full pink lips and the way they tremble, to his large eyes that seem to be landing on my lips again and again.
Almost as if...
Right. The kiss. This is a wedding. We’re supposed to kiss. Obviously he’s thinking about that. Oskar thinks about everything.
“I now pronounce you husband and husband,” the officiant declares with a beam.
My heart speeds up. I never thought I would be here, standing in a wedding chapel, about to kiss my best friend. I never thought someone would be willing to reshape their life for me. Even when this ends, we’ll be connected forever together.
“You may now kiss,” the officiant says.
Oskar steps away and does some sort of half giggle and shake of the head to the officiant. “We, um...” He clears his throat. “We don’t—”
The smile disappears from the officiant’s face, and confusion sits in her eyes.
Does Oskar think that I won’t kiss him? On our wedding day?
I pull him close, feeling his slender frame align with mine. We’ve sat together countless times, but this is different. I feel his heartbeat against my chest. His elegant fingers curl against my shoulders. His lashes flutter up, uncertainty creasing his brow.
God, this is our wedding.
Of course, it comes with a kiss.
When this ends and I have my green card, I don’t want him remembering that his first husband wouldn’t even kiss him.
I cup his cheek, tilting his face up to mine. His skin is warm silk under my palm.
“You don’t have to,” he whispers, breath feathering against my lips.
“I know,” I say, because of course we could walk out.
He quivers in my arms, and I run my hands along his slender back because maybe I can ease some of his worry. I glance into his eyes to make sure he doesn’t have a problem with kissing me. But his gaze is trusting, almost wondrous, and I run my hand through his short hair.
I brush my lips against his, waiting until he parts them. There’s no way Oskar is getting just a peck on his wedding day.
I trace the seam of his lips with my tongue, like I’ve done hundreds of times before, with hundreds of willing women. He doesn’t smell like department store perfume. He smells masculine. His body is hard instead of soft and curved and pliant. But then I’ve seen him in the gym. I know his compact frame is composed of muscular planes, even if they’re less developed and bulging than the team players. They don’t need to be. He just needs to be healthy, because I want him to have a happy, long life.
He gasps softly against my mouth, the sound barely audible—but I hear it. When I suck his lower lip, his tongue meets mine and electricity shoots through me. My cells dance. But then, I have a warm body in my arms. His tongue doesn’t move at once, as if I’ve managed to take his breath away, as if he’s inexperienced. As if no one’s kissed him this way before.
I smile against his mouth, because life is super strange, but now I’m going to be staying in the US, and everything is wonderful.
I dip him downward, because if I’m going to do something, I’m going to make it fantastic.
And kissing Oskar...God, it’s easy to make it super good. Holding him in my arms, moving my tongue against his, is great. Natural. Maybe because we know each other so well.
When Oskar’s waist is parallel to the ground, I realize this is probably enough. I straighten us both and find his eyes glazed, lips pink and parted.
I’m grateful to him. No wonder electricity thrums through my veins.
CHAPTER TEN
