Page 54 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son
God. I’ve broken Rule # Super Important about being gay: don’t fall in love with a straight man.
I avoid eye contact and sit down. The screen blurs together, and I can still feel the spot where Dmitri pressed his lips against my cheek.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Dmitri
Oskar and I perch on opposite sides of the sofa. I extend my hand, and he passes me the folded paper. I smooth out the creases with careful fingers.
“What was our first date?”
Oskar scrunches his forehead. “I guess we could make it anything.”
“We had lunch in Colorado,” I say. “That was the first time we hung out.”
“Yes, but we can’t go back that far. We have to have them think we’ve been secretly dating.”
“That restaurant in New Hampshire?” I suggest. “When there was all the snow?”
He nods, jotting it down.
I lean over his shoulder and read the next line. “Tell me about your past relationships.”
Pink stains his cheeks, and slime sludges through my veins. I don’t want to hear about his past relationships. Don’t want to imagine him with other people, being cherished, being loved. Don’t want to see that faraway look in his eyes that means he’s thinking about someone else
He hesitates. Maybe he’s wondering which relationship to describe first. How many relationships has he had?
None since I’ve known him.
I think.
He hasn’t talked about his relationships with me, but then I haven’t spoken about my relationships with him. I’ve definitely had relationships in the three years since I first met Oskar, but speaking about whichever woman currently was on my arm seemed like a waste when I could be speaking with him about more interesting things.
Who was he dating at Harvard? I picture him arm-in-arm with men in bowties discussing biochemistry. They probably came from wealthy families that sail the Mediterranean and learn languages for fun. They probably never had to push their bodies to physical limits to escape a repressive regime. And they definitely never worried about being sent far away from everything they love.
“I don’t think that answer is necessary,” Oskar says finally.
Something thuds in my chest.
“I thought you were taking this seriously,” I say.
“I am.”
“I should know who your past relationships were with,” I say. “Is something husband should know.”
Oskar shifts on the couch. He pulls his legs away from me, and I hate it. I want to drag them back to where they were, so his calves touch mine.
“You’re not a real husband.”
The words shouldn’t hurt. I know that. They shouldn’t detonate through my body like an explosion.
“We’ll tell them we don’t believe in sharing that information,” he says. “Tell them that the only relationship that matters is our relationship.”
I stare at him. “Seriously?”
“Uh-huh.” He nods firmly at the dark television screen, avoiding my eyes. I cross my arms. “No.”
He turns to me. His mouth drops, then he quickly moves his gaze away from me. He’s focusing again on the TV, even though it’s currently just a dark screen. “I refuse.”
