Page 56 of Rule 3: Never Fake Marry the Coach's Son
When his phone buzzes, he leaps for it. In the next moment, he’s speaking to his mother about visiting for family dinner and bringing me. I listen to him chatter, watch his shoulders lessen in tension, and see him throw his head back as he laughs at whatever his mother is saying.
Maybe I’m not supposed to watch someone have a phone conversation, and I pull my gaze away.
I’m going to family dinner with Oskar.
And the last time I saw his dad, he punched me.
When Oskar hangs up the phone, I pull him toward me. His blue eyes widen.
“Dmitri?” His brows dart upward.
I should probably let go of his wrist.
I don’t.
“So, um, how do I impress your mother?”
“You want to impress my mother.”
“I mean, I really didn’t impress your dad. She’s sort of my last hope.”
His pink lips swerve upward. “She’ll like you.”
“Oh yeah?”
“She married a hockey player too.”
“You did not just compare me to your dad.”
His eyes round, then his mouth. “Um, no way. I mean, your hair is darker, and your voice is...”
“Is?”
“Nicer?” His cheeks pinken together, but I just nod. Of course my voice is nicer.
“You compared us,” I say. “So tragic. You know what happens now?”
He shakes his head.
“Punishment!” Then I pull him toward me and tickle him until he’s writhing below me, and his blue eyes are dancing, and his tenor voice is squealing beneath me and all I can smell is his sweet skin.
My cock hardens, and I release Oskar.
Shit.
His eyes round. “Is something wrong?”
I give a wobbly smile. “You won this time.”
He raises his arms in a victory pose, like he’s Charles de Gaulle or something, then he bounds away. I quickly adjust myself, because I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to get hard from tickling someone.
My heart thunders.Strange.
Maybe it’s been too long since I slept with someone. That’s probably it. Nothing more. Obviously.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Oskar
