Rule #3: Never Fake Marry the Coach’s Son (Hockey Rules #3)

CHAPTER THREE

D mitri

Music thumps through Finn and Noah’s apartment, and puck bunnies swarm the space in their slinky, glittery dresses. My teammates recount our latest win, embellishing details until the women practically drag them to their apartments.

Finn still throws a great party, even if he’s wildly devoted to his husband. They dance in a corner, staring at each other as if they’ve just handed each other the moon.

I make my way through the dancing women and the eruption of high-pitched giggles and baritone chuckles, clutching my tumbler. I might be at a party, but partying is the last thing I feel like doing. Some people carry plates of Mexican food. Burritos and nachos, things I won’t find in Russia.

I plop onto the leather sofa and stare at Boston Harbor. Lights twinkle over the water. The sky is clear and perfect, no large cumulus objects separating me from the stars light-years away.

Beside me, Luke’s boyfriend Sebastian is curled on Luke’s lap. Clearly, I’m not in Russia yet.

“Hi, handsome.” Madison, Finn’s neighbor, topples beside me, filling my world with her thick floral scent.

She sprawls, rearranging her long, slender legs and red-backed stilettos.

I grin at the display of perfectly shaped flesh. “Nice heels.”

“Enjoying the party?” Her voice is sultry and sexy, and she flicks her long dark lashes up. A smirk plays on her lips.

We both know what’s coming next.

This is where I say the party’s a bit too noisy, and this is when she reminds me that she has a whole quiet apartment on the other side of the wall.

We’ve done this before.

Madison is always ready for a good time, something I’m normally a strong proponent of.

I don’t say it though. Something tightens in my chest.

I can’t stop thinking about anything except my return home.

The door opens, and more guests flock into the apartment, followed by Oskar. The light settles on his navy velvet blazer, and I notice the moment another guy’s eyes flare, and he saunters toward him.

The guy is tall and blond, and I hate him at once. My veins bubble, and my eyes narrow. I may as well be on the ice, observing a player on the other side move too close to the puck.

I down the rest of my drink. The bourbon burns me in its customary manner. Normally, I drink vodka, but this is a night for American alcohol.

Madison slides her feet into my lap, her red-manicured toenails wriggling. My eyes widen, but she’s chattering about her heels and something about needing a foot rub, the kind only I can give, and I realize she’s been talking about this the whole time.

My gaze drifts to Oskar again. He’s still talking to that guy. And that guy is now handing him a tumbler of some sort of amber liquid.

This time I glare.

I slide Madison’s feet off my legs. “Sorry.”

Her cheeks redden, and since she probably hasn’t applied blush in the last two seconds, I guess I’ve embarrassed her. I have more important things to do now than to assure her that I absolutely enjoy having her put her feet on my lap.

This is no time for complimenting women, even a gorgeous one.

“I need to go,” I say then march toward Oskar.

I’m vaguely aware of startled gazes swinging my way, and maybe you’re not supposed to walk in between people having conversations, but I only stop when I’m in front of Oskar.

“Hi Oskar.” My smile is tight.

“Dmitri. How are you?” His eyes are round and worried, and I’m pretty sure he’s thinking about my visa.

He doesn’t need to think about me. He should be thinking about how he’s not supposed to accept drinks from strange men.

“I don’t know you,” I tell the strange man.

“Um, Dmitri, this is Blaine.”

“I’m a friend of Sebastian’s,” Blaine says, thrusting out his hand.

I glare at it.

Blaine’s face pales, and his gaze darts to Oskar.

Are they already doing silent communication, couple style? I glower. This guy is so not inserting himself into Oskar’s life. I haven’t left the country yet.

Oskar gives a weak laugh. “Dmitri had a bad day.”

“Ah.” Blaine barely pretends to care.

“Well, you’re about to have a bad night.”

Blaine’s eyebrows swerve upward. “Sorry?”

“You sound Canadian.”

He brightens. “That’s right. I’m from London. Not London, UK, of course. London, Ontario. It’s near Toronto...”

“Boring.” I take Oskar’s drink and pour it onto a burrito-smudged plate.

“Hey!” Oskar says. “Why did you do that?”

“It might be dangerous if I tossed it into a plant. And the kitchen is too far away.”

He blinks. “I was drinking that.”

I grin. “Not anymore.”

“But—” Oskar’s eyelashes flicker upward, and his eyes are wide and concerned. Pink spreads over his cheeks, the color they get when he’s embarrassed or angry or has any emotion except complete calm.

Blaine shifts his legs from side to side.

I snort. “You’re still here?”

Blaine stiffens, then stalks away.

“Why did you do that?” Oskar asks. “He was talking to me!”

“He was flirting with you,” I clarify. “He brought you a drink!”

“And now I’m missing a drink.”

I shrug and usher him to the black marble island, now an impromptu bar. I pour Oskar a drink and hand it to him. “Here you go.”

He takes it reluctantly. “Dmitri, I’m an adult. He can flirt with me.”

“He could have put something inside that drink!”

“He knows Sebastian. I don’t think he’s going to roofie me.”

“He might! He got your trust! There’s more than one bedroom in this place Oskar. You shouldn’t be naive. Next thing you know, you’re in a locked room, and he’s pulling down your pants and spreading your cheeks!”

Oskar’s mouth drops open. “People are staring.”

I look around. “You’re right.” I clear my throat. “No one should leave their drinks unattended. Public announcement.”

“My drink wasn’t unattended,” Oskar hisses. “I was holding it!”

“You didn’t pour it yourself!”

God, normally Oskar is smarter than this.

“Didn’t they teach you anything at Harvard?”

He glowers at me, and I fling my hands up.

“You are embarrassing me,” he says.

I frown at him. “I’m sorry. But who’s going to keep you safe when I’m—”

His eyes soften. “I’m sorry. I—”

He doesn’t finish the sentence because there’s nothing that can be said. There’s nothing he can say that can change what’s going to happen.

He chews on his bottom lip. “Want to get out of here? My apartment is quieter.”

I nod. “Yeah. That sounds great actually.”

I grab my coat from the closet, then wrap Oskar in his. Blaine glares at me from across the room, and I smirk, then usher Oskar toward the door.

“That was one minute,” Oskar says. “I was at the party for one minute.”

“Was bad minute,” I say. “That man liked you.”

His eyelashes flutter down, and his nostrils flare. He looks like he’s counting, but when he speaks, it’s not to recite numbers to me. “Let’s get on the elevator.”

I follow Oskar. His apartment is in Seaport, like mine, though we’re in different buildings. Seaport is filled with modern high rises.

The elevator pings, and we walk across the lobby.

“Leaving already?” the guard calls to Oskar, and I frown.

“That’s your fault,” I remind him, in case he forgot.

Oskar rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything. He strides through the lobby, not stopping for small talk.

Then we’re out in the crisp January cold. Piles of snow lie inelegantly on various sides of the building, some of it formed by snowplows. The snow glitters under the street lamps, the outer layer more ice than snow.

I double check that the ground is appropriately sanded and salted. I don’t want Oskar to fall. The sidewalks are safe, and we continue until we reach Oskar’s apartment. It’s less luxurious than Finn’s. The entry tiles are porcelain, not marble, the desk that the security guard sits at is less grand, and the walls are more soaring than super soaring.

“You’re annoying sometimes,” Oskar says, as we step into the non-marble elevator.

“You’re going to miss me.”

Oskar’s face crumples. “God, I’m going to miss you so much.”

I swallow hard.

The elevator pings, and we walk down the carpeted hallway to Oskar’s apartment. He flicks the switch open, and I wait for all the feelings of coziness to come to me. All the chillness.

But instead, I stiffen, and all I can think about is that I’m going to leave the US and that things aren’t right.

That’s not something Oskar can change though. I take off my coat, and since Oskar is still fiddling with his, I finish unbuttoning it and remove it.

His eyes widen, and he gasps, like I’ve done something strange, but of course I haven’t.

I slip off my shoes and collapse onto his couch. I close my eyes, waiting for the peacefulness to come, but my mind still races. I’m going back to Russia. I’ll be there soon. Soon, this will be a memory. I look around the room, wondering which pieces of furniture will disappear from my mind first, when I’ll forget the exact shade of gray paint on the walls, and when I’ll forget that the walls were gray at all.

Will I forget whether the sofa had room for two or three people? Will I forget the material? The color? The faux fur blanket on one end? I yank it toward me, and run my fingers over it, because I need to remember. I have to remember.

I glance at Oskar. Will there be a time when I forget the sound of his voice? His favorite phrases? His name? His last name?

I won’t. He’s coach’s son too.

But everything around me feels fragile.

Oskar rustles in the kitchen, then he plops down beside me and hands me a beer. “Good?”

“Yeah.” I take a long sip, but this is all wrong too. The sour bubbles tumble down my throat.

It’s good. It’s all good.

Oskar sits on the armchair, and I frown, because there’s plenty of room on the couch. I pat the cushion beside me. "Better view of the TV from here."

He nods and slips beside me. My shoulders ease, and I forget to turn on the TV.

I find myself dozing, and when I wake up, Oskar’s head is down. His long lashes flutter, and he looks soft and innocent, and I’m extra glad that I didn’t let that Canadian man hit on him.

I return to my apartment. God, I need to stay in the United States.

I scroll the immigration site like I have dozens of times before, as if a loophole will magically appear that none of my lawyers could find.

Then an idea hits me. A brilliant one. Because, well... I’m brilliant.

I put on my coat and shoes, then march from the apartment. This will fix everything.