CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
D mitri
Oskar is acting strangely, and I want to end this day as fast as I can. Maybe when we wake up there won’t be this strangeness between us. Maybe then he’ll just be my best friend, just like normal. It’s normal that things would feel strange after we move in together as husband and husband. That’s all.
I take off my shirt, and Oskar’s eyes grow round as pucks, and he shuffles backward.
My chest tightens. “Is there problem, Oskar?”
“Problem?” His voice cracks. “No problem.”
“You are backing away.”
“Well, you’re half-naked.”
I glance down at my chest, where a few dark hairs curl against my skin. “But you are guy too. Nothing scary about me.”
As I slide down my pants, he turns away and bolts from the room, the door frame of the bathroom rattling in his wake.
When he returns, his cheeks flushed pink, I ask, “Is a Swedish thing?”
His throat bobs. “What do you mean?”
“No nudity in Sweden?”
“Um... They’re not Puritans there.”
I nod. I know that word. Massachusetts history is all about Puritans.
The awkwardness follows us to bed. Oskar changes in the bathroom, and when he emerges in flannel pajamas, he approaches the bed with a pained expression more similar to people walking the plank.
“Is very nice mattress,” I assure him, patting the memory foam. “Medium firm.”
“That’s nice.” His gaze darts everywhere but at me, even though I’m way more interesting to look at than the wall or whatever else he could be focusing on.
Finally, he slides under the covers. I mean, I think he’s in the bed. He’s pretty thin, and the mattress doesn’t dip or anything. I roll over to look at him, and yes, there he is. He moves back, and I frown. I raise my torso to check something .
Yep, he’s totally squished at the very end of his side of the mattress.
“You can move closer,” I say.
“Um...”
“It’s just me.”
For some reason, he only looks more panicked when I say that. “I’m comfortable.”
“You’re going to roll off if you get any closer to the edge.”
“I like it,” he says. “It’s, um, airy.”
I roll my eyes, then I sigh and pull him toward me. I pat his pillow. “Put your head on that.”
He does so obediently.
“See? Isn’t that better?”
“I guess,” he says, but his voice doesn’t sound normal.
“We’ve slept beside each other before,” I remind him.
“We’ve never slept together!”
I stare.
He blushes.
“I mean—”
“On the plane,” I remind him. “How many times have you fallen asleep against me?”
“I have?” I hate the horror in his voice.
I nod. “You’re very cuddly. Just pretend we’re on a plane.”
“Okay,” he says, but his voice still sounds strained.
I sigh and pull him toward me, wrapping him into a hug. His breath only quickens, which is so not the point of my hugs. He flips so he’s facing the ceiling, and we lie side by side, contemplating the dark ceiling.
“I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”
“It’s fine,” he says, but whatever has caused the distance between us can’t possibly be fine.
We spend too long being quiet, and even though his breath has stilled, I’m not sure if he’s just feigning sleep.
Finally, I wake up. At some point in the night I pulled him into my arms. He rests his head against my chest, and I inhale his scent, no longer masked by cologne, but just him. A slew of gold rests on my chest, and for a moment, I raise my hand to brush my fingers through his hair, then I remember that he’s a guy and that’s not something I do.
A wave of tenderness moves through me all the same, and I hate the moment my alarm goes off and he springs from my arms, his cheeks red and eyes wide, murmuring apologies.
“Sorry!” His long lashes flutter up, and he rakes a hand through his blond curls. “I-I didn’t mean to...”
“Is fine.”
He pulls the covers up in a suspicious move that I totally recognize.
“Want to use the bathroom first?” I ask.
He yawns. “I’ll just wait. You can go.”
“Uh-huh.”
He casts another nervous glance toward the blankets strewn over his lap, and my lips twitch.
“You have erection,” I say.
His eyes widen. His mouth drops.
“Is something that happens in mornings, Oskar. No big deal.”
Pink descends over his face. He shuffles the blankets around.
I sigh. I won’t have him be uncomfortable.
“Look.” I remove the blanket. “I have one too.”
He turns to me, and his breath catches audibly.
“You’re showing me your...” He doesn’t finish the sentence.
“Is covered by pajama pants,” I explain, gesturing to the gray cotton, “but you get the point.”
His gaze remains fixed downward at my bulge. “Yes, I get the point.”
I smile, trying to ease the tension. “See, you don’t have to worry. We’re both men.”
“But...”
“Is biology, Oskar. Happens every morning. Besides, you were lying in my arms.”
His cheeks flame again.
Shit.
That wasn’t what I wanted to say. Now he’s stressed again.
“If I’d had a problem, I could have woken you up,” I say. “Or slid you from my arms.”
“You were awake before the alarm went off?”
“Uh-huh.” I step from the covers. Oskar’s eyes flare, before he studies his palms, but I don’t mind. The man is gay, and I’m highly attractive.
It would be strange if he didn’t look from time to time.
“Big day ahead of us,” I call out, padding toward the bathroom.