The next thing I knew, I was sliding on my ass and my head was thumping against the floor.
I blinked a few times, then felt the dull, spikey throb of pain start to pulse from under my scalp.
“You okay?” Chris called through the door. “Did you just fall?”
“I’m alive!” I shouted. “Don’t come in. I’m not decent.”
“Me either, it’s okay.” The door swung open, and Chris half-jogged toward me. He knelt, then frowned when he saw where I was touching my scalp.
“I told you not to come in,” I groaned.
“Yeah, well, you can yell at me later when you’ve got some frozen peas on your head. Plus, I’ve already seen everything you’ve got to offer. There are no secrets between us anymore, wifey.”
I let out a low, half-laughing moan. “Please don’t start calling me that.”
“Already started.”
I flinched when he scooped me up and carried me to the couch. He set me down, then threw a blanket over me.
“I don’t have hypothermia. I just hit my head.”
“Sorry. Saw the hard nipples through that t-shirt and figured it was either the cold or me. I didn’t want to make assumptions, but it’s good to know I still get you going.”
With an obnoxious wink, he went to my fridge and rooted around. “Do I even want to know what a sane person is doing with three different kinds of pickle jars in her fridge? Are you eating these, or are you way lonelier than I thought?”
“Some are for snacking. Some are for sandwiches. And some are for relish.”
“Well,” he said, coming back toward me with a chilled jar of dill pickles. “Your horribly under-stocked fridge only had this to offer. He stuck the jar toward me, waiting for me to grab it. “What?” he asked when I didn’t take them right away.
“I feel like my uncle just stuck his finger out and asked me to pull it.”
“Come on. I’m not that predictable, am I?”
Reluctantly, I took the pickles.
“I wish I could say this was the first time you got your hands all over my pickle.”
I sighed. “They aren’t even your pickles. Terrible joke.”
“You could do better?”
As if he owned the place, Chris hopped on the couch by my feet, making himself comfortable. He was wearing a t-shirt with his name on it and the little logo of his silhouette winding up for a pass that was on all the Chris Rose gear.
“I could, but I’m not about to lower myself to your level.” I adjusted the blanket with my free hand, making sure I wasn’t flashing my underwear at him. I also pulled it up to cover my nipples. And even if he was right about why they were hard, he was still an asshole for pointing it out. I couldn’t help it if my nipples hardened at the slightest hint of arousal.
“I’m serious,” he said. “Try to make me laugh. And being yourself doesn’t count.”
“Ha. Ha,” I said dryly. “And you can’t just tell someone to make you laugh on command. I’m not a stand-up comic.”
“No kidding. Use a prop then. Give me your best ‘this guy just handed me a pickle jar’ joke.”
I shook my head. “This is dumb.”
“Dumb is fun. Try it.”
“I don’t know? Were these the biggest pickles you could find?”
Chris winced. “Wow, yeah. You really aren’t very funny, are you? Try to think more like a middle schooler. Channel your inner ridiculousness.”
“Sorry, it’s a little hard to think straight when I’ve got your pickles on my mind.”
He cracked a smile, then let out a genuine laugh. “Stupid, but I like it.”
I gave him a small smile in return. “You know, you’re not anything like I would’ve imagined. I mean, from seeing you on TV. I would’ve pictured you being more like your brother. All growls and death glares.”
“My brother doesn’t know how to have fun. I do.”
“Maybe you’re too good at having fun. That’s why you’re in this mess of a fake engagement in the first place.”
“And yet the solution to my problem is turning out to be fun.” He gave my foot a little wiggle, but I kicked him away.
I’d been smiling, but I felt the humor drain away. “This isn’t normal. At all. You realize that, right? I mean, you’re paying me to pretend to be with you.”
“And?”
“And—wait,” I tilted my chin to the side. “Why were you knocking on my door in the first place?”
“Oh, right.” Chris dug in his back pocket and pulled out a box. He hopped off the couch and got on one knee, clearing his throat. “Will you be my pretend wife and make me the happiest fake-ly engaged man in New York?”
I plucked the ring out of the box. “Is this a different ring than the one you gave Mindy?”
Chris shrugged. “Couldn’t find her to get the ring back, so I grabbed this after practice yesterday.”