Chapter 23
PIPER
“They totally break up after the movie,” Nash says.
“They do not!” I exclaim. “Chelsea and Logan were literally made for each other.”
I convinced Nash to watch this new romcom that Hallie recommended to me. He’s wearing a pair of athletic shorts and a white t-shirt that he looks irrationally good in, and we’ve spent the last two hours watching the movie on his couch, while eating a frozen pizza.
“They have nothing in common.”
“Uh, they love each other,” I counter. “That’s the deepest thing in common you can have with someone.”
“Delusional,” Nash deadpans.
I’m so outraged that my fake husband was impervious to the feet-kicking, swoony love story that we just watched together that I can’t help grabbing a throw pillow and swatting him with it.
“You don’t believe in love!” I accuse, unable to hold back giggles.
Nash grabs the pillow in his clutches, and we struggle over it for a second.
His lips tick into a fraction of a smile, a twinkle of amusement lighting in his amber eyes.
I think about tugging at the pillow harder, turning this into a wrestling match he’d obviously win, ending up on the ground, his big and powerful frame hanging over me …
Which is why I let the pillow go, because Nash and I don’t have that kind of relationship, and skating even close to a line like that is a recipe for disaster.
“I believe in love that makes sense,” Nash says, tossing the pillow over my lap to where it was.
“Love isn’t supposed to make sense. Hey! Don’t roll your eyes at me!”
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that a notoriously anti-social grump who’d gladly jump into a fake marriage just to make some extra money from brand sponsorships doesn’t have a hopeless romantic’s view of love.
I click my tongue, shaking my head. “Can’t even watch a cute romcom without my husband’s cynical commentary.”
“I’ll keep my rational, accurate judgments to myself next time.”
Next time? He actually wants to do this again, watch a movie with me on the couch before we go to sleep? I find myself looking forward to the next opportunity we’ll have. I guess there will be a lot of them. We’re living together now.
Exhaustion suddenly hits me. I yawn. “I put the air mattress in the closet. I’m going to inflate it for the night and get some sleep,” I say, getting up from the couch.
“The closet, huh? Nope, pretty sure it’s not there. You’ll have to take the bed.”
I quirk a suspicious eyebrow at Nash as I walk to the closet. I’m positive I put it in here earlier after buying it from a department store in Austin.
Nope, it’s not here. I turn to Nash with my lips pressed. “Nash, what did you do with it?”
“Do with what?” he asks.
“Nash,” I reprimand. Did he seriously get rid of my air mattress?
He stretches his legs on the couch, placing a pillow behind his head. “I sleep on the couch half the time anyway. Enjoy the bed.”
“That’s sad if true,” I quip. Nash is too young and hot to be living like some middle-aged, divorced dad, sleeping on his couch alone in his house in the middle of nowhere.
Nash grins, getting comfortable. “Don’t judge me, wife.”
“You know, you have to let me win some arguments,” I say, propping a hand on my hip. “Marriage is about balance.”
“I’ll let you win every argument except the ones where you don’t want me to do something nice for you. You’re losing every one of those. Now get out of here and let me sleep, I’m tired from the flight.”
I huff and roll my eyes, but end up having a great night of sleep in my husband’s bed.