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"Thank you," I say, my cheeks turning pink. "But why? You didn't have to do this."
"I wanted to," he says simply. And then his tone turns more serious. "I also wanted to discuss something important with you," he says, looking slightly nervous, which isn't like him at all.
"Okay. What is it?"
He takes a deep breath and looks into my apartment. "Um, may I...?"
"Sure. Of course," I say, stepping aside to let him in.
As he walks past me, I catch a whiff of his familiar cologne—the scent of pine and sandalwood that I've always loved, and my heart does a little flip.
I close the door behind us and follow him as he removes his shoes and heads into the living room where he sets the bag and chocolate bar on the coffee table.
He turns to face me, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his slacks. He's still in his white collared shirt, jacket and tie. Meanwhile, I'm in my Christmas pajamas with a messy bun on top of my head.
I gesture towards the couch, hastily moving a pile of magazines off of it. "What's so urgent that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?"
He sits down, rubbing his hands together. "Okay, straight to the point. I have a proposition for you—one that involves a little business, a bit of risk, and a lot of lasagna."
I cross my arms and raise an eyebrow. "You’ve got my attention...but you'd better start talking before I decide you're just here to try and distract me from my peaceful evening."
"Fair enough. Here goes nothing."
I plop down on the couch opposite him, tucking my feet under me. "Okay, Mr. Mysterious. What's this all about?"
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and locks eyes with me. "I want us to pretend to be in a relationship."
"Oh, good one. What's the punchline?"
"No punchline. I’m serious, Gabi. It's just for the playoffs. We help each other out, and then we go back to normal."
My phone dings, and I glance down to see a text from Nonna Chiara. "You know who's a good-looking man? George Clooney. The man could smell like a bag of last week's garlic, and I'd still take him."
Oh, perfect timing, Nonna.
I quickly type back. "Nonna Chiara, are you drinking again? ?? It's almost midnight."
"Who are you texting?" Jacob asks, leaning over to see my phone.
"Just a friend. So, back to this crazy idea of yours..."
"It's not crazy. Hear me out. We both know how much pressure there is on professional athletes when it comes to relationships and public image. It could really help both of us if we're seen together during the playoffs. I'd look like a family man, getting on the straight and narrow. And you'd be able to get rid of that rumor about me and George Corso's wife. PR crisis averted. A win-win situation."
I tilt my head, considering his proposal. "Hm, I see your point. But what about the actual playoffs? You know, the part where you and the team have to actually win games?"
"That's where it gets even better.” He holds up a finger. “We'll make a deal. You help me focus and play at my best during the games, and I'll be the perfect media darling. I'll handle all the media attention and public appearances."
I squint at him suspiciously. "And what do I get out of this?"
"Besides saving my reputation? I'll owe you one."
"Knowing you, that could be a dangerous thing.”
"Hey now, have some faith in me. I promise, I'll be on my best behavior." He glances down at my baby bump, exhaling slowly. "And I mean, another added bonus? I'll be around. I can help you...help you out with the baby stuff."
I raise an eyebrow, trying not to let his words affect me. "The baby stuff? Like what?"
"Whatever you need. Setting up the nursery, picking out strollers, you know, all that typical dad stuff."
