The Marriage Contract

he got out some plates and made dishes for the both of us. I was only a couple of bites into the pasta and red sauce when I realized I hadn’t eaten something this good in a long time. I looked over at the bag, but it didn’t have a logo on it.
“What restaurant is this?” I asked, tucking my bare feet under me on his couch. We’d skipped the dining room table in favor of the couch so we could get a start on marathoning a new show neither of us had seen yet.
“Dino’s down on Fourth,” he said. “Best Italian food I’ve ever had that my mama didn’t make.”
“It is delicious,” I agreed. “Good wine, too.”
“Ahh yeah, that’s the ‘I-barely-know-wine-bottom-rack-at-the-grocery-store’ brand.”
I laughed. “Seriously?”
He shrugged. “I may own a bar, but all wine tastes the same to me. Now, liquor—liquor I know. Beer I know. Wine? Not so much.”
I giggled. “Me too. My friends always had these expensive bottles back in LA, and they would do tasting parties for them. I just went to drink. They were all varying degrees of dry, but I could bullshit about them with the best.”
“To cheap wine,” he said, offering his glass to mine. I clinked them together, and we both tipped them back.
A few episodes later, and half the tiramisu put away, we were chatting on the couch casually. The show seemed like a bit of a bust, and neither of us was paying much attention to it unless another unexpectedly violent moment happened. It was fun to poke fun at it, though, which we were in the midst of doing when he checked his phone and groaned a bit.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, noticing that my words slurred a bit. The cheap wine had turned into a couple of bottles, and then had turned into mixed drinks. Matt might have gotten out of cooking that evening but running a bar haunted him. He didn’t seem like he minded too much, though.
“Just my mom,” he said. “Hannah must have told Jordan you were coming over, and he told her. She’s on my case again about being the only one not married.”
“Ha,” I said, really feeling the liquor doing a number of fantastic things for my mood. “That sucks for you.”
Matt wasn’t laughing, and I brought the glass away from my lips to see him staring at me, a goofy, half-drunken look on his face.
“We should just get married,” he said and laughed.
“Oh my God, that’s a great idea!” I exclaimed, almost falling off the couch as I sat up too quickly and the world spun around me a bit. “Seriously, my parents would have to back off the whole Adam thing if I was married! And your family would leave you alone. It would work for both of us.”
“It would be funny,” he said. “Me and Jordan marrying a pair of cousins.”
“Exactly,” I said. “We should totally do that.”
He laughed again and finished his drink. Then he looked over at mine and saw it was mostly empty.
“One more?” he said. “I know it’s getting late.”
“No more of the mixed drink,” I said. “But I’ll tell you what. I’ll call the rideshare, and you pour us some shots. We can do those until it gets here.”
“You’re on,” he said. “You have no idea what you’re in for.”
“Oh, but I do,” I said. “I’m used to shots with kids who do nothing with their life but drink and throw money around. I can put you under the table before I leave.”
It turned out that I could not, in fact, put anything under the table but a shot glass I dropped. When the alert came in that the car was there, I said goodbye and thanked him for a fun time. I headed out, feeling great, and got into the car. When I got back to the hotel, the only thing I could think about was how fun it would be married to Matt.

9 Matt
Asking Chloe if she wanted to pick up lunch before work was a bit of a risk, but it paid off when she texted back that she did. I didn’t want her to think I was pressuring her as her boss or anything, but I enjoyed spending time with her, and we made each other laugh. She didn’t seem to object, so I headed over and waited in the lobby until she came down.
She was cute as hell in her tight black jeans and heavy-metal T-shirt. I was pretty sure the band was older than she was by like two decades or more, but I didn’t care if she knew a single song. She was hot. I had to shake the feeling off and concentrate on keeping my cool as she walked toward me. She was carrying a small bag with her, and I figured she had her work clothes in it.
“After you,” I said, opening the door for her and following her through.
“So, are we heading to that Italian place?” she asked.
“Nah, I thought we could grab a sandwich at a little place down the street. Great little hole-in-the-wall deli that only the locals know.”
We went out onto the street, and as we walked, I kept glancing over at her. I couldn’t stop looking at her. The way she smiled, and the way the sun sparkled off her eyes made me want to pay attention to her instead of the road we were crossing. I very easily could have ended up as flat as a pancake under an eighteen-wheeler if I wasn’t careful.
The deli was packed, as usual, and we made our sandwich orders before sitting down at a rare empty table. I grabbed our drinks, and we chatted casually about nothing in particular while I worked up the courage to talk about what I asked her to lunch about. She was happily, and adorably, sipping on the straw of a cherry soda, and I figured then was as good as ever.
“So, our silly idea,” I said.
“Yes,” she