With a deep sigh, he propped his chin on his hand, and he finally explained. “If I’m not on a team, I can’t stay here.”

Why wouldn’t he be playing? Was his foot bothering him? I wanted to ask him but didn’t. “Okay… isn’t there some other kind of visa you can apply for?”

“I don’t want to get another visa.”

I blew out a breath and shut the refrigerator door, my fingers instantly going up to my glasses. “Okay. Go talk to an immigration lawyer. I’m sure one of them can help you get your permanent residency.” I chewed on my cheek for a second before adding, “You have money to get it worked on, and that’s a lot better than most people have it.” Then an idea entered my head, and before I thought twice about suggesting it, or talked myself out of not saying anything because I wasn’t feeling particularly friendly, I blurted it out. “Or just find an American citizen to marry you.”

His gaze had drifted to the ceiling at some point, but in that moment, he shifted it to scrutinize me. Those broad features were even and smooth, and not even remotely close to a scowl.

“Find someone you like, date them for a little bit or something, and then ask them to marry you. You can always get divorced afterward.” I paused and thought about a distant cousin of Diana’s. “There’s also people out there who would do it if you paid them enough, but that’s kind of tricky because I’m pretty sure it’s a felony to try to get your papers fixed by marrying someone for that reason. It’s something to think about.”

I blinked, noticing his expression had gone from scrutinizing to contemplating. Thoughtful. Too thoughtful. This weird sensation crept over my neck. Weird, weird, weird, telling me something was off, telling me I should probably get out of his line of view. I took a step back and eyed him. “What is it?”

Nothing in this world could have prepared me for what came out of his mouth next.

“Marry me.”

“What?” It came out of my mouth as surprised and rude as I imagined it did, I was positive of it.

He was on drugs. He was seriously on fucking drugs.

“Marry me,” he repeated himself, like I hadn’t heard him the first time.

I leaned back against the kitchen counter, torn between being weak from shock and dumbfounded from how ridiculous his statement was, and settled for just staring blankly in the general direction of his granite-like face. “You’re on dope, aren’t you?”

“No.” The usually taut corners of Aiden’s mouth relaxed a fraction of an inch; the tension in his body diminishing just a tiny amount, but it was enough for me to notice. “You can help me get my residency.”

What in the hell was going on with him? Maybe it was brain damage after all. I’d seen some of the guys he went up against, how could he have gotten off scot-free after so many years? “Why would I do that?” I gaped. “Why would I even want to do that?”

That strong jaw seemed to clench.

“I don’t want to work for you, much less marry you to help you get your papers fixed.” An idea rang through my brain, and I almost threw my hands up in joy at the brilliance behind it. “Marry someone who can do all your assistant stuff, too. It makes perfect sense.”

He’d started nodding when I brought up the assistant idea, but the emotion in his eyes was a little disturbing. He looked way too determined, too at peace with whatever crazy crap was going on in his big head. “It’s perfect,” he agreed. “You can do it.”

I choked. As badly as I wanted to say something—to argue with him or just tell him he’d lost his mind—nothing managed to come out of my mouth. I was flabbergasted. Fucking flabbergasted.

Aiden was on crack.

“Are you insane? Did you drop a barbell on your neck bench pressing?”

“You said it; it’s a perfect plan.”

What had I done? “It’s not perfect. It’s nowhere near perfect,” I blabbered. “I don’t work for you anymore, and even if I did, I wouldn’t do it.” Seriously? He was thinking I would? I didn’t know him to be anything but practical, and this was just outrageous.

But he wasn’t listening. I could tell. He had his thinking face on. “Vanessa, you have to do it.”

Did he not understand that we weren’t friends? That he’d treated me in the opposite way you would treat someone you cared about?

“No. I don’t and I’m not.” If I met the right person, I wasn’t opposed to getting married some day in the future. I didn’t think about marriage often, but when I did, I kind of liked the idea of it. Diana’s parents had been a perfect example of a great relationship; of course, I’d want something like that in the future, if it was possible. Realistically, I knew I would be fine on my own too.

And I wasn’t going to scratch kids off my list of things I’d like if I also had the right person in my life. I faintly knew what I wanted in a partner, but more than anything, I knew what I didn’t want.

And Aiden, even on his best days, wasn’t that person. Or anywhere near it. Sure he was good-looking; anyone with eyes could see that. His body alone had women of all ages turning in their seats to get a good look because Aiden breathed virility, and what woman didn’t like a man who looked like he drank testosterone in gallons? He was a big drink of cool water, or so I’d been told. Okay, and he had money, but that wasn’t a hard requisite for a future boyfriend or husband. I could make my own money.