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“Do you realize,” House said, “that if we got married, your name would be Robert Chase House?” Chase looked at his quizzically. “Which you do very well, I might add,” House mock-leered.
Chase thought for a second. “Does that mean you’d be Greg House Chase?”
“Don’t be stupid,” House scoffed. “The verb is out of place. That would make no sense.” House smacked Chase’s shoulder. “Besides, the husband doesn’t take the wife’s name, now does he?”
“Why am I the wife?” Chase protested.
“Prettier hair,” House said, making Chase blush. “And the husband is usually the top,” which made Chase blush redder. “And you’ve got a mouth like a -”
“I think I got the picture,” Chase cut in, cheeks now crimson. House smiled.
After a while, Chase spoke. “So was that supposed to be a proposal?”
“Did it sound like one?” House asked snarkily.
Chase thought about that. “Not really.”
“Well, there’s your answer.”
A few minutes later, House said, “Besides, I know you’re one of those red roses, romantic music and down on one knee types. I doubt you’d accept anything less.”
Chase smiled.