Page 33 of Married in Michigan

I cackle. “My purse I got from my mom, and I think she bought it in, like, 1995. I’m not allowed to wear jewelry at the hotel, and don’t care to at the other places I work.”

He stands up, replaces the tops of the containers, and slides them back into place. “How many jobs do you have?” He asks this as we go back to the living room, and the couch.

“Three,” I answer. “The hotel, a breakfast cafe on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday mornings, and a pub on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights.”

“When do you go out?”

I shrug. “If I do, usually Thursday nights. That’s when Kim, Donna, Maria, Tamika, and me are all off.”

“And I,” he says absently.

I frown at him. “What?”

“It’s not ‘and me’, it’s ‘and I’,” he says. “Proper grammar is important to Mom.”

I glare at him. “Really, right now?”

He eyes me. “That bothers you? Me correcting your grammar?”

I don’t want to admit the truth—that I am bothered, but only because I don’t want to admit that I don’t even have a high school diploma. “Never mind.”

He stares at me, and clearly understands that there’s more to the subject, and that I have no interest in the conversation. “What do you do for fun?”

I shrug, sniffing a laugh of amusement. “Fun is for people with spare time.”

He sighs. “Okay, well…you’ll need to find a hobby.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything,” I point out.

“Can we cut the shit, Makayla? Please?” He gives me a long, open look. “If you’re not in, just tell me. I’ll figure something else out. If you are, then I need to make plans for how to best blindside Mom with this for maximum effect.”

I wipe my face. “You need a decision right now?”

He nods. “I do. Mom won’t be put off.”

I hold my coffee mug in both hands. Meet his earnest, intense golden eyes. “I’m in.”

He hangs his head, exhaling a long sigh of relief. “Oh, thank fuck.”

“I can’t promise how long I’ll be able to keep up the ruse, though, Paxton. Your mom doesn’t seem like she’s stupid, and I’m a terrible liar.”

“You let me worry about Mom.”

I laugh. “I’ve worked for her for four years, Paxton. I think I know a side of her you don’t.”

“I’ve been her son my whole life, so I thinkIknow a side of heryoudon’t,” he answers.

“Fair enough,” I say. “My point is, I’ll do my best to play the part, but I’m afraid you’ve probably picked the girl least qualified to play the part of party girl arm candy. Just saying.”

He quirks a corner of his mouth in a half smile. “And I think, truthfully, that may very well be part of why I picked you.” He shrugs, waves a hand. “That, and because you’re damned beautiful.”

I blink. “I—You—what?”

He shrugs. “What? You think this would work if I picked some bag-of-hammers-looking chick? I told you, there’s expectations.”

“I thought I was meant to flaunt the expectations,” I pointed.

He nods. “You are, because of your skin color for one thing, and because of your…um, station in life, if you will. You’re beautiful, Makayla.” He hesitates. “Honestly, I didn’t even realize it at first. That stupid outfit Mom makes you guys wear hides what you really look like.”