“Welfare checks aren’t all that life-affirming, but whatever,” he says, tossing the phone back to me.
Insensitive asshole.
“Neither is dying at 18 in some back alley in a pool of your own vomit,” I clap back, matching his insensitivity. I regret it instantly.
“Levvi was an amateur,” he sneers, but I actually have a moral compass and an awareness of lines and I know I just crossed one, so I choose to back off.
“Whatever. You’re all idiots. You’ve seen the texts. You’ve deleted the texts. Now give me a change of clothes so we can make this whole nonsense legit before we kill each other and defeat the purpose,” I snap, pulling the towel closer to me as I stand and march back to the bathroom to grab a warm shower and wash my hair.
The glass door of the shower slides open easily and I step onto the cool dry tile, ready to be sprayed and massaged by the warmth of the water.
The solar panels at home had stopped working a long time ago so I haven’t had a proper warm shower, let alone a hot one in ages. The stall is outfitted with exotic smelling shampoos and oils and I close my eyes and allow myself to forget where I am or why I’m actually here.
In this stall, Maverick does not exist. We aren’t getting married and my parents aren’t dirt poor. People don’t hate me for existing and I don’t have to try so hard to be tough because life isn’t always trying to kick my butt.
The smell of jasmine and the tingle of peppermint on my scalp draws a contented hum out of me and before long I find myself singing in the shower to an old tune about the things a real man will do when he loves a woman.
“You’re putting on quite a show,” I hear a sarcastic drawl on the other side of the shower and the shrill scream that escapes my throat threatens to shatter the glass all around me.
“Get out!” I wail, covering my lady parts even though they’re mostly hidden by foam.
I can tell that he’s laughing, but I’m still screaming on the inside.
“Why are you hiding from your husband to be?” he chuckles, and I hurl the shampoo bottle at him.
“Get out, you pervert,” I shout, and he folds his hands and leans against the door.
“And if I decide not to? What are you going to do then?”
I hear, rather than see the smirk on his face. The fog on the glass is starting to fade and pretty soon there’ll be nothing between us.
“What do you want?!” I shriek, as his face starts to become clearer to me.
The thumping inside my chest feels like a thousand fists from burly men.
I turn the faucet back on in a desperate attempt to create steam.
“Ask me nicely.”
“What?!”
“Ask me nicely to leave.”
“Get out Maverick!” I shout, rolling my eyes at this dick move.
“I can camp out here all day or I can come closer.”
The thought of him seeing me fully exposed does terrible things to my mind and my body.
“Maverick. Please.” I pause, tasting the words in my mouth with a scowl on my face.
“Please what?” he asks, and I want to wipe the smug smile off his face.
“Please get the hell out of the bathroom so I can change.”
“Not nice enough.”
I sigh. The warm water is great, but I don’t want to be in here all day. He already has me at a disadvantage so what’s the point? It’s not like I’m going to step out and strut my stuff in front of this moronic asshole.
With a resigned sigh, I graciously accept defeat and through gritted teeth, summon the sweetest voice I can. “Maverick could you please step outside for a second? I need to change.”
He claps his hands. “Very good, turtle, but it’s missing something.”
“Maverick!”
“Don’t spoil it now,” he teases and I wonder if my pride can handle baring my body before this ape. The longer he’s in here, the less I want to make him win but the more I think about it, the more it becomes evident that he’ll win either way. I hate it.
“Maverick just-”
“Say pretty please. And call me husband, not Maverick.”
“Husband,” I start. My voice is raw from unshed tears. Why does this feel worse than him lighting my ass on fire?
“Hus-” the word lodges in my throat and I turn the shower off. “Fuck this,” I mumble, stepping out of the shower and walking over to the counter to pick up a towel and my clothes before storming out of the bathroom, leaving a very surprised Maverick, trying not to gawk at me.
8
So far, all the points are stacked up in my favor. I had won the car thing by a very thin line and the pool thing by a fraction, but that bathroom stunt was definitely the biggest win of all. As suspected, I can make little miss ‘too good for her broke life’ here do just about whatever I want and I’m going to enjoy this newly found power I have over her.
Still, I hadn’t quite expected to be flashed by her so soon.
And the fact that she isn’t exactly tough to look at… I wasn’t expecting that either.
Right now, she’s silently stewing in the passenger seat of the rental I ordered to drive us to my Attorney’s office. She’s wearing the peach dress Suzanna left the last time she came over. The more I look at her, the more I’m astonished about just how easy it is for her to look decent. The low neckline on the dress is a lot more impressive on her than it was on Suzanna, but the sulk she’s wearing…well, that’s not doing the whole look any justice.
“You’re stinking up the car with your sour mood.” I throw the words at her, but she doesn’t respond. Instead, she reaches for her phone and starts scrolling through, trying to ignore me. I’m sure by now she realizes that she’s failing miserably. Knowing her, that’s pissing her off.
“When we get out, you’ll need to smile. You’re going to be marrying an eligible bachelor. Act like it.”
She flinches, but I’m not sure if it’s in response to what I’m saying or whatever nonsense she’s staring at on her phone.
A gasp escapes her, and I glance over at her face, the color rapidly draining from her features. I’m jealous of whatever it is she’s looking at. I want to own and cause that horrified look on her face.
“Pull the car over!” she shouts.
“We’re in the middle of the highway. I can’t just pull the car over,” I scoff at her.
“Pull off over there.” She points, but I’ve never really been good at taking orders and now is not when I’m about to start.
I zip past the turn-off she pointed out and she spins around in the seat to glare at me. “Pull over the damn car, Maverick!” she yells, reaching for the wheel.
“What the hell is your problem?” I shoot back, finally giving her what she wants as I pull over on the soft shoulder.
She shoves her phone into my face and I swat her hand away.
“Two years!” she shrieks, a vein I hadn’t noticed before pops up into her forehead.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“We have to stay married for two whole years!”
I grab the phone from her and start reading the screen of the immigration website. Coach didn’t say anything about a two year bondage agreement. I don’t want to be married to anyone, let alone this raggedy maniac for all of two years.