Page 63 of Holly Jolly July

Mariah gives her head a shake, lips pursed.

Grabbing her by the waist, I tug her to my side. “Now listenhere, missus. You an’ I, we go way back. We met down in New Orleans on a tugboat casino playin’ blackjack—”

Mariah pinches the bridge of her nose, but she’s fighting a smile under it.

“After all my time in the clink I decided to go straight, and you wanted to show me the world on account o’ me bein’ locked up so long. Ever since, we been explorin’ everywhere we can explore by land, since I ain’t allowed on those aer-o-planes no more.”

Mariah snorts, her shoulders shaking.

I turn her to face me. “You an I’s gonna have a good time tonight, ya hear?”

She rolls her eyes, a grin splitting her face.

I grip her shoulders. “I said, ya hear?”

“Yeah, I hear ya,” she repeats in what is quite possibly the worst Southern accent I’ve ever heard.

“Maybe leave the talking to me,” I say, breaking character.

Inside, the place is busy enough that we’re not noticed when we walk in. A small whiteboard on the bar hasJell-O shots $2messily scrawled on it, which explains the crowd. There’s an odd mishmash of older working-class gentlemen and young college students, and our outfits don’t look too out of place. We find a table in the back—far enough away to pass a casual glance but still maintain a visual of Matt at the bar.

My heart skips when I see him, even though he looks so different here as Jax, his alter ego. Or is this his true self? Maybe the sweet, considerate, kind person I met at the cabin is the ruse. He’s not the man I had feelings for; that person doesn’t exist. I swallow the pain and pull Mariah’s chair out for her before taking my own.

Since it’s busier than usual, they have a server waiting tables. After several minutes she reaches us. Mariah tenses, looking away and twirling a lock of blond hair to obscure part of her face.Shit, hopefully the server doesn’t recognize her.

“Hey, welcome to Grumpy Joe’s, we have two-dollar Jell-O shots tonight and the poutine is on special.”

“I’ll have a Bud—in a bottle, none of that on-tap nonsense. And the missus here will have a Long Island iced tea.” I order for her, not only because it’s the gentlemanly thing to do, but because she was right about being a terrible actress. One wrong move and she’ll blow our cover. Even now, with very little risk of being caught, there’s a bead of sweat trickling from her wig down the side of her face.

The server jots down our order, not bothering to make eye contact with us.

“And, little lady, you want a turkey club and poutine?” I ask Mariah, to which she replies with a quick nod. Turning back to the server, I ask, “What soup you got today?”

Mariah kicks me under the table.

“Never mind, I’ll have a BLT and fries.”

The server leaves and Mariah huffs out a breath. “I can’t keep this up.”

“Yes you can, you’re doing great!”

“What if someone recognizes me?” She fiddles with her outfit.

I tilt my head to the side. “I barely recognize you.”

This seems to calm her. Then she leans forward quickly, agitated. “Do you think we pranked him too much?”

I roll my eyes. “We didn’t. My siblings and I used to prank each other all the time. This is entry-level, trust me. But maybe ifsomeonelet me hire a clown—”

She cuts me off with a wave of her hand. “Not happening.”

I raise my hands in defeat. “I know, I know. But seriously, all we did was hide bleu cheese in his bag.”

“And swap his cologne for cheap bubblegum crap from the dollar store.”

“And rub brown marker on his gym shorts so it looks like he sharted himself,” I say, laughter bubbling up.

Mariah struggles to stop laughing, too. “Okay, yeah, that’s pretty funny.”

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