“Shit. Remember when we were that age? What were we thinking?”
He just shakes his head and I'm glad I'm not in his position having to fight off horny little teenagers.
“Grab us a table and I'll get us a pitcher of beer.”
I nod as we head in different directions. The place is fairly crowded for it being so early, but I find an empty table set off to the side in a corner. Perfect for having a conversation.
Maybe Scout can help me come up with a solution to crawl out of this hole I'm in. I just wish Nana had talked to me before doing it. Let me know she needed help. I would've done anything I could so she didn't have to do what she did.
But that was Nana. Always putting others ahead of herself.
I tap my fingers on the table in a rhythmic pattern as I stare off into space. Can I really bare my soul to Scout? We ran in the same cliques in high school, went to the same parties and hung out. But when we graduated we went our separate ways. We drifted apart. Until today.
“Penny for your thoughts,” his deep voice says as he sets a glass down in front of me.
“Sorry.” I don't know why I apologize, it just seems like the right response.
Scout takes a seat, lifting the pitcher, and pours beer into each of our glasses.
“Okay, Bradley. No beating around the bush. What's going on?”
I grip the glass with my hand and sigh heavily. Then, for the next thirty minutes, I spill my guts. Telling Scout everything. How desperate my situation is. With every word I tell him a weight lifts off my chest. Being with Scout feels comfortable and I have no doubt he’ll become my best friend.
“Damn. That's a lot. Do you have a plan in place?” he asks, lifting his glass to his lips and swallowing some of the golden liquid.
“Got an interview tomorrow at Moe’s. It’s there or the supermarket. Possibly both with the amount of money I need to come up with to save the house.”
He leans back in the chair, lips pressed tightly together as he looks at me, almost as if he can see through me.
For a minute, I feel awkward. Not sure what the hell is going on before he leans forward, his forearms resting on the table.
“Is there anything you wouldn't do?” Scout's face is dead serious.
“I mean, I wouldn't kill anybody.” I chuckle, unsure of why he's asking me that particular question.
Scout lets out a laugh. Loud and straight from his gut.
“That's good to know.” He winks, and I’m even more confused.
“Scout, not that I don't appreciate you letting me vent to you, but what's with the odd question?”
“Much like you, I found myself in a situation where I needed money. And I came across an opportunity.” He picks up the pitcher, pouring the last of the beer into each of our glasses. Leaning forward, he flashes a smile. “Foxy’s Rent-A-Date.” He says the words like they mean something.
I furrow my brows in confusion.
“Gonna need a little bit more than that,” I tell him.
“It's a dating service. People hire you to be their arm candy. It's good money, and it's honest.”
“You want me to be a prostitute!?” I have to catch myself from screaming.
“No. It's not like that. There is absolutely no sex for money. Foxy would lose her shit if that happened. Generally it's people who have parties, weddings or some kind of event that they don't want to go to alone. It's five hundred an hour with a three-hour minimum and she takes twenty-five percent of what you make.”
“So I'd make eleven hundred and twenty-five dollars for three hours for being someone’s date?” This has me thinking.
Scout laughs loudly, nearly spewing the beer he just swallowed. “Shit, man. Did you just do the math in your head?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Math is easy. So seriously, no sex and you make money like that?”
