Pressing my lips together, I grunt again, not wanting to directly contradict her, but … she’s wrong.
She chuckles, clearly interpreting my grunt correctly. “You’re a good guy, Jason.”
The thing is, though, I’m not all that good, am I? A good guy would’ve done a better job at making sure she’s okay.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m doing okay.”
This time I press my lips together to keep from asking, “You sure about that?” because from where I’m sitting, she doesn’t seem to be all that okay.
And I don’t know if she can read my mind, or if I’m just that transparent because she says, “Well, generally I’m okay. This month is a little suckier than normal. And the car thing …” She sighs heavily.
“Don’t worry about the car thing,” I jump in to reassure her. “I’ll make sure you have transportation before I go back to Seattle. And until then, I’ll drive you anywhere you need to go.”
She’s silent as I pull into the parking lot of the mechanic. Her car’s sitting off to one side, looking lost and alone. “That’s really kind of you to offer—” she starts, but I shake my head, cutting her off.
“I’m serious, Hailey. Do you need a ride somewhere after this? I know you said you teach. Do you have lessons or a class or something?”
She blows out a breath. “I have a gig tomorrow. I was going to reach out to see if one of my friends could give me a ride.” Pressing her lips together, she shakes her head then looks at me. “Are you sure you don’t mind? For real?”
“Not at all. Let me know where and when, and I’ll be your chauffeur. I’ll find a way to entertain myself until it’s over, then pick you up. Maybe we could grab a drink or a bite after?”
With a relieved smile on her face, she shrugs. “You’re seriously a lifesaver. You don’t have to take me out for dinner after. It’s a wedding at two on a farm a little bit east of Madison. I need to be there about one thirty.”
“I can do that.”
“You don’t have plans with your parents or anything?”
I give her an amused look. “I’ve been home for almost two weeks now. We had a few plans, but we exhausted those a week ago. I’m just hanging around and generally being a nuisance. I think my mom’ll be glad I have something to occupy myself, even if it’s just driving you around.”
“Well, if driving me around makes your mom happy, you could do some food deliveries with me.” She bounces her eyebrows, grinning.
“Uhhhh,” I hedge, not sure what the right answer is. “Are you serious?”
Her grin turns lopsided, and she shrugs. “Kinda? I mean, I was planning on working today before my car went kaput. Now I can’t, so I’m at a bit of a loose end for the day after this. I was planning on practicing some, too, but …” She trails off, shrugging again.
“Or,” I say slowly, glancing at her then looking away, “I could cover whatever you would’ve earned today, and we could go do something fun instead.”
She’s silent for a beat, and I look at her to find her staring at me, just blinking. “So … you want to pay me to hang out with you? Like an escort?”
I nearly choke on my own tongue when she says that, and shake my head quickly. “No, no, no. Not likethat. Think of it like a paid vacation.”
Her eyes narrow, and she studies me. “A paid vacation, huh? I can’t say I’ve ever had one of those.”
“Most people get them as part of their benefits package.”
She laughs. “I can’t say I’ve ever had one of those, either.” She shrugs. “The life of a freelancer.”
“Right. Well, for this one brief window of time, you, too, can take advantage of benefits that millions of Americans take for granted. Whaddaya say?”
After studying me for another moment, she releases a breath and nods. “Okay. I could use a paid vacation. Plus, it’s easier than trying to sell feet pictures on OnlyFans or something.”
She’s climbing out of the car as I say, “Wait, what? Are you doing that?”
Cackling, she starts walking away.
“Hailey, wait up.” I scramble out of the car and jog a few steps to catch up to her. “Are you actually doing that?”
Still grinning, she shakes her head. “No. But what else was I going to do today with no car and no way to make money? I can sell feet pictures from the comfort of my home. And according to the internet, there are perverts happy to pay for them.” She stops in her tracks and turns to face me, giving me that squinty-eyed look she uses to size me up. “You’re not one of those kinds of perverts, are you?” She holds up her hands, palms out. “I mean, no judgment if you are. I just don’t want to offend you.”
