Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hailey
Jason follows me into the office, catching the door when I yank it open and holding it for me. Such a gentleman.
I’m still smiling from the look on his face when I asked him if he buys feet pictures online, but I’m managing to contain my laughter. The shock. The horror!
Exquisite.
I had a few guy friends I could joke around with like that when I was in college, but I’m not really close enough to anyone lately to have that kind of dynamic.
After my last breakup, I realized that my boyfriend was also the center of my friend group.
And when things didn’t work out between us—nothing dramatic, our schedules just didn’t allow us to spend enough time together for a relationship to work out—I realized that all my friends were actually his friends.
Which wasn’t so obvious until then because several of us went to Lawrence together.
At least at the start of the friend group.
But over time, the performers landed jobs and moved away, the teachers moved to different school districts, and those of us who stuck around did a variety of gigs to string together enough money to make a living like me.
And the friends who left were replaced by Paul’s coworkers and the guys he played with for gigs every once in a while.
Since he tended to host the get-togethers and was the planner who made everything come together, it’s easy to see why they chose him.
It was a bit of a rude awakening to realize that if I wanted to maintain friendships, I had to be the one to put in the effort.
I had no practice doing that and didn’t know where to start.
Between school and dating Paul, all my relationships happened with little effort on my part.
And then they all fell away. I’ve tried to make more of an effort to get to know some of the other musicians in the orchestra, but we’re mostly gigging pals, not chat-all-the-time and hang out pals.
So my opportunities to give someone shit like this are few and far between these days.
I should be careful, though. I don’t want to scare Jason off when he’s the one footing my bills right now. But if he wants to offer to pay me to hang out with him, it can’t be that surprising that I’d say it sounds like I’m a paid escort in this scenario.
But if he wants to play out a G-rated version of Pretty Woman with me, who am I to say no?
Though it’d probably be cheaper to send me on a shopping spree for clothes.
I’d buy more concert black for sure. Mine are getting a little worse for wear at this point, the blacks not quite matching as well as they used to.
The top is the worst. I need a new one. Something that won’t fade so easily.
I glance over my shoulder at Jason.
Nah. He’s already paying for a tow and the difference in rent plus some extra cash for not being able to work today.
And he also said something about not worrying about the car at all, which I suspect means he intends to pay for the repairs, though I think that might be a little overkill.
Either way, I can use the extra cash he gave me, go to the thrift store for their half-off day next week—assuming I have a working vehicle by then—and see if I can find something decent there.
“Hi!” I say brightly to the man behind the counter. He has a bushy gray beard, a baseball hat bearing the shop’s logo pulled low over his eyes, and he’s wearing navy blue coveralls with the name Earl embroidered on the chest. “My Pontiac Vibe was towed here last night.”
“Oh, right.” Earl shuffles some papers on the counter in front of him, then peers closely at one of them.
“The tow truck driver left a note on the windshield, but it just said the car wouldn’t go.
” He peers at me from under the brim of his hat.
“I took the liberty of climbing in to see if it would start, and it did. But when I put it in gear, the engine just revved. That about what happened to you?”
I nod. “Exactly. It was driving okay—”
“Define ‘okay,’” he interjects. “Has it ever acted like it didn’t want to change gears?”
Screwing up my face, I think over his question.
I’m not super knowledgeable about cars. I know how to check the oil and add more if it’s low—my first car in high school had an oil leak, so I had to add more from time to time—and do the most basic things like check tire pressure and pump gas, but beyond that …
I could probably jump my car, but I’d need to Google it to make sure I didn’t blow it up on accident instead.
“Uh … maybe?”
He gives me an indulgent look. “Did it shudder sometimes when you were accelerating? Or act like it wasn’t responding when you were pressing on the gas pedal?”
“Oh, well, now that you mention it. It’s been doing that for a while, but it always recovered pretty quickly. I guess I figured it would just be okay.” I make a sad little gesture with my hand.
Earl shakes his head like he’s disappointed in me. “Yeah. So that was your transmission telling you it needed work.”
“Oh,” I say in a small voice.
“Yeah. Let me look it over and see what I can do. I’ll call you with an estimate. Is this a good number?” He shows me the form, and the number written down isn’t mine.
“No, my number is—”
“Go ahead and call that number,” Jason cuts in from behind me.
I turn to look at him, my brows furrowed. I guess I knew he followed me in, but I kinda forgot about him while I was talking to Earl. “But it’s my car,” I say slowly.
His clear blue eyes meet mine, a shock of hair falling over his forehead and giving him more boyish charm than he has any right to, given the fact that he’s a grown man, a professional hockey player, and apparently auditioning to be my sugar daddy but without the usual side benefits that go along with that.
I think. “I told you not to worry about the car.” To Earl, he repeats.
“I’ll be handling the bill. Give me a call when you have the estimate. ”
Brows still crunched, I turn to Earl. “I’d like to know the damage, too, please.” He hands me a pen and sets the form in front of me, and I write my number on it. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he says. “I have a few people in line ahead of you, so it probably won’t be until afternoon that I have time to give it a thorough going over. But I’ll be in touch.” He looks between us. “With both of you.”
We take our cue and head back out the door, Jason holding it open for me. “Have you had breakfast?” he asks.
I shrug because no, but also I don’t usually eat much for breakfast anyway.
He clicks his tongue and shakes his head.
“What am I gonna do with you?” he asks. I don’t answer because it’s clearly a rhetorical question.
“Is it the money?” he clarifies, falling in step beside me as we walk across the parking lot to his car.
“Or are you just one of those coffee-for-breakfast types?”
I squint at him, considering, then hold up a hand, palm up. “A little of column A, and a little of column B?”
Grinning, he shakes his head at me, pulling open the passenger side door for me when we get to his car. “Well, this is my treat. So we can just go somewhere for coffee and a pastry—well, for you, at least. I need more than that—or we can find a good diner for breakfast.”
“Oohhh, a diner breakfast sounds delicious. I haven’t had one of those in forever. Remember Sandy’s in Poynette? She made the best French toast.”
“Is it still open?” he asks, pausing in the act of closing my door. “I don’t mind driving out there if you don’t.”
My eyebrows jump. “Are you serious? It’s like an hour and a half from here.”
He shrugs. “We can hit a coffee place now, get some caffeine and a snack if you need one. I told you, I don’t have any plans today other than to drive you around. After breakfast, we can visit all our old haunts.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “I’m not sure you and I have any old haunts together.”
“Well, my old haunts, then. We can visit yours too, if you want. And that’s how it’s our old haunts.” He says the last with a little flourish, then shuts my door, jogging around the car to climb in on the driver’s side. “What do you say?”
I screw up my face like this suggestion requires a lot of thought. To be honest, I’m not sure I really want to revisit all the places I hung out as a kid. The happy memories are layered over with sadness because of Hunter, and the ones after he died are just sad.
But it might be worth it for Sandy’s French toast …
“Deal. Let’s get coffee, then Sandy’s, and then?” I toss my hands in the air. “We’ll see where the day takes us.”
“That’s the spirit!” he quips, and suddenly this day is turning out way different than I’d expected, even after last night.
What other wrench is Jason going to throw into the works that make up my life?