Hans slowly turns his head to face me as the truck rolls down his driveway.
I bite my lip, refusing to look at him, worried that if I do, he’ll throw the truck into park and demand I get out.
Not that he requires eye contact to kick me out.
“Your parents?” His voice, though much better than it was yesterday, is still a little scratchy, making him sound more serious than his already serious tone.
“Yes,” I kinda squeak. “But you can totally just drop me off. They’re in St. Paul, and I know that’s a bit of a drive, but I’ll pay you for the hassle, and I’m sure I can find a ride that will bring me back this way.”
It’s Sunday evening, so there won’t be much traffic, and we’ll get there in like thirty minutes, but I don’t want him to think I can’t pay for his time. I never expected him to offer to drive me.
Then again, I can’t really picture him letting me take his truck alone either, now that I think about it.
Hans lets out a sigh, and I chance a glance at him just as he turns out of the driveway and presses down on the gas. “You’re not going to pay me.”
He doesn’t sound excited, but I still relax. If he was going to kick me out, he’d have done it already.
It’s not like my parents would be mad if I had to cancel on them, but they would worry. And that worry would turn into phone calls and questions and suggestions that I just don’t feel like listening to.
“I am going to pay you,” I insist, then keep talking before he can argue. “Would you like me to tell you directions as we go or put their address into your GPS?”
