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, heâll throw the truck into park and demand I get out.
Not that he requires eye contact to kick me out.
âYour parents?â His voice, though much better than it was yesterday, is still a little scratchy, making him sound more serious than his already serious tone.
âYes,â I kinda squeak. âBut you can totally just drop me off. Theyâre in St. Paul, and I know thatâs a bit of a drive, but Iâll pay you for the hassle, and Iâm sure I can find a ride that will bring me back this way.â
Itâs Sunday evening, so there wonât be much traffic, and weâll get there in like thirty minutes, but I donât want him to think I canât pay for his time. I never expected him to offer to drive me.
Then again, I canât 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. âYouâre not going to pay me.â
He doesnât sound excited, but I still relax. If he was going to kick me out, heâd have done it already.
Itâs 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 donât feel like listening to.
âI am going to pay you,â I insist, then keep talking before he can argue. âWould you like me to tell you directions as we go or put their address into your GPS?â