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He snorted but didn’t answer.
I groaned and closed my eyes. “Wow. This is going to make my next Early British Literature class way awkward.”
“Wait.” He grasped my forearm, and I swear I felt his touch explode out the tips of my toes. Maybe it wasn’t so farfetched to think he had such a heavy reputation. “Are you saying you have a class with her? With Dr. Janison?” When I nodded, he closed his eyes briefly. “Shit.”
Well, that didn’t sound good. “What? What does that mean?”
“Look.” He sighed, sounding incredibly tired. “If she starts giving you a tough time, or failing you or…anything, let me know. I’ll talk to her.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Why…why would she fail me just for sitting next to you on a public bench?” And setting my hand on his arm as if we were dating, and…oh, crap.
But wait. “That makes no sense. Even if we had…you know, had sex or whatever, she has no reason to get jealous. Doesn’t she know she can’t possibly be your only…customer?”
“Of course she knows. But you’re obviously not a customer. She might feel slighted if she thinks I gave you a…” He glanced away and waved his hand. “You know, a freebie.”
“Wow. Okay. But wow. Not only is this the strangest conversation ever but, wow. A freebie?”
Mason sent me a dark glance as if he didn’t think I was taking the situation seriously enough. “You know what I mean.”
I barked out a laugh, because okay, yeah, the whole conversation did feel incredibly ridiculous. “Just convince her I paid for it then, that I’m, you know, a client too, just like her.”
He blinked. “What? You don’t want me to tell her we’re not fooling around at all?”
Flushing hard, I cleared my throat and glanced away. “Or that. That…I mean, sure, the truth would probably be best. Yeah. Let’s stick with the truth.”
Mason shook his head, looking entertained and frustrated in equal parts. “Except she won’t buy it. And she knows you can’t be a client.”
“Hey. Why couldn’t I be a client?”
Was I too young? Not classy enough? Not his type?
His lips tightened as if he was trying not to smile. But his eyes lit with amusement. “Reese, you just admitted you couldn’t afford the same kind of shoes as her. There’s no way you could afford me.”
Oh, now he sounded like Eva.
I didn’t want him to know it, but that kind of offended me.
“Really?” I arched an eyebrow and set my hands on my hips. “Just how much do you cost, Mr. Ego?”
Leaning in close, he whispered an amount in my ear. My mouth dropped open. “Okay, yeah. I couldn’t afford that. But…wow, I don’t know.” I flailed my hand. “Don’t you have a payment plan or something? Reduced prices for the lower income?”
He sputtered through a startled laugh. “No, I do not offer payment plans. Are you for real? I play the expensive way, or I don’t play at all. I don’t do this for my health, you know.”
“Then why—”
“Because being a decent, moral upstanding citizen didn’t keep the eviction notices away,” he snapped. “It didn’t get my sister a new wheelchair, and it didn’t put food on my mother’s table, or keep the electric company from turning off our power in the middle of the hottest day of the year. And it sure as hell didn’t get me enrolled in college this semester. This is all about the money. Only about the money. Got it?”
“Got it,” I said in a small voice. Then I offered him a smile. “Actually, that explanation makes you sound kind of noble, you know, with you falling on the sword of absolute depravity to save your family. You’d probably make a good Saturday afternoon movie.”
There. I hoped that sounded frivolous enough, like I really didn’t care what he did with his life.
But Mason blinked at me. “You’re…insane.”
“Only on Thursdays.” I wrinkled my nose since he was counting my nose-wrinkles and all.
He grinned—unwillingly, I think, but hey, at least I’d managed to ease some tension from the moment.
Popping a salted tomato between his perfect lips, he chewed with vigor…until I went and asked, “So, you don’t give out freebies? Like ever?” That just sounded so bizarre to me. I would’ve thought a gigolo would be a complete man-whore, even off the clock.
