Infinite Cashback System

Chapter 220: 221 | My Phone is a Liability [PS BONUS]

"Ten dollars? For a ride from a stranger in a parking garage?"

"Uber would charge you twenty-five minimum during surge pricing, which it is right now because there’s an event at the convention center." Jordan had no idea if there was actually an event at the convention center. The city always had something going on downtown. She wouldn’t know either way, and confidence sold the lie better than facts ever could. "Ten bucks. Cash or Venmo. I accept both."

"You’re charging me for a ride." Her voice had a flatness to it, not quite disbelief but more like she was testing to see if he’d back down.

"I’m not a charity. Gas isn’t free. My time isn’t free." Jordan gestured at his Civic with one hand, casual, like this was the most reasonable transaction in the world. "Car’s clean, air conditioning works, and I won’t try to make conversation if you don’t want me to. That’s worth ten dollars easy. Probably more."

She stared at him. The fluorescent light above them buzzed through another cycle, that particular frequency that meant the bulb was dying and someone from facilities should’ve replaced it three months ago.

Someone on a lower level leaned on their horn, two long blasts that echoed up through the concrete. Her eyes went from his face down to his shoulders—the fitted black tee wasn’t hiding anything, which was the point—then lower to his waist and the way the jeans sat on his hips. Then back up, fast, like she’d just remembered she was supposed to be annoyed instead of cataloging.

"You’re kind of a dick."

"I’ve been told." Jordan kept his expression neutral. The old him would’ve apologized, backtracked, offered a discount, something to smooth the edges. The new him waited.

"Fine. Ten dollars." She shifted her weight, the platform boots making a scuffing sound against the concrete. "But I’m sitting in the back."

"It’s your funeral. The back seat doesn’t have AC vents. You’ll cook back there."

"Then I’m sitting in the front." She adjusted the strap of whatever bag she had on her shoulder. "But if you try anything, I have mace in my bag and I will use it without warning or hesitation."

"Noted." Jordan unlocked his car with the key fob. The Civic’s lights blinked once.

She walked over to the dead Accord, opened the passenger door, and grabbed a backpack from the seat. Black JanSport. Covered in patches and enamel pins that Jordan could make out even from this distance—anime characters he vaguely recognized, political statements he didn’t care enough to read, one that just said NO in capital white letters on a black background. She locked the dead car, though Jordan wasn’t sure what anyone would steal from it besides the bumper sticker and maybe the spare tire. Then she turned and walked toward his Civic.

Her stride was the kind that said she owned the parking garage. Her boots hit the concrete with purpose, steady rhythm, nothing hesitant about it. The plaid skirt moved with her hips, not performative exactly but not accidental either. Just the natural result of someone who lived in their body and didn’t spend time worrying about who might be looking or what they might think about it. Jordan noticed and then made himself stop noticing.

Jordan opened his own door and got in. She opened the passenger door and dropped into the seat with zero ceremony, her backpack going to the footwell and her platform boots leaving a faint scuff on his floor mat.

The car’s interior immediately filled with a scent profile that Jordan’s brain cataloged against his will: clove cigarettes, something sweet like vanilla or marshmallow, black cherry, and underneath all of it, the sharp chemical note of fresh hair dye.

The overall effect was like walking into a Spencer’s Gifts that had been converted into a bakery and then set on fire.

She pulled the seatbelt across her chest. The strap bisected her cropped top in a way that made the lace edge of her bra even more visible, the dark fabric pressing against skin that was pale enough to suggest she and the sun had a professional disagreement.

Her collarbone was sharp and prominent and decorated with a thin black choker that sat flush against her throat, the kind with a small O-ring at the center that Jordan recognized from exactly the kind of internet browsing he was supposed to have given up.

Jordan started the engine and backed out of the spot.

"So," she said, pulling another lollipop from her bag and unwrapping it with one hand, "you always pick up random girls in parking garages?"

"Only the ones whose cars are dead and whose Spanish is creative."

"You understood that?"

"I got the general sentiment."

"Then you know my car is a piece of shit and I hate it with my entire soul."

"That was the thesis, yeah."

She stuck the lollipop in her mouth and leaned back against the headrest, her profile sharp against the passenger window as Jordan navigated toward the parking structure’s exit. Her jaw was round and soft, almost doll-like, which clashed aggressively with everything else about her appearance. The snakebite piercings caught the changing light as they spiraled down the ramp, chrome dots that bookended a mouth currently wrapped around strawberry-flavored candy.

Jordan pulled out onto the main road and turned south toward Brookhurst.

His phone buzzed in the cupholder. He glanced at the screen and saw Kumiko’s name above a preview that read "jordan-kun I just realized I left my strawberry underwear at your..." He flipped the phone face-down so fast he nearly knocked over his Arizona.

The girl in his passenger seat noticed. Of course she noticed. She turned her head just enough to look at the overturned phone, then at Jordan, then back at the road with a smirk that pushed her snakebite piercings upward.

"Girlfriend?"

"Something like that."

"Something like that. Vague and mysterious." She rolled the lollipop to the other side of her mouth.

"Ten dollars for the ride and I don’t have to hear your life story? That’s the best deal I’ve gotten all week."