Driving Heat Read Free Page A

intersection where you see the traffic lights.”
    “Thank you so much.”
    “You’re very much welcome, pretty lady.” He winked. “What about your car?”
    “I’ll have it picked up later.”
    “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine until somebody comes and gets it. I’ll make sure of that.”
    Cynthia headed for the bus stop. Her four-inch heels quickly helped her forget that Grandpa had tried to flirt. Had she been planning a stroll today, she would have worn sensible shoes.
    Just before chucking all decorum and walking a public street in bare feet, she reached the corner and an empty bench beneath the bus stop sign. Here the area’s blight was more noticeable: empty fast-food bags, broken bottles, smashed cans, and cigarette butts littered the street. Pulling her purse closer, she prayed for the bus, a bit embarrassed at the fearfulness among her own. A homeless man pushed his worldly possessions in a red cart bearing a Target logo. She gave him a dollar when he passed. She continued to watch this area’s meager every day unfold amid liquor stores, pawn shops, nail salons, and check-cashing establishments, and realized she often took her comfortable salary, spacious Culver City condo, and pristine neighborhood for granted.
    The relief she felt as the express bus pulled up was palpable.
    “Are you headed downtown?”
    The bus driver gave her the once-over. “Even if I wasn’t, I’d give you a ride.”
    Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she got on, almost falling when the bus pulled away from the curb. The quick reflexes of the bus driver kept her upright. “Careful now.”
    She leaned against the meter to steady herself and pulled out her wallet. “How much does this cost?”
    The driver glanced her way again. “Metro card only. No cash.”
    “Will a debit card work?”
    “I said Metro card, not debit card.”
    At the end of her patience, Cynthia snapped. “I don’t have a Metro card!”
    He reached the end of the next block where more passengers waited, and pulled to the curb. “Guess you’ll have to get out here, then.”
    “You can’t be serious. What business doesn’t take a debit card these days?”
    Cynthia stepped aside so that Metro card–carrying passengers could place what she didn’t possess into the metal machine. Once they’d all entered, the driver looked at her.
    “I have got to get downtown,” she said softly. “It’s important, for work.”
    “You’d better be glad you’re fine and I’m in a good mood,” he said, looking into his rearview mirror and pulling away from the curb. “Sit down, gorgeous. You’re a pleasant distraction that could become a liability if you trip and fall in those nice-looking pumps.”
    First gramps and now the bus driver. She ignored the comment, but was totally aware of how his sexy eyes framed by curly lashes had caused her core to clench. And how the scent of whatever cologne he wore teased her nose. A shame, she admitted, as she slyly eyed the short, thick fingers that had gripped her arm so tightly. That’s the first time I’ve been manhandled in about nine months. She was tempted to fake a fall again, just so he could catch her.
    “Why are you still standing here? It’s not safe.”
    “Oh, um, I need to be sure I’m on the correct bus. Do you go to Seventh and Wilshire downtown?”
    The bus driver slid his eyes down her body once more, with a crooked, confident smile. “You’re on the right bus.”
    Cynthia looked to her right and took the first available seat. She covertly eyed the cocky driver, wondering why he was smiling and even more why did she care? She knew guys who were way better looking, passed them in her office building every day, and her body didn’t react this way. He couldn’t be a DHOP—degreed, home-owning professional—and after where breaking the rules and “dating down” had gotten her the last time, she had no desire to go there again.
    So opening an app where notes were stored, she tried to focus on